Psych Double Fic - 5 meme (Shassy)
Okay, girls and boys, here are two responses to your challenges. Thanks for the promps. It was good practice to just forget things like "plot points" and "chapter flow" and just write.
Two Stories for you. As usual, the parings are Shassy and I own nothing.
Five Books Shawn Never Read
Rating: PG-13
Summery: A picture is worth a thousand words, but words sure help fill in the blanks.
Much Ado About Nothing
“Lassy-face! What are you still doing here? Don’t you have a home? Hobby? Girlfriend? Pet fish?”
“Crime never sleeps, Mr. Spencer. You, of all people, should know this.”
“Is that… subtlety? I’m so proud of you.”
“I’m surprised you can pronounce subtlety without stuttering.”
“I can spell it too.”
“Alert the presses.”
“Wow, slow news day. The crime rates must be down. Hey! That would be thanks to me.”
“The only thing that’s thanks to you is my increased blood pressure.”
“Are you sure that’s not from your coffee?”
“Haha. Go away.”
“When are you going to admit I’m an assist?”
“When are you going to admit you’re a fake?”
“Such distain! You know I’m growing on you.”
“Yeah, like fungus.”
Chronicles of Narnia
As usual, Lassiter blinked first. Shawn grinned in victory as the older man snorted and stomped away.
“If only the man wasn’t such a sore loser. It’s sad really,” Shawn broke off when he saw Juliet’s glower.
“You know, Shawn, Lassiter’s going through a really hard time right now; he could use our support. And you don’t give him enough credit. It’s like Narnia. You’ve read Narnia, right?”
Shawn opened his mouth to inform Jules that Daddy Spencer’s idea of bedtime reading veered more towards the True Crime section of the library, but he had underestimated Jules’s need to pause for air.
“Of course you have, everyone’s read the Narnia books. So it’s like the closet, right? On the outside it looks just like a normal old, cranky closet that’s slowly being worn down by age and bitterness.”
Shawn made a mental note to never call Jules as a character witness on the off chance Chief Vick one day discovered that he was, in fact, a liar.
“But on the inside there’s this magical world that’s big and bright, and only a select few get to see, understand?”
Shawn nodded; it made perfect sense.
Jules grinned and patted his shoulder, “Good. Now be nicer to Lassiter.”
“Of course, Jules, anything for you.” Jules beamed and walked back to her desk, heels clicking. Shawn watched her for a moment before moving towards Lassiter’s desk.
Lassiter glared as Shawn approached, “What now?”
“I just wanted to apologize, Lassiter.”
Lassiter stared at him for a moment before his face twisted into a look that Shawn suspected would reflect the moment his ex-wife walked into the station to inform Lassiter she was running away with Buzz McNab.
“I’m confused?”
“Honestly, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable about anything. I had no idea you were in the closet.”
Ghost Radio
The mug of coffee had gone cold in Shawn’s hands. Gus sat in the hard, plastic chair next to him, oddly quiet but lending an air of support. This particular hospital wing moved slowly, the occasional ringing phone and squeak of shoes on the linoleum breaking the heavy silence.
Gus spoke, “Your coffee’s cold.”
“I know.”
“Do you want a fresh cup?”
“No.”
“Your dad… he’s strong, Shawn.”
Shawn turned to look at his friend. His mouth opened and closed a few times as he swallowed the irrational urge to punch Gus in the face.
Shawn stood up, “I'm going to use the bathroom.”
Gus nodded, but Shawn had already turned away. He turned down the hall, but where a right would lead him to the men’s room, Shawn took a left down a different corner. He followed the hall for a ways, not looking up or around. Finally, when his shoes scuffed against carpet, Shawn looked up.
He had reached a different waiting room. Unlike the ICU, the chairs were comfortable and large. It was also empty except for one man sitting in a corner flipping through a magazine.
The man looked up, “Spencer?”
“Lassiter.” Shawn acknowledged, “What are doing here?”
“Just waiting for an autopsy report.”
Shawn winced and Lassiter’s eyes narrowed, “What are you doing here?”
For a moment, Shawn considering turning around and walking out - he doubted Lassiter would follow him. But then he remembered Gus sitting in that blue plastic chair, holding a coffee cup, and looking worried on his behalf. Shawn sat down in the chair next to Lassiter, and stared at the peeling gray wall.
“My dad had a heart attack.”
Lassiter was silent for a few seconds, “How bad?”
Shawn felt something like a rush of relief, a feeling no more irrational than all the other emotions that had been coursing through him since The Phone Call.
“Bad. They don’t know if he’s going to make it.”
Lassiter said nothing, so Shawn continued; “I’ve hated him for so long. He made my childhood a living hell. Nothing I did was ever good enough for him; he was always pushing. I never forgave him for that, for never saying ‘good job, son’ or telling me… And now…”
Shawn broke off, and stared at his hands. Next to him, Lassiter shifted.
“My father used to smack my mom around.”
Shawn breathed out sharply, and for the first time focused on the man to his left.
“He left when I was thirteen, and I didn’t see him again until his funeral. I never stopped hating him.”
Shawn felt uncomfortable, “My father never -.”
“I know. It doesn’t matter. Fathers have a full range of arsenal they can aim on their children. The point is, do we forgive our fathers? And if we do, how?”
“And what will be left?” Shawn finished. Lassiter nodded tightly, and returned to his magazine. Shawn felt a rush of affection, and his stomach flipped strangely.
“I’ve got to go. Gus is waiting for me.”
The Princess Bride
“Wow, that vision took a lot out of me. Lassy, can I have some of your water?” Shawn collapsed in Vick’s chair, pointing to the bottle of water that had been in Lassiter’s hands since the beginning of Shawn’s episode.
“No.”
Shawn slouched lower in the chair and raised a hand to his forehead, making sure Lassiter could see it shake.
“I'd get my own, but I’m so very weak.”
Lassiter snorted.
“I might faint. It wouldn’t be the first time the spirits sucked more energy than I could manage,” Shawn whined. “Please?”
“As you wish,” Lassiter said, rolling his eyes and with only a faint trace of sarcasm. Vick’s eyebrows shot up into her bangs and O’Hara’s jaw dropped.
Spencer drank his water happily and ignored them. Girls were always weird.
Catch-22
Shawn groaned and let Lassiter push him back toward the bed. His legs hit the mattress, and Shawn pulled Lassiter down with him, groaning again at the full body contact.
“It’s a Catch-22, really.”
Shawn paused from tugging Lassiter shirt up to stare incredulously.
“A what?”
“A Catch-22. A no win situation.”
Shawn felt vaguely insulted, “No one’s ever complained before.”
Lassiter pulled back, “You’ve never read anything but the backs of cereal boxes, have you? Why am I not surprised?”
This time, Shawn’s groan was completely different as he covered his eyes and fell back onto the mattress.
“Do you really think now is the time to lecture me on literature?”
Warm hands moved confident at his waist, unbuttoning his fly and pulling down his zipper. Shawn looked up, interest peaking again.
“Literature isn’t about the plot.” Lassiter continued nonchalantly. Shawn found it incredibly hot.
“It’s about the theme, and how it applies to real life situations.” Lassiter tugged at the belt loops, and Shawn lifted his hips so his jeans could be pulled down.
“A Catch-22 is a no win situation. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.” Lassiter threw Shawn’s jeans to the side and started to work on his own clothes - slowly unbuttoning his shirt. A pulse traveled through Shawn’s body and went straight to his groin.
“You see if I accept your psychic story, which is total crap, I’ll become the laughing stalk of the station. However, if you tell the truth, I’ll have to arrest you.”
Shawn tilted his head, considering, as Lassiter pulled off his own socks and stood completely naked. The man had a point.
“So what do we do?”
Lassiter smiled wickedly, and lowered himself so he was on top of Shawn. Shawn could feel Lassiter’s erection hard against his hip, and he moan and writhed against it. Tugging lightly on Shawn’s hair, Lassiter brought the other man’s attention back.
“We find a lifeboat, and row like hell.”
Five Times Shawn Was Completely Honest With Lassiter
Rating: R
Summery: A quick profile of Shawn Spencer
Lassiter is good at his job. Yes, Shawn can swoop in and solve the unsolvable, but that doesn’t change the fact that Lassiter became the youngest Head Detective in Santa Barbara history because he is good at his job.
He knows how to work a crime scene, how to triangulate shots in high-pressure situations, and how to judge which instincts to follow and which to discard.
Lassiter can do all these tasks and do them well. But when the moments in the Interview Room come, where it’s just him and the suspect staring at each other across a table, he’s more than good.
He’s unstoppable.
Lassiter can read people. And that’s why he’s fairly confident that Shawn has been completely honest with him only about five times.
The first time occurred when one night, on a stake out with O’Hara stretched out and asleep in the back seat, Lassiter offered Shawn some of his dinner.
Shawn shook his head, “Thanks but no thanks, Lassy-Face. I’m allergic to strawberries.”
Lassiter nodded, his chest twitching oddly.
The second moment came about a year later. Lassiter had been working at his desk when the back of his neck prickled. Glancing behind him, Lassiter saw that Shawn was staring intently at him.
“What?” Lassiter snapped a bit more harshly than he intended, but Shawn grinned.
“Are you using less hair product?”
“Yes…” Lassiter said suspiciously, “What business of that is yours?”
Shawn shrugged, “Nothing. I like it.”
Shawn walked away, but it took Lassiter a few breaths before he could move again.
The third time happened within a smaller interval than the one between the first and second. Gus had been away at some pharmacy conference, and Shawn had just knocked on Lassiter’s door.
Lassiter glared because he was confused and didn’t know how else to react to a pizza carrying, awkward looking Shawn Spencer.
“Is this a joke?” Lassiter asked tightly.
Shawn shifted and his smile was a weak imitation of his normal one, “Nope. No joke.”
Lassiter let Shawn in.
The fourth time was later that night. Shawn didn’t say anything to Lassiter; he just kissed him. Lassiter dropped the pizza in favor clutching Shawn’s shoulder to pull him closer. Shawn’s lips where greasy and tasted like cheese, but Lassiter leaned closer and, when Shawn opened his mouth for him, he was totally lost.
The fifth and final time was yesterday night. Shawn’s palms skidded across the headboard of the bed as Lassiter thrust into him, hard and deep. He wrapped his arms around Shawn’s middle and pressed close to feel the moans the vibrated through Shawn’s chest.
And then Shawn was shuddering and trembling erratically.
“Oh, god, oh fuck, Carlton… I… I’m… love you…”
Lassiter gasped and almost froze, but then Shawn’s whole body clenched and tightened around him, and, just like that, pleasure was slicing through him like a knife as he rode the waves of his orgasm.
Today, Lassiter finishes the profile. Shawn Spencer’s the kind of man that only tells the truth when it completely matters. And Lassiter can live with that.
Two Stories for you. As usual, the parings are Shassy and I own nothing.
Five Books Shawn Never Read
Rating: PG-13
Summery: A picture is worth a thousand words, but words sure help fill in the blanks.
Much Ado About Nothing
“Lassy-face! What are you still doing here? Don’t you have a home? Hobby? Girlfriend? Pet fish?”
“Crime never sleeps, Mr. Spencer. You, of all people, should know this.”
“Is that… subtlety? I’m so proud of you.”
“I’m surprised you can pronounce subtlety without stuttering.”
“I can spell it too.”
“Alert the presses.”
“Wow, slow news day. The crime rates must be down. Hey! That would be thanks to me.”
“The only thing that’s thanks to you is my increased blood pressure.”
“Are you sure that’s not from your coffee?”
“Haha. Go away.”
“When are you going to admit I’m an assist?”
“When are you going to admit you’re a fake?”
“Such distain! You know I’m growing on you.”
“Yeah, like fungus.”
Chronicles of Narnia
As usual, Lassiter blinked first. Shawn grinned in victory as the older man snorted and stomped away.
“If only the man wasn’t such a sore loser. It’s sad really,” Shawn broke off when he saw Juliet’s glower.
“You know, Shawn, Lassiter’s going through a really hard time right now; he could use our support. And you don’t give him enough credit. It’s like Narnia. You’ve read Narnia, right?”
Shawn opened his mouth to inform Jules that Daddy Spencer’s idea of bedtime reading veered more towards the True Crime section of the library, but he had underestimated Jules’s need to pause for air.
“Of course you have, everyone’s read the Narnia books. So it’s like the closet, right? On the outside it looks just like a normal old, cranky closet that’s slowly being worn down by age and bitterness.”
Shawn made a mental note to never call Jules as a character witness on the off chance Chief Vick one day discovered that he was, in fact, a liar.
“But on the inside there’s this magical world that’s big and bright, and only a select few get to see, understand?”
Shawn nodded; it made perfect sense.
Jules grinned and patted his shoulder, “Good. Now be nicer to Lassiter.”
“Of course, Jules, anything for you.” Jules beamed and walked back to her desk, heels clicking. Shawn watched her for a moment before moving towards Lassiter’s desk.
Lassiter glared as Shawn approached, “What now?”
“I just wanted to apologize, Lassiter.”
Lassiter stared at him for a moment before his face twisted into a look that Shawn suspected would reflect the moment his ex-wife walked into the station to inform Lassiter she was running away with Buzz McNab.
“I’m confused?”
“Honestly, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable about anything. I had no idea you were in the closet.”
Ghost Radio
The mug of coffee had gone cold in Shawn’s hands. Gus sat in the hard, plastic chair next to him, oddly quiet but lending an air of support. This particular hospital wing moved slowly, the occasional ringing phone and squeak of shoes on the linoleum breaking the heavy silence.
Gus spoke, “Your coffee’s cold.”
“I know.”
“Do you want a fresh cup?”
“No.”
“Your dad… he’s strong, Shawn.”
Shawn turned to look at his friend. His mouth opened and closed a few times as he swallowed the irrational urge to punch Gus in the face.
Shawn stood up, “I'm going to use the bathroom.”
Gus nodded, but Shawn had already turned away. He turned down the hall, but where a right would lead him to the men’s room, Shawn took a left down a different corner. He followed the hall for a ways, not looking up or around. Finally, when his shoes scuffed against carpet, Shawn looked up.
He had reached a different waiting room. Unlike the ICU, the chairs were comfortable and large. It was also empty except for one man sitting in a corner flipping through a magazine.
The man looked up, “Spencer?”
“Lassiter.” Shawn acknowledged, “What are doing here?”
“Just waiting for an autopsy report.”
Shawn winced and Lassiter’s eyes narrowed, “What are you doing here?”
For a moment, Shawn considering turning around and walking out - he doubted Lassiter would follow him. But then he remembered Gus sitting in that blue plastic chair, holding a coffee cup, and looking worried on his behalf. Shawn sat down in the chair next to Lassiter, and stared at the peeling gray wall.
“My dad had a heart attack.”
Lassiter was silent for a few seconds, “How bad?”
Shawn felt something like a rush of relief, a feeling no more irrational than all the other emotions that had been coursing through him since The Phone Call.
“Bad. They don’t know if he’s going to make it.”
Lassiter said nothing, so Shawn continued; “I’ve hated him for so long. He made my childhood a living hell. Nothing I did was ever good enough for him; he was always pushing. I never forgave him for that, for never saying ‘good job, son’ or telling me… And now…”
Shawn broke off, and stared at his hands. Next to him, Lassiter shifted.
“My father used to smack my mom around.”
Shawn breathed out sharply, and for the first time focused on the man to his left.
“He left when I was thirteen, and I didn’t see him again until his funeral. I never stopped hating him.”
Shawn felt uncomfortable, “My father never -.”
“I know. It doesn’t matter. Fathers have a full range of arsenal they can aim on their children. The point is, do we forgive our fathers? And if we do, how?”
“And what will be left?” Shawn finished. Lassiter nodded tightly, and returned to his magazine. Shawn felt a rush of affection, and his stomach flipped strangely.
“I’ve got to go. Gus is waiting for me.”
The Princess Bride
“Wow, that vision took a lot out of me. Lassy, can I have some of your water?” Shawn collapsed in Vick’s chair, pointing to the bottle of water that had been in Lassiter’s hands since the beginning of Shawn’s episode.
“No.”
Shawn slouched lower in the chair and raised a hand to his forehead, making sure Lassiter could see it shake.
“I'd get my own, but I’m so very weak.”
Lassiter snorted.
“I might faint. It wouldn’t be the first time the spirits sucked more energy than I could manage,” Shawn whined. “Please?”
“As you wish,” Lassiter said, rolling his eyes and with only a faint trace of sarcasm. Vick’s eyebrows shot up into her bangs and O’Hara’s jaw dropped.
Spencer drank his water happily and ignored them. Girls were always weird.
Catch-22
Shawn groaned and let Lassiter push him back toward the bed. His legs hit the mattress, and Shawn pulled Lassiter down with him, groaning again at the full body contact.
“It’s a Catch-22, really.”
Shawn paused from tugging Lassiter shirt up to stare incredulously.
“A what?”
“A Catch-22. A no win situation.”
Shawn felt vaguely insulted, “No one’s ever complained before.”
Lassiter pulled back, “You’ve never read anything but the backs of cereal boxes, have you? Why am I not surprised?”
This time, Shawn’s groan was completely different as he covered his eyes and fell back onto the mattress.
“Do you really think now is the time to lecture me on literature?”
Warm hands moved confident at his waist, unbuttoning his fly and pulling down his zipper. Shawn looked up, interest peaking again.
“Literature isn’t about the plot.” Lassiter continued nonchalantly. Shawn found it incredibly hot.
“It’s about the theme, and how it applies to real life situations.” Lassiter tugged at the belt loops, and Shawn lifted his hips so his jeans could be pulled down.
“A Catch-22 is a no win situation. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.” Lassiter threw Shawn’s jeans to the side and started to work on his own clothes - slowly unbuttoning his shirt. A pulse traveled through Shawn’s body and went straight to his groin.
“You see if I accept your psychic story, which is total crap, I’ll become the laughing stalk of the station. However, if you tell the truth, I’ll have to arrest you.”
Shawn tilted his head, considering, as Lassiter pulled off his own socks and stood completely naked. The man had a point.
“So what do we do?”
Lassiter smiled wickedly, and lowered himself so he was on top of Shawn. Shawn could feel Lassiter’s erection hard against his hip, and he moan and writhed against it. Tugging lightly on Shawn’s hair, Lassiter brought the other man’s attention back.
“We find a lifeboat, and row like hell.”
Five Times Shawn Was Completely Honest With Lassiter
Rating: R
Summery: A quick profile of Shawn Spencer
Lassiter is good at his job. Yes, Shawn can swoop in and solve the unsolvable, but that doesn’t change the fact that Lassiter became the youngest Head Detective in Santa Barbara history because he is good at his job.
He knows how to work a crime scene, how to triangulate shots in high-pressure situations, and how to judge which instincts to follow and which to discard.
Lassiter can do all these tasks and do them well. But when the moments in the Interview Room come, where it’s just him and the suspect staring at each other across a table, he’s more than good.
He’s unstoppable.
Lassiter can read people. And that’s why he’s fairly confident that Shawn has been completely honest with him only about five times.
The first time occurred when one night, on a stake out with O’Hara stretched out and asleep in the back seat, Lassiter offered Shawn some of his dinner.
Shawn shook his head, “Thanks but no thanks, Lassy-Face. I’m allergic to strawberries.”
Lassiter nodded, his chest twitching oddly.
The second moment came about a year later. Lassiter had been working at his desk when the back of his neck prickled. Glancing behind him, Lassiter saw that Shawn was staring intently at him.
“What?” Lassiter snapped a bit more harshly than he intended, but Shawn grinned.
“Are you using less hair product?”
“Yes…” Lassiter said suspiciously, “What business of that is yours?”
Shawn shrugged, “Nothing. I like it.”
Shawn walked away, but it took Lassiter a few breaths before he could move again.
The third time happened within a smaller interval than the one between the first and second. Gus had been away at some pharmacy conference, and Shawn had just knocked on Lassiter’s door.
Lassiter glared because he was confused and didn’t know how else to react to a pizza carrying, awkward looking Shawn Spencer.
“Is this a joke?” Lassiter asked tightly.
Shawn shifted and his smile was a weak imitation of his normal one, “Nope. No joke.”
Lassiter let Shawn in.
The fourth time was later that night. Shawn didn’t say anything to Lassiter; he just kissed him. Lassiter dropped the pizza in favor clutching Shawn’s shoulder to pull him closer. Shawn’s lips where greasy and tasted like cheese, but Lassiter leaned closer and, when Shawn opened his mouth for him, he was totally lost.
The fifth and final time was yesterday night. Shawn’s palms skidded across the headboard of the bed as Lassiter thrust into him, hard and deep. He wrapped his arms around Shawn’s middle and pressed close to feel the moans the vibrated through Shawn’s chest.
And then Shawn was shuddering and trembling erratically.
“Oh, god, oh fuck, Carlton… I… I’m… love you…”
Lassiter gasped and almost froze, but then Shawn’s whole body clenched and tightened around him, and, just like that, pleasure was slicing through him like a knife as he rode the waves of his orgasm.
Today, Lassiter finishes the profile. Shawn Spencer’s the kind of man that only tells the truth when it completely matters. And Lassiter can live with that.