FIC: "Snippets" by shadow_artemis - PG-13 - Shawn/Lassiter
Title: Snippets (1/1)
Author: shadow_artemis
Characters/Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter
Rating: PG-13 for language and boy-kissing
Summary: There are lots of little moments that define a life and a relationship.
Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me, nor do the songs that these fics are tenuously based upon.
Notes: This started out as a 10 Song Shuffle challenge fic to help out with my writer's block, but being a perfectionist like I am, I couldn't just leave well enough alone. I had to finish each one. These are the results, most of which may be ideas that are entirely overdone and cliched. So it goes.
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Walk By
“C’mon Lassie, you know you want one,” Shawn pleaded, jogging to catch up with the detective. Curse Lassie’s unnaturally long legs. They made it way too easy for the older man to walk away from this conversation.
“I told you already, Shawn, no,” Lassiter replied without so much as a glance back to the younger man. He continued walking down the sidewalk, eying a group of teenagers that passed by. Shawn, though, didn’t take one no for an answer, so two nos didn’t get Lassiter much further. Really, he should’ve known that by now.
“Awww, but they’re so cute and puppy-ish!” Shawn pleaded, not above begging. It had worked well for him in the past and besides, who needed dignity anyway? It just stood in the way of getting what he wanted. He could almost hear the sigh that escaped Lassiter’s lips, a surefire sign that he was going to give in just to shut Shawn up.
“I’ll think about it,” Lassiter said, finally slowing down so his shorter boyfriend could catch up. Falling into step with the detective, Shawn just beamed. It wasn’t a straightforward yes, but with a little time, it was just as good as one.
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Time and Time Again
Carlton knew something was off the moment he got home. It was too quiet. Shawn was always home first, always attempting to make a meal or watching some buddy cop show at insanely loud levels. Right now, their home was dead silent.
That unsettled Lassiter in a way he rarely felt unsettled.
He hung his coat on a hook and moved further into the home. He sincerely hoped this wasn’t a surprise party. He hated those. They never ended well. Few things in his life did, especially when surrounded by a silence this perturbing.
He peeked around the corner into the living room, praying there weren’t a dozen people hiding behind his sofa waiting to jump out. When nothing happened, he tentatively went further in and looked around. No one in there, and still no signs of Shawn. The house was one hundred percent dead quiet.
Carlton wandered into the dining room, dark and empty. There was no room for anyone to hide in here, and he was getting more worried by the moment. He knew Shawn had intense police training, but he also found it hard to believe that the younger man could be this quiet for this long. He just couldn’t keep all his thoughts in his head for long enough to pull off hiding, and it wasn’t likely that today of all days was the day Shawn remembered to turn off his ringtone.
Moving into the kitchen, he glanced around. Nothing out of the ordinary here. An assortment of exotic fruits, a few post-its on the fridge with cryptic messages scrawled across them, the portable phone laying next to the sink. With a small sigh, Lassiter went to grab the phone so he could return it to its base. He’d asked Shawn a thousand times to put it back when he was done, but the fake psychic never did learn.
Phone in hand, he turned to go search the bedrooms for Shawn when his eyes fell on something else, a sheet of notebook paper folded in half next to the grocery list. A crushing dread pressed on his chest as he moved to pick up this piece of paper. Something about this just seemed wrong, all completely wrong. Shawn never left without calling him or dropping by the station, always let him know where he was going and what he was doing because he knew Carlton got paranoid.
He never left notes.
Warily, Lassiter unfolded the sheet, torn haphazardly from a notebook. The handwriting that covered the lines (and made no effort to stay on them) was messy yet precise, the writing of someone who had all the time in the world to write but wanted to be in a hurry. Teasing, lingering words echoed in his thoughts, hitting him like a punch to the gut as he read to the last line.
Shocked but not entirely surprised-why hadn’t he seen this day coming? He was a goddamn fool-he let the note flutter to the floor.
And then his heart sunk.
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Chump
Spencer was at it again. Flailing all over the station, having one of his ‘psychic’ fits. Distracting real detectives from real, hard work.
Distracting Lassiter from real work.
The so-called psychic writhed against a wall, making his way closer to Carlton. He moaned the entire way, somewhere between pained and aroused, if the detective could properly judge, and really, he needed to be working on filing this report. All good police work had to be tidied up with paperwork, as boring as it was.
Not that it was entirely boring when Spencer was around. More like irritating. Annoying. Mind-numbingly enraging.
He tried to focus on his report-two teenagers caught trying to rob a convenience store for alcohol and money, no surprise there-but Spencer was still there, wriggling his way toward Carlton with an expression of sheer ecstasy on his face. Lassiter’s eyes absolutely did not glance up to him then, or again a second later when he let out a pleading whimper that almost made the detective smile. Almost.
He would not give Spencer the satisfaction he was looking for. Psychic or not (and he most certainly was not), this fit had nothing to do with the spirits or ‘upper planes of existence’ and everything to do with distracting Lassiter from his work. He just knew it. There was no reason for Spencer’s hands to roam over his chest like that, for his body to glide so smoothly from the wall to the support pillar next to Lassiter’s desk, unless it was to distract him.
Not that he was paying any attention to Spencer.
No, because that would mean that Spencer was winning at making him look like a fool. Again. He’d had enough of that humiliation for one lifetime, in his marriage alone, never mind at work. Getting that sort of torture at the station was even worse, but he was not going to give in. For once, Spencer was not going to win.
The younger man squirmed his way up against Lassiter’s desk, rolling around until he was right behind the detective, leaning flush against his back with a hand on each shoulder. Carlton tensed up as he felt the psychic’s breath warm the back of one of his ears.
“All work and no play makes Lassie a dull boy,” he whispered, voice as low and quiet as the detective had ever heard it. Never in his life would he admit it, but his eyes fluttered shut, just for a second, and a small shiver went down his spine just then.
And then O’Hara walked by, tossing some lighthearted quip at Spencer, and he was gone, leaving Lassiter alone with his paperwork and a chill. It took him a moment to relax, and then the silent curses came.
He was pretty sure he’d just let Spencer win.
Again.
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California
He’d been here once, and, honestly, he never thought he’d be here again. It was just a chunk of life that he’d assumed was behind him. Over and gone. He’d tried it once and failed, and that was supposed to be the end of it for him.
With Shawn Spencer, though, he’d learned to never make assumptions.
Their song of choice came on over the sound system, filling the room with its slow sound, and he held a hand out to Shawn. For once in his life, the younger man was completely quiet, taking Lassiter’s hand and watching him with bright, reverent eyes. They took to the open dance floor and pressed close together, beginning to move in slow circles.
He’d never felt happier than he did now, and not just because they were surrounded by people who loved them, or because Shawn had given up on his quest to have their first official song be by Tears for Fears (though it was next). This had been a long time coming, to say the least, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on past mistakes.
“I love you,” Shawn whispered, and Lassiter knew that this time, the marriage was real.
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Cold Hard Bitch
“You-you are-!” Shawn fumbled, running a hand through his hair absently. He met Lassiter’s eyes suddenly, pure green flashing out at the detective. That only made the wriggling ball of anger in Carlton’s chest swell, though.
“I’m what?” he spat out, familiar with this fight. He and Victoria had it more than enough times before the divorce. Not that he was comparing Shawn to Victoria. He wasn’t married to Shawn, god forbid.
He just hated being told what he was, like everyone but him was sure that they knew what kind of man he was. Victoria had done it before, as if she didn’t know every single downside that came with marrying a cop. As if he didn’t already know that he was too stubborn, too oblivious, too socially stunted at all the wrong times. He didn’t need to be told all the things that were wrong with him, not when he told himself every day. Not by his (ex-)wife, and definitely not by this jackass pseudo-psychic.
“You’re...” Shawn continued to fumble for words, which shouldn’t have made Lassiter so happy. It was satisfying to see that even the calm and collected Spencer could be at a loss sometimes, could be frustrated and stammering. He could be human, just like the rest of everyone else.
Lassiter smirked, a dark, unpleasant look if he knew his own expressions well. Spencer saw this like he saw everything; a little muscle under his left eye twitched, just barely, but Carlton saw it, his ugly smirk only growing wider. He hated himself for it, but he loved seeing Spencer struggle. It vindicated all the pain and humiliation that the younger man put him through.
A sudden light flashed in those green eyes, dark as a forest at night, and the gratification Carlton felt dropped away instantly. That was a dangerous look, one he’d seen on master criminals when they knew they had a perfect plan. One that meant he was screwed, pure and simple.
“You know what you are?” Shawn asked with narrowed eyes, scrutinizing every inch of Carlton’s face.
“What?” Lassiter snapped back, every instinct telling him to fight back. He’d had this fight before, maybe not with someone quite as clever or dangerous as Spencer, but similar enough that he knew how to turn this around. “What am I, Spencer? Tell me, since I’m apparently too damn stupid to figure it out myself.”
“You’re-” Spencer snapped, letting his words drop away again. A tense beat passed. Then, suddenly, he surged forward and pressed his mouth to the taller man’s. Lassiter’s eyes bugged out; this was never how the fight had ended. Not even remotely close. Spencer’s arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in closer as he wondered what the hell was going on, and why he wasn’t resisting like he should be. His eyes, those traitors, drifted shut at the same time that his hands moved to Shawn’s hips. He even kissed back, just a little bit.
Spencer pulled back a minute later, breathless, and murmured, “You’re one hell of blind son of a bitch, that’s what you are.”
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Mary Without Sound
This couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. Not in his wildest dreams. Or nightmares. Sometimes they were indistinguishable, and now was definitely blurring the line.
How had Carlton let this get as far as it had? He was a sensible person, for the most part. Sure, he got a little obsessive sometimes, but mostly with work-related things. This was definitely not a work-related thing.
Well, it sort of was, even though he often wished it wasn’t. He just couldn’t escape it, not any better than he could escape his own bad judgment. Sure, he’d entertained a few fantasies in the past, not that he ever admit that out loud, but they were just that: fantasies. He never had any expectation of living them out in real life.
And that was what vexed him so much about where he was right now. He was warm, sure, and actually pretty content, but that didn’t mean he had to just sit and enjoy the moment. No, he was pretty sure that, after last night, he was allowed a bit of freakout time for his own bizarre behavior.
He didn’t know what had come over him last night. A small part of his brain said that this had been a long time coming; he did his best to squash that voice back down. That would mean that there was some merit to his insane fantasies, or the lingering feelings in the back of his mind, and that was almost as scary as the situation at hand.
Next to him, Shawn inched closer, a dopey smile on his face as he twirled a finger through the curly hair on Carlton’s bare chest.
“You’re really cute when you’re thinking, you know,” the psychic stated, smile pushing on those green-hazel eyes and god help him, Carlton’s chest swelled a little bit.
“Um, thanks,” he muttered, almost shyly, and Shawn smiled more, all bright sunshine and exultation. Despite his better judgment, that actually made Carlton smile as well.
Maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing.
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I'll Stand By You
When he found Shawn, the younger man was on the porch, standing stock-still. Very un-Shawn, and that set off more than a few alarms in Lassiter’s mind. Something was wrong here. A few minutes ago, he’d hung up on whomever had called them and stormed outside without a word. Carlton had given him a few minutes to cool off, but the younger man couldn’t stay outside forever. It was starting to scare the kids.
“Shawn?” he quietly ventured, moving out onto the porch as well. “Is everything alright?” Shawn snorted, a distinctly uncharacteristic noise from the usually boisterous man, but didn’t turn around. He just kept staring out at the street, arms folded across his chest.
“I don’t think so, Carlton.” Ouch. His first name, the right way. Something was definitely wrong.
“Want to talk about it?” He was so bad at this, at empathy, but he was willing to try for Shawn. The younger man had put up with a lot of crap from him over the years; he deserved the same sort of empathy and understanding.
“No, I really don’t want to talk about it,” Shawn snapped, and for a second, Carlton was taken aback. The fake psychic very rarely sounded so harsh, so angry. He’d shrugged it off when his favorite smoothie place had shut down. He’d rolled with the punches when the John Hughes revival at the theater had been cancelled. He just naturally adjusted to things.
The last time he’d seen Shawn like this, Gus had been hospitalized because a doctor on his route had gone nuts and poisoned him. They’d caught the bastard, thank god, but it was one of the few times that Lassiter had seen his husband so rattled in their long and myriad history.
Now was rivaling that moment pretty well, though.
Gathering himself, he fought his natural instinct to leave Shawn alone like the shorter man wanted; instead, he crossed from the doorway to Shawn’s side, only realizing as he got closer that the fake psychic was, very slightly, shaking.
“Shawn...” he began, unsure where to go from here. He really was bad at this kind of thing. Criminals, he could deal with. No reason to care, no need for a personable approach. He’d never really had a reason to be good at it-Shawn had always been the empathic, social one. Carlton had just floated along with that. Until now.
“Just go away,” Shawn growled, actually growled. He must’ve picked that up from Carlton. Hopefully, Carlton had picked up enough from Shawn to do this right, and not just make things worse.
“I’m not just going to leave you out here, Shawn,” he replied firmly, placing a hand on his husband’s shoulder. Shawn tensed for a second, mouth dropping open like he was about to say something, and then he suddenly relaxed, shoulders slumping. He visibly deflated, a fraction of the man he puffed himself up to be.
“It’s-the phone call-it was-” he stammered weakly, finally turning from the street to face Carlton. His eyes were bright green, shining with welled up tears that were fighting to fall, and he looked up at the older man forlornly. Carlton immediately moved his hand to cup Shawn’s cheek, meeting his eyes.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he murmured, running a thumb absently along Shawn’s cheekbone. “It’s okay, just take a breath.” Shawn did like Carlton said, taking in one long, shaky breath. It seemed to settle him a little bit, and even calmed the detective too, if only a little. Maybe he wasn’t so bad at this empathy thing. More likely, he’d actually picked something up from Shawn in the last decade or so.
“The lady on the phone, she said-” He sniffled, doubtlessly holding back a deluge of tears. Carlton had seen Shawn cry before-the man could cry like no other-but those times were all for reasons that were seemingly trivial (especially the end of Steel Magnolias with Gus). This time, he was different. Honestly, genuinely upset. A surge of sympathy hit Carlton, a metric ton weighing down on his chest; he pressed a kiss to Shawn’s forehead.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he said soothingly, wrapping his arms around Shawn’s waist and pulling him closer. His head rested perfectly on top of the slumped man’s own. Shawn immediately sunk into him, face buried in his chest. A few silent moments passed, the shorter man’s body still trembling slightly, and then he spoke up again, voice quiet but steadier.
“It’s Henry.”
Oh.
Oh.
Shawn’s body quaked as his tears finally broke free. Quietly, Carlton rubbed Shawn’s back in a slow circle, not caring that his shirt was being soaked. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what Shawn was feeling, and didn’t make any attempts to pretend he did. All he knew was that, bad at this or not, he loved the younger man, and was willing to go to any length for him, no matter how out of his depth those actions could be.
The encroaching nighttime cold wrapped around them, but he didn’t move, only holding Shawn as long as he needed to be held.
“I’m here, Shawn. I’m here.”
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Stuck on You
“Will you quit it?” Lassiter finally snapped, turning on a dime to face a rustling ficus tree behind him. It only quit rustling in response. He paused for a moment, then added, “I know you’re there Spencer. Quit following me.” A beat passed and then Shawn Spencer emerged from his terrible hiding place, not one bit abashed about being found out. Typical.
“I can’t quit following you,” Shawn replied simply, eyes pinned to Lassiter’s own. The detective did his best to look anywhere but those probing hazel eyes. “Not until we talk about it.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Lassiter immediately growled, turning to stalk away. Footsteps echoed behind him, the squeak of vividly colored tennis shoes giving Spencer’s persistence away.
“Sure there is,” Shawn said to his back, chasing Lassiter no matter where he wove through the station. “We can talk about macaws, Golden Girls, the sad fate of all those E.T. tie-in games back in the eighties, whatever you want.”
“Do you ever make sense?” the detective snapped, whipping around so sharply that the shorter man nearly ran into him. Shawn’s eyes were wide, probing, and he made the mistake of looking directly into them.
“...Or we could talk about that kiss,” he said slowly, quieter than his usual irritating volume. He raised an eyebrow as Lassiter winced, just barely. “You know, the one in the interrogation room four days ago? The one where we were yelling, and then kissing, and then talking, and then kissing some more?” Lassiter glanced around them, paranoid that anyone was listening in on their conversation.
“Forget it ever happened, Spencer,” he ordered, leaning in conspiratorially. At this small distance, he could feel the psychic’s hot breath on his own lips. It brought up too many memories that he’d quickly tried to bury, and even more urges that absolutely had to be fought. He was at work, and definitely didn’t want to kiss Spencer again. Not ever again.
Tempting thoughts daring to drive him insane, he instead chose to pull back. He stared at the younger man for a second longer before leaving the entire situation at such a fast clip that most people would just call it running.
Spencer, thankfully, didn’t follow this time, but Lassiter could still hear his voice as he turned the corner.
“I’m like an elephant, Lassie, I never forget!” he shouted. “Also, I like unshelled peanuts and hate mice, but that’s not the point. You’ll come around, give it time.”
Those words burrowed into Lassiter’s mind as he left, dredging up more temptations and traitorous thoughts. Coming around was exactly what he was afraid of.
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Fiesta
Really, he didn’t know why he let Shawn talk him into these things. The younger man had some sort of bizarre power over him that had nothing to do with the sex (honestly). He couldn’t explain it without involving wizardry, and that only went to prove how much time he was spending with Spencer.
The bar was loud, festive, full of excitable people, many of which he worked with. He wasn’t sure how Shawn had talked them into going to a group happy hour, let alone one at such an... interesting bar. Everyone seemed to be wearing sombreros, including Vick, who was doing tequila shots with Buzz, Gus and Juliet across the table.
Lassiter had refrained from doing shots, but drank at his own beer while Shawn went to get more tequila for the group and regale other off-duty officers at the bar itself. Despite the volume of the band across the room, he could still hear the fake psychic’s outlandish stories and the laughter of the uniforms he was entertaining.
He took another swig of his beer, and smiled at his increasingly drunk coworkers across the table from him. They didn’t often all go out together, probably for good reason. Lassiter didn’t do well with social outings, and generally tended to shy away from them. He just didn’t have the personality for things like this.
But Shawn did. Sweet Lady Justice, did Shawn ever. Strange places like this, where everything was Mexican-themed but the band was some sort of Irish punk music, were the ones that Shawn naturally gravitated toward. Honestly, he didn’t understand the appeal, but his boyfriend liked them, and he liked his boyfriend, so...
“Carly-Q, don’t sit there looking like mopey pancake,” Shawn cooed, dropping into the chair next to him. He was grinning ear to ear, head bopping to the raucous music. Juliet immediately snatched up the bottle of tequila in his hands, sloppily leaning into Gus as she began to pour another round for everyone.
“I’m not a mopey... Whatever,” he responded, giving up on fighting Shawn’s weird similes for the night. He’d had just enough to drink not to care. The younger man, still grinning, raised an eyebrow.
“C’mon, Carly-bear, it’s a fun night, we’re having fun,” he said, motioning to Vick, McNabb, Gus and Juliet, who all nodded enthusiastically and downed their shots. “Join in on the fun. I promise it’ll be... fun.”
“You really have a way with words, you know that?” Carlton replied, but his face betrayed the stoic look he was attempting to put out by choosing to smile instead. Shawn just pushed his lower lip out, eyes wide and fluttering. Oh lord, he was pouting, actually pouting. Carlton would never understand how he could just do that on command, but it got him every time. With a sigh, he picked up an extra shot glass.
“Let’s do it,” he said. The younger man’s pout instantly became a thousand watt grin. He filled a shot for everyone, including Lassiter, and raised his own glass.
“To the bestest cops and consultants in all of California, with the most kickass arrest records and nicest hair to boot,” he toasted, clinking his glass with all the others. The four people across from him all drank their shots, but Shawn leaned in toward Carlton, whispering into his ear, “And to the bestest cop of all, the awesome, sexy cop that I am so totally lucky to be dating.” Shawn drank his own shot, smiling up at Lassiter as he did his own. Okay, so maybe he did kind of understand why he let Shawn talk him into these things, and frankly, he was okay with it.
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Dream On
He hated feeling like this. His heart was beating against his rib cage like a gorilla trying to escape, and he was actually kind of almost sweating. It was like being some dumb teenager again. Even with Victoria, he hadn’t been this nervous.
He fiddled with the box in his pocket and waited for the telltale sound of Shawn coming in. Usually, Shawn was home first, but he’d asked Vick for a shorter shift today so that he could be here first. He’d spent his extra time making the meal, getting things in order and trying to sort himself out, all for this one moment. This one moment, which would more than likely define the rest of his life.
No pressure.
The silence of his home (their home) pressed around him, not easing his anxiety in any discernible way. Dinner, made optimistically for two, was staying warm in the oven, and the table was set with the nice china. Everything was ready and in place, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t worry about it. Time and silence stretched on, allowing him ample time for doubts.
Shawn could say no, could run away like Henry and Guster said he had before. Carlton wouldn’t put it past him. He knew what Shawn was like and what he’d gotten into when they started dating. Most people were lucky to pin him down for a few weeks, maybe a month or two if they were really special. Every day, he prayed that Shawn would be there when he woke up and when he got home, and marveled that Shawn really did stick around.
He’d run away once, a little over a year ago when he realized how settled he was living in Santa Barbara. Lassiter had been devastated then, but Shawn had returned within days, apologizing profusely and telling Carlton that, as he’d driven away, he’d realized that he was happy here, with the life he’d found. Even though it had been hard trusting the fake psychic for a while after that, they’d made it through that and were hopefully better for it.
He knew that, if Shawn left again, for real, that would be the end for him. As absurd as it seemed sometimes, he was sure that Shawn Spencer, pain in his ass for years now, was all he wanted. He was utterly head-over-heels invested in being with Shawn; he just hoped that the younger man’s continued presence meant he felt something similar.
Finally, Shawn opened the door, sending the detective’s stomach into flips. Lassiter could hear him kick off his shoes, almost see him looking around and sniffing at the air as he noticed things were a little different. He made his way into the dining room, where Carlton stood, attempting not to fidget.
“Carly-bear, what’s going on?” he asked, looking around at the unusually nice set-up of their dining room. His eyes fell on Carlton, who took a deep breath and fell to one knee, popping the ring box open. Shawn’s eyes went wide, extraordinarily green today, and the older man felt a small flash of pride in being able to surprise the unnaturally observant man.
“Shawn, will you marry me?”
There it was, the words were out. Now was the moment of truth.
Shawn could say no, and make this awkward.
He could just run, and pretty much destroy Carlton.
Or, if he was lucky, Shawn would say yes.
His heart pounded as the possibilities reeled in his mind. Time dragged on, feeling like hours instead of seconds.
And then Shawn opened his mouth, stealing Carlton’s breath away in the second long silence.
“Are you kidding me, Carlton?” he murmured, eyes wide and penetrating. The detective’s chest momentarily clenched, fearing that Shawn was saying no, and then the younger man continued. “Of course! I thought you’d never ask.” Shawn dropped to his knees to pull Carlton into a emotional kiss, which the detective ecstatically returned as his chest swelled in elation.
Yes.
Shawn had said yes.
As the realization sunk in, he broke away from their enthusiastic kiss and smiled like a loon at Shawn. The younger man smiled back, eyes shining even brighter than before, and leaned back a little further to look at the ring. Carlton glanced down at it dumbly before his brain kicked into gear. He fumbled with it for second, but quickly got ahold of it and took his fiance’s hand, slipping it onto Shawn’s ring finger. The fake psychic stared at it for second, absolutely enthralled, and then looked back up to Carlton.
“I love you,” Shawn said reverently, cupping Carlton’s cheek with his hand. “I’m yours.” The cool metal of his ring reminded Carlton just what those words meant; that small allowance, that implication of ownership, calmed him in a way he hadn’t been calm for weeks. Maybe even years, since his first marriage had begun to fall apart. Shawn was here, just as committed to Carlton as Carlton was to Shawn. They were in this together, and this time, he was sure they could make it work for the long haul.
“I love you, too.” At these words, Shawn pulled him into another kiss, shorter and more chaste than the last one but still more than fantastic to Carlton. They broke apart a second later, foreheads pressed together as they soaked in the moment.
Breathlessly, Shawn murmured, “Just wait ‘til I tell Gus. He will flip.”
Author: shadow_artemis
Characters/Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter
Rating: PG-13 for language and boy-kissing
Summary: There are lots of little moments that define a life and a relationship.
Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me, nor do the songs that these fics are tenuously based upon.
Notes: This started out as a 10 Song Shuffle challenge fic to help out with my writer's block, but being a perfectionist like I am, I couldn't just leave well enough alone. I had to finish each one. These are the results, most of which may be ideas that are entirely overdone and cliched. So it goes.
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Walk By
“C’mon Lassie, you know you want one,” Shawn pleaded, jogging to catch up with the detective. Curse Lassie’s unnaturally long legs. They made it way too easy for the older man to walk away from this conversation.
“I told you already, Shawn, no,” Lassiter replied without so much as a glance back to the younger man. He continued walking down the sidewalk, eying a group of teenagers that passed by. Shawn, though, didn’t take one no for an answer, so two nos didn’t get Lassiter much further. Really, he should’ve known that by now.
“Awww, but they’re so cute and puppy-ish!” Shawn pleaded, not above begging. It had worked well for him in the past and besides, who needed dignity anyway? It just stood in the way of getting what he wanted. He could almost hear the sigh that escaped Lassiter’s lips, a surefire sign that he was going to give in just to shut Shawn up.
“I’ll think about it,” Lassiter said, finally slowing down so his shorter boyfriend could catch up. Falling into step with the detective, Shawn just beamed. It wasn’t a straightforward yes, but with a little time, it was just as good as one.
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Time and Time Again
Carlton knew something was off the moment he got home. It was too quiet. Shawn was always home first, always attempting to make a meal or watching some buddy cop show at insanely loud levels. Right now, their home was dead silent.
That unsettled Lassiter in a way he rarely felt unsettled.
He hung his coat on a hook and moved further into the home. He sincerely hoped this wasn’t a surprise party. He hated those. They never ended well. Few things in his life did, especially when surrounded by a silence this perturbing.
He peeked around the corner into the living room, praying there weren’t a dozen people hiding behind his sofa waiting to jump out. When nothing happened, he tentatively went further in and looked around. No one in there, and still no signs of Shawn. The house was one hundred percent dead quiet.
Carlton wandered into the dining room, dark and empty. There was no room for anyone to hide in here, and he was getting more worried by the moment. He knew Shawn had intense police training, but he also found it hard to believe that the younger man could be this quiet for this long. He just couldn’t keep all his thoughts in his head for long enough to pull off hiding, and it wasn’t likely that today of all days was the day Shawn remembered to turn off his ringtone.
Moving into the kitchen, he glanced around. Nothing out of the ordinary here. An assortment of exotic fruits, a few post-its on the fridge with cryptic messages scrawled across them, the portable phone laying next to the sink. With a small sigh, Lassiter went to grab the phone so he could return it to its base. He’d asked Shawn a thousand times to put it back when he was done, but the fake psychic never did learn.
Phone in hand, he turned to go search the bedrooms for Shawn when his eyes fell on something else, a sheet of notebook paper folded in half next to the grocery list. A crushing dread pressed on his chest as he moved to pick up this piece of paper. Something about this just seemed wrong, all completely wrong. Shawn never left without calling him or dropping by the station, always let him know where he was going and what he was doing because he knew Carlton got paranoid.
He never left notes.
Warily, Lassiter unfolded the sheet, torn haphazardly from a notebook. The handwriting that covered the lines (and made no effort to stay on them) was messy yet precise, the writing of someone who had all the time in the world to write but wanted to be in a hurry. Teasing, lingering words echoed in his thoughts, hitting him like a punch to the gut as he read to the last line.
Shocked but not entirely surprised-why hadn’t he seen this day coming? He was a goddamn fool-he let the note flutter to the floor.
And then his heart sunk.
----------------
Chump
Spencer was at it again. Flailing all over the station, having one of his ‘psychic’ fits. Distracting real detectives from real, hard work.
Distracting Lassiter from real work.
The so-called psychic writhed against a wall, making his way closer to Carlton. He moaned the entire way, somewhere between pained and aroused, if the detective could properly judge, and really, he needed to be working on filing this report. All good police work had to be tidied up with paperwork, as boring as it was.
Not that it was entirely boring when Spencer was around. More like irritating. Annoying. Mind-numbingly enraging.
He tried to focus on his report-two teenagers caught trying to rob a convenience store for alcohol and money, no surprise there-but Spencer was still there, wriggling his way toward Carlton with an expression of sheer ecstasy on his face. Lassiter’s eyes absolutely did not glance up to him then, or again a second later when he let out a pleading whimper that almost made the detective smile. Almost.
He would not give Spencer the satisfaction he was looking for. Psychic or not (and he most certainly was not), this fit had nothing to do with the spirits or ‘upper planes of existence’ and everything to do with distracting Lassiter from his work. He just knew it. There was no reason for Spencer’s hands to roam over his chest like that, for his body to glide so smoothly from the wall to the support pillar next to Lassiter’s desk, unless it was to distract him.
Not that he was paying any attention to Spencer.
No, because that would mean that Spencer was winning at making him look like a fool. Again. He’d had enough of that humiliation for one lifetime, in his marriage alone, never mind at work. Getting that sort of torture at the station was even worse, but he was not going to give in. For once, Spencer was not going to win.
The younger man squirmed his way up against Lassiter’s desk, rolling around until he was right behind the detective, leaning flush against his back with a hand on each shoulder. Carlton tensed up as he felt the psychic’s breath warm the back of one of his ears.
“All work and no play makes Lassie a dull boy,” he whispered, voice as low and quiet as the detective had ever heard it. Never in his life would he admit it, but his eyes fluttered shut, just for a second, and a small shiver went down his spine just then.
And then O’Hara walked by, tossing some lighthearted quip at Spencer, and he was gone, leaving Lassiter alone with his paperwork and a chill. It took him a moment to relax, and then the silent curses came.
He was pretty sure he’d just let Spencer win.
Again.
----------------
California
He’d been here once, and, honestly, he never thought he’d be here again. It was just a chunk of life that he’d assumed was behind him. Over and gone. He’d tried it once and failed, and that was supposed to be the end of it for him.
With Shawn Spencer, though, he’d learned to never make assumptions.
Their song of choice came on over the sound system, filling the room with its slow sound, and he held a hand out to Shawn. For once in his life, the younger man was completely quiet, taking Lassiter’s hand and watching him with bright, reverent eyes. They took to the open dance floor and pressed close together, beginning to move in slow circles.
He’d never felt happier than he did now, and not just because they were surrounded by people who loved them, or because Shawn had given up on his quest to have their first official song be by Tears for Fears (though it was next). This had been a long time coming, to say the least, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on past mistakes.
“I love you,” Shawn whispered, and Lassiter knew that this time, the marriage was real.
----------------
Cold Hard Bitch
“You-you are-!” Shawn fumbled, running a hand through his hair absently. He met Lassiter’s eyes suddenly, pure green flashing out at the detective. That only made the wriggling ball of anger in Carlton’s chest swell, though.
“I’m what?” he spat out, familiar with this fight. He and Victoria had it more than enough times before the divorce. Not that he was comparing Shawn to Victoria. He wasn’t married to Shawn, god forbid.
He just hated being told what he was, like everyone but him was sure that they knew what kind of man he was. Victoria had done it before, as if she didn’t know every single downside that came with marrying a cop. As if he didn’t already know that he was too stubborn, too oblivious, too socially stunted at all the wrong times. He didn’t need to be told all the things that were wrong with him, not when he told himself every day. Not by his (ex-)wife, and definitely not by this jackass pseudo-psychic.
“You’re...” Shawn continued to fumble for words, which shouldn’t have made Lassiter so happy. It was satisfying to see that even the calm and collected Spencer could be at a loss sometimes, could be frustrated and stammering. He could be human, just like the rest of everyone else.
Lassiter smirked, a dark, unpleasant look if he knew his own expressions well. Spencer saw this like he saw everything; a little muscle under his left eye twitched, just barely, but Carlton saw it, his ugly smirk only growing wider. He hated himself for it, but he loved seeing Spencer struggle. It vindicated all the pain and humiliation that the younger man put him through.
A sudden light flashed in those green eyes, dark as a forest at night, and the gratification Carlton felt dropped away instantly. That was a dangerous look, one he’d seen on master criminals when they knew they had a perfect plan. One that meant he was screwed, pure and simple.
“You know what you are?” Shawn asked with narrowed eyes, scrutinizing every inch of Carlton’s face.
“What?” Lassiter snapped back, every instinct telling him to fight back. He’d had this fight before, maybe not with someone quite as clever or dangerous as Spencer, but similar enough that he knew how to turn this around. “What am I, Spencer? Tell me, since I’m apparently too damn stupid to figure it out myself.”
“You’re-” Spencer snapped, letting his words drop away again. A tense beat passed. Then, suddenly, he surged forward and pressed his mouth to the taller man’s. Lassiter’s eyes bugged out; this was never how the fight had ended. Not even remotely close. Spencer’s arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him in closer as he wondered what the hell was going on, and why he wasn’t resisting like he should be. His eyes, those traitors, drifted shut at the same time that his hands moved to Shawn’s hips. He even kissed back, just a little bit.
Spencer pulled back a minute later, breathless, and murmured, “You’re one hell of blind son of a bitch, that’s what you are.”
----------------
Mary Without Sound
This couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. Not in his wildest dreams. Or nightmares. Sometimes they were indistinguishable, and now was definitely blurring the line.
How had Carlton let this get as far as it had? He was a sensible person, for the most part. Sure, he got a little obsessive sometimes, but mostly with work-related things. This was definitely not a work-related thing.
Well, it sort of was, even though he often wished it wasn’t. He just couldn’t escape it, not any better than he could escape his own bad judgment. Sure, he’d entertained a few fantasies in the past, not that he ever admit that out loud, but they were just that: fantasies. He never had any expectation of living them out in real life.
And that was what vexed him so much about where he was right now. He was warm, sure, and actually pretty content, but that didn’t mean he had to just sit and enjoy the moment. No, he was pretty sure that, after last night, he was allowed a bit of freakout time for his own bizarre behavior.
He didn’t know what had come over him last night. A small part of his brain said that this had been a long time coming; he did his best to squash that voice back down. That would mean that there was some merit to his insane fantasies, or the lingering feelings in the back of his mind, and that was almost as scary as the situation at hand.
Next to him, Shawn inched closer, a dopey smile on his face as he twirled a finger through the curly hair on Carlton’s bare chest.
“You’re really cute when you’re thinking, you know,” the psychic stated, smile pushing on those green-hazel eyes and god help him, Carlton’s chest swelled a little bit.
“Um, thanks,” he muttered, almost shyly, and Shawn smiled more, all bright sunshine and exultation. Despite his better judgment, that actually made Carlton smile as well.
Maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing.
----------------
I'll Stand By You
When he found Shawn, the younger man was on the porch, standing stock-still. Very un-Shawn, and that set off more than a few alarms in Lassiter’s mind. Something was wrong here. A few minutes ago, he’d hung up on whomever had called them and stormed outside without a word. Carlton had given him a few minutes to cool off, but the younger man couldn’t stay outside forever. It was starting to scare the kids.
“Shawn?” he quietly ventured, moving out onto the porch as well. “Is everything alright?” Shawn snorted, a distinctly uncharacteristic noise from the usually boisterous man, but didn’t turn around. He just kept staring out at the street, arms folded across his chest.
“I don’t think so, Carlton.” Ouch. His first name, the right way. Something was definitely wrong.
“Want to talk about it?” He was so bad at this, at empathy, but he was willing to try for Shawn. The younger man had put up with a lot of crap from him over the years; he deserved the same sort of empathy and understanding.
“No, I really don’t want to talk about it,” Shawn snapped, and for a second, Carlton was taken aback. The fake psychic very rarely sounded so harsh, so angry. He’d shrugged it off when his favorite smoothie place had shut down. He’d rolled with the punches when the John Hughes revival at the theater had been cancelled. He just naturally adjusted to things.
The last time he’d seen Shawn like this, Gus had been hospitalized because a doctor on his route had gone nuts and poisoned him. They’d caught the bastard, thank god, but it was one of the few times that Lassiter had seen his husband so rattled in their long and myriad history.
Now was rivaling that moment pretty well, though.
Gathering himself, he fought his natural instinct to leave Shawn alone like the shorter man wanted; instead, he crossed from the doorway to Shawn’s side, only realizing as he got closer that the fake psychic was, very slightly, shaking.
“Shawn...” he began, unsure where to go from here. He really was bad at this kind of thing. Criminals, he could deal with. No reason to care, no need for a personable approach. He’d never really had a reason to be good at it-Shawn had always been the empathic, social one. Carlton had just floated along with that. Until now.
“Just go away,” Shawn growled, actually growled. He must’ve picked that up from Carlton. Hopefully, Carlton had picked up enough from Shawn to do this right, and not just make things worse.
“I’m not just going to leave you out here, Shawn,” he replied firmly, placing a hand on his husband’s shoulder. Shawn tensed for a second, mouth dropping open like he was about to say something, and then he suddenly relaxed, shoulders slumping. He visibly deflated, a fraction of the man he puffed himself up to be.
“It’s-the phone call-it was-” he stammered weakly, finally turning from the street to face Carlton. His eyes were bright green, shining with welled up tears that were fighting to fall, and he looked up at the older man forlornly. Carlton immediately moved his hand to cup Shawn’s cheek, meeting his eyes.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he murmured, running a thumb absently along Shawn’s cheekbone. “It’s okay, just take a breath.” Shawn did like Carlton said, taking in one long, shaky breath. It seemed to settle him a little bit, and even calmed the detective too, if only a little. Maybe he wasn’t so bad at this empathy thing. More likely, he’d actually picked something up from Shawn in the last decade or so.
“The lady on the phone, she said-” He sniffled, doubtlessly holding back a deluge of tears. Carlton had seen Shawn cry before-the man could cry like no other-but those times were all for reasons that were seemingly trivial (especially the end of Steel Magnolias with Gus). This time, he was different. Honestly, genuinely upset. A surge of sympathy hit Carlton, a metric ton weighing down on his chest; he pressed a kiss to Shawn’s forehead.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he said soothingly, wrapping his arms around Shawn’s waist and pulling him closer. His head rested perfectly on top of the slumped man’s own. Shawn immediately sunk into him, face buried in his chest. A few silent moments passed, the shorter man’s body still trembling slightly, and then he spoke up again, voice quiet but steadier.
“It’s Henry.”
Oh.
Oh.
Shawn’s body quaked as his tears finally broke free. Quietly, Carlton rubbed Shawn’s back in a slow circle, not caring that his shirt was being soaked. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what Shawn was feeling, and didn’t make any attempts to pretend he did. All he knew was that, bad at this or not, he loved the younger man, and was willing to go to any length for him, no matter how out of his depth those actions could be.
The encroaching nighttime cold wrapped around them, but he didn’t move, only holding Shawn as long as he needed to be held.
“I’m here, Shawn. I’m here.”
----------------
Stuck on You
“Will you quit it?” Lassiter finally snapped, turning on a dime to face a rustling ficus tree behind him. It only quit rustling in response. He paused for a moment, then added, “I know you’re there Spencer. Quit following me.” A beat passed and then Shawn Spencer emerged from his terrible hiding place, not one bit abashed about being found out. Typical.
“I can’t quit following you,” Shawn replied simply, eyes pinned to Lassiter’s own. The detective did his best to look anywhere but those probing hazel eyes. “Not until we talk about it.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Lassiter immediately growled, turning to stalk away. Footsteps echoed behind him, the squeak of vividly colored tennis shoes giving Spencer’s persistence away.
“Sure there is,” Shawn said to his back, chasing Lassiter no matter where he wove through the station. “We can talk about macaws, Golden Girls, the sad fate of all those E.T. tie-in games back in the eighties, whatever you want.”
“Do you ever make sense?” the detective snapped, whipping around so sharply that the shorter man nearly ran into him. Shawn’s eyes were wide, probing, and he made the mistake of looking directly into them.
“...Or we could talk about that kiss,” he said slowly, quieter than his usual irritating volume. He raised an eyebrow as Lassiter winced, just barely. “You know, the one in the interrogation room four days ago? The one where we were yelling, and then kissing, and then talking, and then kissing some more?” Lassiter glanced around them, paranoid that anyone was listening in on their conversation.
“Forget it ever happened, Spencer,” he ordered, leaning in conspiratorially. At this small distance, he could feel the psychic’s hot breath on his own lips. It brought up too many memories that he’d quickly tried to bury, and even more urges that absolutely had to be fought. He was at work, and definitely didn’t want to kiss Spencer again. Not ever again.
Tempting thoughts daring to drive him insane, he instead chose to pull back. He stared at the younger man for a second longer before leaving the entire situation at such a fast clip that most people would just call it running.
Spencer, thankfully, didn’t follow this time, but Lassiter could still hear his voice as he turned the corner.
“I’m like an elephant, Lassie, I never forget!” he shouted. “Also, I like unshelled peanuts and hate mice, but that’s not the point. You’ll come around, give it time.”
Those words burrowed into Lassiter’s mind as he left, dredging up more temptations and traitorous thoughts. Coming around was exactly what he was afraid of.
----------------
Fiesta
Really, he didn’t know why he let Shawn talk him into these things. The younger man had some sort of bizarre power over him that had nothing to do with the sex (honestly). He couldn’t explain it without involving wizardry, and that only went to prove how much time he was spending with Spencer.
The bar was loud, festive, full of excitable people, many of which he worked with. He wasn’t sure how Shawn had talked them into going to a group happy hour, let alone one at such an... interesting bar. Everyone seemed to be wearing sombreros, including Vick, who was doing tequila shots with Buzz, Gus and Juliet across the table.
Lassiter had refrained from doing shots, but drank at his own beer while Shawn went to get more tequila for the group and regale other off-duty officers at the bar itself. Despite the volume of the band across the room, he could still hear the fake psychic’s outlandish stories and the laughter of the uniforms he was entertaining.
He took another swig of his beer, and smiled at his increasingly drunk coworkers across the table from him. They didn’t often all go out together, probably for good reason. Lassiter didn’t do well with social outings, and generally tended to shy away from them. He just didn’t have the personality for things like this.
But Shawn did. Sweet Lady Justice, did Shawn ever. Strange places like this, where everything was Mexican-themed but the band was some sort of Irish punk music, were the ones that Shawn naturally gravitated toward. Honestly, he didn’t understand the appeal, but his boyfriend liked them, and he liked his boyfriend, so...
“Carly-Q, don’t sit there looking like mopey pancake,” Shawn cooed, dropping into the chair next to him. He was grinning ear to ear, head bopping to the raucous music. Juliet immediately snatched up the bottle of tequila in his hands, sloppily leaning into Gus as she began to pour another round for everyone.
“I’m not a mopey... Whatever,” he responded, giving up on fighting Shawn’s weird similes for the night. He’d had just enough to drink not to care. The younger man, still grinning, raised an eyebrow.
“C’mon, Carly-bear, it’s a fun night, we’re having fun,” he said, motioning to Vick, McNabb, Gus and Juliet, who all nodded enthusiastically and downed their shots. “Join in on the fun. I promise it’ll be... fun.”
“You really have a way with words, you know that?” Carlton replied, but his face betrayed the stoic look he was attempting to put out by choosing to smile instead. Shawn just pushed his lower lip out, eyes wide and fluttering. Oh lord, he was pouting, actually pouting. Carlton would never understand how he could just do that on command, but it got him every time. With a sigh, he picked up an extra shot glass.
“Let’s do it,” he said. The younger man’s pout instantly became a thousand watt grin. He filled a shot for everyone, including Lassiter, and raised his own glass.
“To the bestest cops and consultants in all of California, with the most kickass arrest records and nicest hair to boot,” he toasted, clinking his glass with all the others. The four people across from him all drank their shots, but Shawn leaned in toward Carlton, whispering into his ear, “And to the bestest cop of all, the awesome, sexy cop that I am so totally lucky to be dating.” Shawn drank his own shot, smiling up at Lassiter as he did his own. Okay, so maybe he did kind of understand why he let Shawn talk him into these things, and frankly, he was okay with it.
----------------
Dream On
He hated feeling like this. His heart was beating against his rib cage like a gorilla trying to escape, and he was actually kind of almost sweating. It was like being some dumb teenager again. Even with Victoria, he hadn’t been this nervous.
He fiddled with the box in his pocket and waited for the telltale sound of Shawn coming in. Usually, Shawn was home first, but he’d asked Vick for a shorter shift today so that he could be here first. He’d spent his extra time making the meal, getting things in order and trying to sort himself out, all for this one moment. This one moment, which would more than likely define the rest of his life.
No pressure.
The silence of his home (their home) pressed around him, not easing his anxiety in any discernible way. Dinner, made optimistically for two, was staying warm in the oven, and the table was set with the nice china. Everything was ready and in place, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t worry about it. Time and silence stretched on, allowing him ample time for doubts.
Shawn could say no, could run away like Henry and Guster said he had before. Carlton wouldn’t put it past him. He knew what Shawn was like and what he’d gotten into when they started dating. Most people were lucky to pin him down for a few weeks, maybe a month or two if they were really special. Every day, he prayed that Shawn would be there when he woke up and when he got home, and marveled that Shawn really did stick around.
He’d run away once, a little over a year ago when he realized how settled he was living in Santa Barbara. Lassiter had been devastated then, but Shawn had returned within days, apologizing profusely and telling Carlton that, as he’d driven away, he’d realized that he was happy here, with the life he’d found. Even though it had been hard trusting the fake psychic for a while after that, they’d made it through that and were hopefully better for it.
He knew that, if Shawn left again, for real, that would be the end for him. As absurd as it seemed sometimes, he was sure that Shawn Spencer, pain in his ass for years now, was all he wanted. He was utterly head-over-heels invested in being with Shawn; he just hoped that the younger man’s continued presence meant he felt something similar.
Finally, Shawn opened the door, sending the detective’s stomach into flips. Lassiter could hear him kick off his shoes, almost see him looking around and sniffing at the air as he noticed things were a little different. He made his way into the dining room, where Carlton stood, attempting not to fidget.
“Carly-bear, what’s going on?” he asked, looking around at the unusually nice set-up of their dining room. His eyes fell on Carlton, who took a deep breath and fell to one knee, popping the ring box open. Shawn’s eyes went wide, extraordinarily green today, and the older man felt a small flash of pride in being able to surprise the unnaturally observant man.
“Shawn, will you marry me?”
There it was, the words were out. Now was the moment of truth.
Shawn could say no, and make this awkward.
He could just run, and pretty much destroy Carlton.
Or, if he was lucky, Shawn would say yes.
His heart pounded as the possibilities reeled in his mind. Time dragged on, feeling like hours instead of seconds.
And then Shawn opened his mouth, stealing Carlton’s breath away in the second long silence.
“Are you kidding me, Carlton?” he murmured, eyes wide and penetrating. The detective’s chest momentarily clenched, fearing that Shawn was saying no, and then the younger man continued. “Of course! I thought you’d never ask.” Shawn dropped to his knees to pull Carlton into a emotional kiss, which the detective ecstatically returned as his chest swelled in elation.
Yes.
Shawn had said yes.
As the realization sunk in, he broke away from their enthusiastic kiss and smiled like a loon at Shawn. The younger man smiled back, eyes shining even brighter than before, and leaned back a little further to look at the ring. Carlton glanced down at it dumbly before his brain kicked into gear. He fumbled with it for second, but quickly got ahold of it and took his fiance’s hand, slipping it onto Shawn’s ring finger. The fake psychic stared at it for second, absolutely enthralled, and then looked back up to Carlton.
“I love you,” Shawn said reverently, cupping Carlton’s cheek with his hand. “I’m yours.” The cool metal of his ring reminded Carlton just what those words meant; that small allowance, that implication of ownership, calmed him in a way he hadn’t been calm for weeks. Maybe even years, since his first marriage had begun to fall apart. Shawn was here, just as committed to Carlton as Carlton was to Shawn. They were in this together, and this time, he was sure they could make it work for the long haul.
“I love you, too.” At these words, Shawn pulled him into another kiss, shorter and more chaste than the last one but still more than fantastic to Carlton. They broke apart a second later, foreheads pressed together as they soaked in the moment.
Breathlessly, Shawn murmured, “Just wait ‘til I tell Gus. He will flip.”