Psych- "In Defense of Mr. Turtingham", "80's-Horror-Rewind-Night" & "A Peaceful Settlement"- for Ren
Fandom: Psych
Characters: Shawn/Gus (2 gen, 1 slash)
Disclaimer: Most certainly not mine.
Summary:: For Ren and the ‘You Know That’s Right’ Shawn-n-Gus-fest. I responded to all of the prompts because they're all relatively short... but I'll have you know I wrote them lovingly :)
Prompt: Gus gets mad and publicly berates someone for being an asshole to Shawn.
Lassiter is striding towards them, stride long and jaw clenched, obvious signs that he’s angry, and to be honest Gus can’t begrudge him that. Shawn had dragged them to a warehouse- Shawn and *himself* to a warehouse, not the police force or anyone else that could have been, you know, useful in the situation- and had told him to waddle inside and up a staircase as silently as possible.
“Like the mother goose,” Shawn had said, “about to lay that last egg, only if she were walking up stairs and was completely silent while doing it.”
Gus had punched him in the back of the thigh, faintly satisfied when Shawn had to stifle a yelp of pain.
Unfortunately (and it always seems to end up unfortunately when Shawn is involved, because Shawn is attracted to trouble like a moth to a flame) they had found themselves crouching in the corner of the stairwell with guns trained on them from all sides. They’d been led over to the side of an SUV and tied to large crates, guns pointed at their heads while Shawn feebly tried to pantomime something that looked like Wile.E.Coyote trying to outsmart the roadrunner.
For once, Gus had been glad to see Lassiter showing up like the knight in shining armor, had been grateful when Juliet had led them back to stand next to one of the cars now lining the building. But now, with Lassiter heading towards them with that ‘I’m better than you and I’m angry with you and I’m going to prove it’ look, Gus finds himself straightening.
“Listen, Spencer, this is the last time I save your ass,” Lassiter growls, jabbing his finger forward in an accusatory manner. “You and your hairbrained schemes and your stupid decisions, you’re completely out of control!”
Shawn might be ridiculous and smug and a lot of other not entirely great things, but he is Gus’ best friend and Gus does not back down from a fight, so rather than listen to Lassiter berate Shawn once again, Gus finds himself saying, “Shut the hell up, Lassiter.”
There’s a stunned silence where everyone is looking at him, and Gus breathes in deeply and matches Lassiter’s glare with one of his own.
“What did you say?” Lassiter asks, slowly, like he’s confused.
“I told you to shut up,” Gus says. “I know Shawn, I know how annoying he is, trust me.” He ignores Shawn’s hurt look. “He can’t be serious for five minutes, he steals my car at least once a week, he calls me ridiculous names, and in the fourth grade he convinced everyone that I ate our class hamster, ‘Mr. Scribbles.’”
“That theory was never disputed,” Shawn interjects quietly, and Gus glares at him.
Lassiter looks like he’s about to say something, so Gus continues on. “But he’s also right most of the time, and his ‘visions’ have helped you solve however many cases, and might I point out that he and I were already *here* when you finally figured out what was going on?”
“We had to check out the leads-” Lassiter starts to say, and Gus holds his palm out, the universal gesture to stop.
“No, Lassiter, just no. Shawn knows what’s going on better than you do, and maybe he’s a pain in the ass-” (and here Shawn interrupts with a feeble “Hey!”) -“but he does his job, and half the time he’s saving your ass by solving your cases for you. So quit yelling at him all the time and just *back off*.”
Lassiter glares at him, but Gus stands strong, posture perfect even with his shirt rumpled and dirt smudged across his cheek. When Lassiter glances down, Gus knows he’s won, and he smirks.
“Thanks, buddy,” Shawn says quietly, from behind him. Gus reaches up and straightens his collar, feeling smug, until Shawn follows it up with a quiet, “By the way, I also told the class that you stole Mr. Turtingham from the fifth grade science room so he could roam free in your backyard.”
Gus turns to face him, annoyance written across his features. “Damn it Shawn, why couldn’t you just tell the truth?”
“I didn’t want to admit that I’d probably killed him, Gus! That would have ruined my reputation,” Shawn says, walking back toward Gus’ little blue car.
“Worse than being labelled ‘hamsteribble-lector’?”
“I just wanted to set him free, watch him swim back to his home in the open ocean.”
“We’re going to need your statements!” Lassiter calls after them, weakly.
“We’ll see you at the station,” Gus calls back without turning around, and then he shifts his attention back to Shawn. “Mr. Turtingham was a fresh water turtle, Shawn. Swimming out into the ocean was a death sentence.”
“How was I supposed to know that?”
“Because I told you so. Repeatedly.”
“I don’t recall that having happened, Gus.”
“How convenient.”
Gus lets himself fall back into their familiar banter as they walk away, leaving Lassiter and Juliet and the other cops gathered behind them. He protects Shawn in his own way and he probably always will. For some reason, Gus is strangely okay with that.
...
...
Prompt: Gus and Shawn do an 80s horror movie all night marathon together in their jammies.
“I can’t believe they even make these,” Gus says, and he props his heels up on the coffee table, wiggling his toes and smiling faintly. His feet are covered with a garish red flannel that extends all the way up and comprises what Gus can only describe as adult sized footy-pajamas.
(“The grown man’s onesie,” Shawn had said when he handed them to Gus, “and an absolute necessity for 80s-horror-rewind-night.” Gus had raised his eyebrows at the title, but Shawn’s grin had just widened. “Come on,” Shawn had said, “it’ll be awesome!” Gus had given in. For reasons even he cannot understand, Gus always gives in.)
“They were twenty five bucks at Target, I kid you not,” Shawn says now, sitting down next to him in matching blue pajamas and holding a bowl of popcorn. He puts his feet up next to Gus’ and smiles. “I told the sales girl we were having a slumber party and that she and any of her attractive lady friends should feel free to join us, but for some reason I got the feeling that she found it odd. I don’t know why.”
Gus rolls his eyes and steals a handful of popcorn. “Yeah, because there’s definitely nothing strange about two thirty-four year old men having a sleep over and wearing footy-pajamas.”
“Come on, Gus,” Shawn says, nudging one of Gus’ feet with his own, “you can’t tell me you don’t secretly love it. It totally sets the mood.” Gus kicks back at Shawn’s foot, knocking it off the table. Shawn is undeterred. “It’ll be like we’re eight again, staying up late to watch ‘Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers’ on cable.”
Gus smiles despite himself. “Or ‘Return of the Killer Tomatoes,’” he says. “As if produce could be legitimately scary.”
“Or that unfortunate incident wherein we accidentally confused ‘Labyrinth’ with ‘Spider Labyrinth,’” Shawn says, swinging his foot back up onto the table. “We were expecting the glory of David Bowie and the fine art of puppetry, but what we got instead was so, so wrong.”
Gus shudders involuntarily. “I spent a year checking my room for spiders every night.”
“Oh please,” Shawn says, “you still do that.”
“The average person eats around seven spiders in their sleep each year, Shawn. I’m just being cautious.”
Shawn laughs and tosses a piece of popcorn at him, hitting him on the shoulder. Gus glares at him before he turns his attention back to the TV. “So what are we watching tonight?” He asks.
“I thought we’d start with ‘A Night to Dismember,'” Shawn says, picking up the remote. He pauses before he presses the play button and turns to look at Gus seriously. “Remember, Gus. These are works of fiction; there’s no reason to be scared. But, if you need to, you can always share my bunkbed.”
Gus rolls his eyes and kicks at Shawn’s feet again. “Just start the damn movie, Shawn.”
Shawn grins and presses play.
Note: Those are real horror movies from the 80s. Seriously.
...
...
Prompt: Gus tells Shawn all the things he knows about him, because Gus knows him better than everyone.
*This kind of wandered away from the prompt, and is maybe OOC, but couldn't stop writing it... so here it is.
It’s not the first time that this has happened, the first time that Shawn has turned off his cell phone and ignored his land line and refused to acknowledge the outside world. It used to take Gus a day or two to figure out that something was wrong, but now he knows to call Henry and Juliet after a few hours, and if Shawn is still unaccounted for then Gus begins to brace himself. He’ll give it a few more hours, wait until evening, and if Shawn’s phone is still turned off then Gus knows that it’s one of those times.
Today it only takes him until eleven a.m. to realize that something is wrong. Shawn has been slightly manic lately, losing his focus and trying to hide it and Gus thinks it maybe has something to do with Abigail leaving, but he never thought it would go this far. Looking back he thinks he really should have expected it.
When he lets himself into Shawn’s apartment he isn’t surprised to find Shawn curled into himself and wrapped in a blanket in the corner of his couch, taking up as little room as possible. When Shawn barely glances up Gus sighs and toes off his shoes, moves to set the smoothies and Funyons he brought on the coffee table and sit on the couch next to him.
There are a few minutes of silence as Gus shifts and makes himself comfortable before he squints at the TV and asks, “Are you watching Melrose Place?”
Shawn clears his throat and says, “Yeah,” so quietly that Gus almost misses it.
Gus nods silently for a moment before he asks, “Is this before or after that girl from ‘Who’s The Boss’ joins the cast?” He doesn’t really care what the answer is, but he knows that the only way he can get Shawn out of his head is to get him talking.
“Before,” Shawn says. There’s a pause before he adds, “She was hot.”
Gus laughs and looks over, not surprised to see that Shawn is watching him. This is how it goes when Shawn gets like this, when he drops all his defenses and stops trying to joke his way out of everything. Gus always thinks that this Shawn is a lot more like the twelve year old kid he used to be, watching his parents marriage fall apart and trying to find a way to protect himself. Gus loves this version of Shawn just as unconditionally as he loves the sarcastic, over-zealous person he’s become, but he hates the way that Shawn can’t ever just lower his defenses, that he pushes too hard and too far and they just come crashing down.
“I brought you Funyons,” Gus says after a minute.
“Yeah,” Shawn says, and he bites his lip, still staring at Gus with wide eyes.
Gus sighs and lifts his arm up, wrapping it around Shawn’s shoulders and tugging until Shawn is pressed against his side and Shawn’s cheek is resting against his shoulder. He picks up the remote and mutes the television before letting his fingers smooth back and forth across Shawn’s cloth covered arm. “You okay?” Gus asks quietly, but he already knows what the answer will be.
“No,” Shawn whispers. His breath ghosts across the front of Gus’ neck when he speaks, and Gus shivers a little involuntarily.
“Abigail?” Gus asks.
“I don’t know,” Shawn mumbles. “Maybe. Everything.”
There’s a long silence before Gus says, “Okay.”
They watch Heather Lockleare walk around on screen in an outfit that’s probably supposed to be business-wear but which, with a few alterations, could also probably pass as a dominatrix costume.
After a few minutes Shawn says, “She said I can’t be serious because I don’t know who I am. She said she needs stability.”
Gus squeezes his arm gently. “You know who you are,” he says. “Maybe she didn’t.”
Shawn huffs out a laugh. “Maybe she knew exactly who I am. Maybe she saw through everything and realized I’m a fuck up.”
Moments like these make Gus want to punch Henry, because no matter how much Shawn has changed or how hard he tries, he’ll always have that idea in his head that he isn’t good enough or serious enough or whatever enough to be anything but the screw up Henry used to tell him he was.
“You’re not a fuck up, Shawn,” Gus says. Shawn snorts against his shoulder and Gus clenches his jaw for a moment before he continues. “You started Psych,” he says, “and you’ve stayed in Santa Barbara for five years and you held your own against Jack.”
“I also started a slingshot academy which seemed like it was successful for a while but that fell apart, too. It’s only a matter of time.”
“You were ten, Shawn, and you had to stop because Benny Harverston shot a rock through the windshield of his father’s Mercedes and then gave you up.”
“Yeah, well,” Shawn mumbles.
Gus brings the arm not wrapped around Shawn’s shoulders up and presses his fingers under Shawn’s chin, tilting his face up so they’re looking at one another. “And you know what? If you had been in Benny’s shoes, you never would have ratted anyone out. You’re strong and loyal and you have integrity.”
Shawn huffs out another laugh, but he’s smiling slightly. “I wouldn’t rat someone out? That’s why I have integrity?”
“You also never stole candy from Mr. Glover’s store when he wasn’t looking,” Gus says, sliding his hand around to cup the back of Shawn’s neck.
“Gus, the man was like eighty-two years old and possibly legally blind.”
“A lot of the other kids did it.”
Shawn rolls his eyes. “Those are some stunning examples of my integrity, there.”
“And your moral fortitude,” Gus adds.
“Who says ‘moral fortitude?’”
“I do.”
Shawn’s smile grows a little and he leans forward to press his lips against Gus’ in a brief, chaste kiss. “Do I have other good qualities besides moral fortitude?” Shawn asks, and he sounds more like his normal self, but there’s still something quiet and tired in his voice.
“Well, you often refuse to listen to any practical advice that I give you, which shows independence,” Gus teases, running his thumb along the nape of Shawn’s neck.
“Usually you call that pigheaded-ness,” Shawn says.
“Same thing,” Gus says, and he pulls Shawn forward again, kissing him gently, waiting for Shawn to take control. And when he feels Shawn’s hand come up to cup his face and Shawn’s tongue swiping across his bottom lip, he goes with it, goes with whatever Shawn needs.
It’s not the first time that they’ve found themselves like this, with Shawn falling apart and Gus putting him back together, and with slow careful kisses on the couch or in bed. It doesn’t go farther than that, and Gus thinks it’s not because neither of them want it to. Just not like this, he thinks, not when Shawn needs it to help fix something else.
He isn’t exactly sure what they’re waiting for, but it hasn’t felt right yet, and he thinks that both he and Shawn know that. For now he’s content just to be there for Shawn.
...
Yay Shawn-and-Gus!
Characters: Shawn/Gus (2 gen, 1 slash)
Disclaimer: Most certainly not mine.
Summary:: For Ren and the ‘You Know That’s Right’ Shawn-n-Gus-fest. I responded to all of the prompts because they're all relatively short... but I'll have you know I wrote them lovingly :)
Prompt: Gus gets mad and publicly berates someone for being an asshole to Shawn.
Lassiter is striding towards them, stride long and jaw clenched, obvious signs that he’s angry, and to be honest Gus can’t begrudge him that. Shawn had dragged them to a warehouse- Shawn and *himself* to a warehouse, not the police force or anyone else that could have been, you know, useful in the situation- and had told him to waddle inside and up a staircase as silently as possible.
“Like the mother goose,” Shawn had said, “about to lay that last egg, only if she were walking up stairs and was completely silent while doing it.”
Gus had punched him in the back of the thigh, faintly satisfied when Shawn had to stifle a yelp of pain.
Unfortunately (and it always seems to end up unfortunately when Shawn is involved, because Shawn is attracted to trouble like a moth to a flame) they had found themselves crouching in the corner of the stairwell with guns trained on them from all sides. They’d been led over to the side of an SUV and tied to large crates, guns pointed at their heads while Shawn feebly tried to pantomime something that looked like Wile.E.Coyote trying to outsmart the roadrunner.
For once, Gus had been glad to see Lassiter showing up like the knight in shining armor, had been grateful when Juliet had led them back to stand next to one of the cars now lining the building. But now, with Lassiter heading towards them with that ‘I’m better than you and I’m angry with you and I’m going to prove it’ look, Gus finds himself straightening.
“Listen, Spencer, this is the last time I save your ass,” Lassiter growls, jabbing his finger forward in an accusatory manner. “You and your hairbrained schemes and your stupid decisions, you’re completely out of control!”
Shawn might be ridiculous and smug and a lot of other not entirely great things, but he is Gus’ best friend and Gus does not back down from a fight, so rather than listen to Lassiter berate Shawn once again, Gus finds himself saying, “Shut the hell up, Lassiter.”
There’s a stunned silence where everyone is looking at him, and Gus breathes in deeply and matches Lassiter’s glare with one of his own.
“What did you say?” Lassiter asks, slowly, like he’s confused.
“I told you to shut up,” Gus says. “I know Shawn, I know how annoying he is, trust me.” He ignores Shawn’s hurt look. “He can’t be serious for five minutes, he steals my car at least once a week, he calls me ridiculous names, and in the fourth grade he convinced everyone that I ate our class hamster, ‘Mr. Scribbles.’”
“That theory was never disputed,” Shawn interjects quietly, and Gus glares at him.
Lassiter looks like he’s about to say something, so Gus continues on. “But he’s also right most of the time, and his ‘visions’ have helped you solve however many cases, and might I point out that he and I were already *here* when you finally figured out what was going on?”
“We had to check out the leads-” Lassiter starts to say, and Gus holds his palm out, the universal gesture to stop.
“No, Lassiter, just no. Shawn knows what’s going on better than you do, and maybe he’s a pain in the ass-” (and here Shawn interrupts with a feeble “Hey!”) -“but he does his job, and half the time he’s saving your ass by solving your cases for you. So quit yelling at him all the time and just *back off*.”
Lassiter glares at him, but Gus stands strong, posture perfect even with his shirt rumpled and dirt smudged across his cheek. When Lassiter glances down, Gus knows he’s won, and he smirks.
“Thanks, buddy,” Shawn says quietly, from behind him. Gus reaches up and straightens his collar, feeling smug, until Shawn follows it up with a quiet, “By the way, I also told the class that you stole Mr. Turtingham from the fifth grade science room so he could roam free in your backyard.”
Gus turns to face him, annoyance written across his features. “Damn it Shawn, why couldn’t you just tell the truth?”
“I didn’t want to admit that I’d probably killed him, Gus! That would have ruined my reputation,” Shawn says, walking back toward Gus’ little blue car.
“Worse than being labelled ‘hamsteribble-lector’?”
“I just wanted to set him free, watch him swim back to his home in the open ocean.”
“We’re going to need your statements!” Lassiter calls after them, weakly.
“We’ll see you at the station,” Gus calls back without turning around, and then he shifts his attention back to Shawn. “Mr. Turtingham was a fresh water turtle, Shawn. Swimming out into the ocean was a death sentence.”
“How was I supposed to know that?”
“Because I told you so. Repeatedly.”
“I don’t recall that having happened, Gus.”
“How convenient.”
Gus lets himself fall back into their familiar banter as they walk away, leaving Lassiter and Juliet and the other cops gathered behind them. He protects Shawn in his own way and he probably always will. For some reason, Gus is strangely okay with that.
...
...
Prompt: Gus and Shawn do an 80s horror movie all night marathon together in their jammies.
“I can’t believe they even make these,” Gus says, and he props his heels up on the coffee table, wiggling his toes and smiling faintly. His feet are covered with a garish red flannel that extends all the way up and comprises what Gus can only describe as adult sized footy-pajamas.
(“The grown man’s onesie,” Shawn had said when he handed them to Gus, “and an absolute necessity for 80s-horror-rewind-night.” Gus had raised his eyebrows at the title, but Shawn’s grin had just widened. “Come on,” Shawn had said, “it’ll be awesome!” Gus had given in. For reasons even he cannot understand, Gus always gives in.)
“They were twenty five bucks at Target, I kid you not,” Shawn says now, sitting down next to him in matching blue pajamas and holding a bowl of popcorn. He puts his feet up next to Gus’ and smiles. “I told the sales girl we were having a slumber party and that she and any of her attractive lady friends should feel free to join us, but for some reason I got the feeling that she found it odd. I don’t know why.”
Gus rolls his eyes and steals a handful of popcorn. “Yeah, because there’s definitely nothing strange about two thirty-four year old men having a sleep over and wearing footy-pajamas.”
“Come on, Gus,” Shawn says, nudging one of Gus’ feet with his own, “you can’t tell me you don’t secretly love it. It totally sets the mood.” Gus kicks back at Shawn’s foot, knocking it off the table. Shawn is undeterred. “It’ll be like we’re eight again, staying up late to watch ‘Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers’ on cable.”
Gus smiles despite himself. “Or ‘Return of the Killer Tomatoes,’” he says. “As if produce could be legitimately scary.”
“Or that unfortunate incident wherein we accidentally confused ‘Labyrinth’ with ‘Spider Labyrinth,’” Shawn says, swinging his foot back up onto the table. “We were expecting the glory of David Bowie and the fine art of puppetry, but what we got instead was so, so wrong.”
Gus shudders involuntarily. “I spent a year checking my room for spiders every night.”
“Oh please,” Shawn says, “you still do that.”
“The average person eats around seven spiders in their sleep each year, Shawn. I’m just being cautious.”
Shawn laughs and tosses a piece of popcorn at him, hitting him on the shoulder. Gus glares at him before he turns his attention back to the TV. “So what are we watching tonight?” He asks.
“I thought we’d start with ‘A Night to Dismember,'” Shawn says, picking up the remote. He pauses before he presses the play button and turns to look at Gus seriously. “Remember, Gus. These are works of fiction; there’s no reason to be scared. But, if you need to, you can always share my bunkbed.”
Gus rolls his eyes and kicks at Shawn’s feet again. “Just start the damn movie, Shawn.”
Shawn grins and presses play.
Note: Those are real horror movies from the 80s. Seriously.
...
...
Prompt: Gus tells Shawn all the things he knows about him, because Gus knows him better than everyone.
*This kind of wandered away from the prompt, and is maybe OOC, but couldn't stop writing it... so here it is.
It’s not the first time that this has happened, the first time that Shawn has turned off his cell phone and ignored his land line and refused to acknowledge the outside world. It used to take Gus a day or two to figure out that something was wrong, but now he knows to call Henry and Juliet after a few hours, and if Shawn is still unaccounted for then Gus begins to brace himself. He’ll give it a few more hours, wait until evening, and if Shawn’s phone is still turned off then Gus knows that it’s one of those times.
Today it only takes him until eleven a.m. to realize that something is wrong. Shawn has been slightly manic lately, losing his focus and trying to hide it and Gus thinks it maybe has something to do with Abigail leaving, but he never thought it would go this far. Looking back he thinks he really should have expected it.
When he lets himself into Shawn’s apartment he isn’t surprised to find Shawn curled into himself and wrapped in a blanket in the corner of his couch, taking up as little room as possible. When Shawn barely glances up Gus sighs and toes off his shoes, moves to set the smoothies and Funyons he brought on the coffee table and sit on the couch next to him.
There are a few minutes of silence as Gus shifts and makes himself comfortable before he squints at the TV and asks, “Are you watching Melrose Place?”
Shawn clears his throat and says, “Yeah,” so quietly that Gus almost misses it.
Gus nods silently for a moment before he asks, “Is this before or after that girl from ‘Who’s The Boss’ joins the cast?” He doesn’t really care what the answer is, but he knows that the only way he can get Shawn out of his head is to get him talking.
“Before,” Shawn says. There’s a pause before he adds, “She was hot.”
Gus laughs and looks over, not surprised to see that Shawn is watching him. This is how it goes when Shawn gets like this, when he drops all his defenses and stops trying to joke his way out of everything. Gus always thinks that this Shawn is a lot more like the twelve year old kid he used to be, watching his parents marriage fall apart and trying to find a way to protect himself. Gus loves this version of Shawn just as unconditionally as he loves the sarcastic, over-zealous person he’s become, but he hates the way that Shawn can’t ever just lower his defenses, that he pushes too hard and too far and they just come crashing down.
“I brought you Funyons,” Gus says after a minute.
“Yeah,” Shawn says, and he bites his lip, still staring at Gus with wide eyes.
Gus sighs and lifts his arm up, wrapping it around Shawn’s shoulders and tugging until Shawn is pressed against his side and Shawn’s cheek is resting against his shoulder. He picks up the remote and mutes the television before letting his fingers smooth back and forth across Shawn’s cloth covered arm. “You okay?” Gus asks quietly, but he already knows what the answer will be.
“No,” Shawn whispers. His breath ghosts across the front of Gus’ neck when he speaks, and Gus shivers a little involuntarily.
“Abigail?” Gus asks.
“I don’t know,” Shawn mumbles. “Maybe. Everything.”
There’s a long silence before Gus says, “Okay.”
They watch Heather Lockleare walk around on screen in an outfit that’s probably supposed to be business-wear but which, with a few alterations, could also probably pass as a dominatrix costume.
After a few minutes Shawn says, “She said I can’t be serious because I don’t know who I am. She said she needs stability.”
Gus squeezes his arm gently. “You know who you are,” he says. “Maybe she didn’t.”
Shawn huffs out a laugh. “Maybe she knew exactly who I am. Maybe she saw through everything and realized I’m a fuck up.”
Moments like these make Gus want to punch Henry, because no matter how much Shawn has changed or how hard he tries, he’ll always have that idea in his head that he isn’t good enough or serious enough or whatever enough to be anything but the screw up Henry used to tell him he was.
“You’re not a fuck up, Shawn,” Gus says. Shawn snorts against his shoulder and Gus clenches his jaw for a moment before he continues. “You started Psych,” he says, “and you’ve stayed in Santa Barbara for five years and you held your own against Jack.”
“I also started a slingshot academy which seemed like it was successful for a while but that fell apart, too. It’s only a matter of time.”
“You were ten, Shawn, and you had to stop because Benny Harverston shot a rock through the windshield of his father’s Mercedes and then gave you up.”
“Yeah, well,” Shawn mumbles.
Gus brings the arm not wrapped around Shawn’s shoulders up and presses his fingers under Shawn’s chin, tilting his face up so they’re looking at one another. “And you know what? If you had been in Benny’s shoes, you never would have ratted anyone out. You’re strong and loyal and you have integrity.”
Shawn huffs out another laugh, but he’s smiling slightly. “I wouldn’t rat someone out? That’s why I have integrity?”
“You also never stole candy from Mr. Glover’s store when he wasn’t looking,” Gus says, sliding his hand around to cup the back of Shawn’s neck.
“Gus, the man was like eighty-two years old and possibly legally blind.”
“A lot of the other kids did it.”
Shawn rolls his eyes. “Those are some stunning examples of my integrity, there.”
“And your moral fortitude,” Gus adds.
“Who says ‘moral fortitude?’”
“I do.”
Shawn’s smile grows a little and he leans forward to press his lips against Gus’ in a brief, chaste kiss. “Do I have other good qualities besides moral fortitude?” Shawn asks, and he sounds more like his normal self, but there’s still something quiet and tired in his voice.
“Well, you often refuse to listen to any practical advice that I give you, which shows independence,” Gus teases, running his thumb along the nape of Shawn’s neck.
“Usually you call that pigheaded-ness,” Shawn says.
“Same thing,” Gus says, and he pulls Shawn forward again, kissing him gently, waiting for Shawn to take control. And when he feels Shawn’s hand come up to cup his face and Shawn’s tongue swiping across his bottom lip, he goes with it, goes with whatever Shawn needs.
It’s not the first time that they’ve found themselves like this, with Shawn falling apart and Gus putting him back together, and with slow careful kisses on the couch or in bed. It doesn’t go farther than that, and Gus thinks it’s not because neither of them want it to. Just not like this, he thinks, not when Shawn needs it to help fix something else.
He isn’t exactly sure what they’re waiting for, but it hasn’t felt right yet, and he thinks that both he and Shawn know that. For now he’s content just to be there for Shawn.
...
Yay Shawn-and-Gus!