Comment Fic Collection #3 - Cheesy Lines and Escape Plans
It took me awhile, but I finally have enough comment fic to make another dump...
FANDOMS: 4 Psych, 1 Torchwood, 1 Inception
PAIRINGS: 3 Shawn/Lassiter; 1 Gus/Juliet; 1 Gwen/Owen, Gwen/Rhys; 1 Arthur/Eames
RATING: PG to PG-13
WARNINGS: #1 for cheesy musical reenactment, #2 for interrupted self-love, #3 for adorableness...and I think I've run out of warnings :/
SUMMARY: I don't even know...
#1 - In which Shawn and Gus break into a car museum (pre-Shawn/Lassiter PG)
for carolbrown "that time Shawn and Gus caught Lassie reenacting a scene from Grease and how Shawn not so secretly thought it was hot."
"Tell me again, Shawn, why we're trespassing in an antique car museum when there's a squad car parked outside doing surveillance," Gus hissed as he waited for his best friend to check around the corner to make sure the coast was clear.
"Because, Gus, Lassie won't let us see the crime scene in the daytime and I know I can solve this if I can just see where they found the body," Shawn explained. Gus found himself incapable of arguing with Shawn as he was forced to keep up as his friend disappeared around the corner.
They were just about to enter the largest room in the museum, the one housing the exhibit of 1950s automobiles, when they heard a voice, singing just slightly off key. Gus was ready to turn and run, thinking that meant they'd neglected to consider the presence of a security guard. But Shawn, the most perpetually curious individual Gus had ever met, was creeping forward toward the entryway. Gus, being the excellent friend he was, had no choice but to follow with the goal of keeping him out of trouble.
The singing wasn't coming from a night security guard, but from a very familiar figure in a cheap suit. A very familiar figure in a cheap suit who was also dancing. Dancing and still singing. It only took Gus a moment to recognize the lyrics.
"Is he..?" Gus began in disbelief.
"Dude, he totally is," Shawn replied in awe, his gaze fixed on the Head Detective of the Santa Barbara PD in the middle of a terrible rendition of Grease Lighting.
"That's messed up," Gus said, wincing as he watched Lassiter's arms flail. Shawn didn't respond, his eyes still following the moves. Gus recognized the expression on his friend's face. "Shawn..." he said, hoping he was wrong about what he was seeing in his friend.
"Shhh!" Shawn hissed. "Don't interrupt Lassie!" He was practically drooling over the detective.
"Oh god," Gus muttered, closing his eyes. They snapped open again when he heard Shawn take in a sharp breath. "Oh. God," he repeated as watched Lassiter execute a clumsy hip thrust.
"Dude, we are totally breaking into museums more often!"
/end
#2 - In which Carlton "scrapbooks" and Shawn wants to "decoupage" (pre-Shawn/Lassiter PG-13ish)
for xela_fic "That time Lassiter was totally NOT doing that thing and Shawn totally didn't catch him (except he really, really did )."
Somehow one late-November evening, Carlton Lassiter found himself playing host to a temporarily-homeless Shawn Spencer. There'd been some freakishly elaborate story about giant, mutant mouse-cockroach hybrids staging a revolution in the basement of Spencer's apartment building, but Carlton figured that just meant the place was being fumigated. For whatever reason, Shawn had chosen his doorstep on which to show up looking hopeful.
The detective didn't do well with roommates; never had. He was pretty certain a major factor in his and Victoria's divorce stemmed from the fact he's impossible to live with. He needed his own space and Victoria had always stressed the importance of "ours" in their relationship. Sometimes he doesn't know why he was so surprised when those divorce papers were handed to him.
Spencer, shockingly, had managed to keep (mostly) to himself the past two nights he'd been crashing in Lassiter's guest room. He'd mumbled something about a missing canine case that was taking up all his free time, but Carlton hadn't really paid that much attention. Wherever Shawn might have been, Lassiter had been relieved to return to an apparently empty house after an especially long day at the station. He desperately needed a good night's sleep and, as he shuffled toward the master bedroom, he considered the fastest way to achieve the state of relaxation he required.
Lassiter wasn't particularly a fan of...suggestive...materials, but there was one magazine his brother had given him as a gag gift that he'd felt compelled to hang onto. It'd been well used over the years, particularly since he first separated from Victoria, but the men within still seemed to do enough for Carlton to satisfy his needs. Being a creature of habit had its benefits, apparently.
He shucked his shirt and tie as soon as he reached the bedroom, unbuckling his pants as he moved toward the dresser and the bottom drawer he kept the magazine in (it wasn't hidden, exactly, just...kept out of the way). Carlton sat with a sigh on the edge of the bed as he flipped open the magazine. He slid a hand inside his boxers, palming himself idly as tried to decide between pages six and nineteen. It didn't really matter, he knew he could get off on either.
"Page eight's my favorite," a voice suddenly came from behind him. Lassiter jumped, quickly pulling his hand from his underwear as he twisted to face Shawn, stepping casually out into the middle of the room.
"Spencer, what the hell were you doing in my closet!?" Lassiter demanded. He started to stand from the bed, but quickly thought better of it, wondering how obvious it'd be if he slid the nearest pillow over into his lap...
"Trying to find where you hid my Christmas present. What are you doing on your bed, Lassie?" Spencer asked, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. Lassiter could feel himself turning beet red. Logically, he knew he shouldn't be so mortified. Guys beat off, it was just a given fact of life. Lassiter had just never been caught at it before. He tried desperately to fabricate a cover story.
"Scrapbooking," he blurted suddenly. He very briefly flashed the magazine in Shawn's direction, remembering the clutter of periodicals Victoria had amassed the one brief winter she'd attempted the hobby.
Shawn's grin widened and Carlton really wanted to grab that pillow. "Dude, I scrapbook all the time," he confided, as he moved toward the door. "Just be careful with your glue stick, Lassibator; no one likes sticky pages!"
Lassiter breathed a sigh of relief when Spencer was finally out the door. Of course, by then he didn't even need the pillow or the magazine, too embarrassed to have any lingering interest in the latter. He was just standing from the bed, ready to take a cold shower, when Shawn's head appeared around the door again.
"Hey! Maybe we could decoupage together later!" Shawn suggested cheerfully. "I've even got my own glue stick!" With a wink, Shawn ducked away again, leaving a suddenly re-aroused detective in his wake.
/end
#3 - In which Shawn's annoying but good things come of it (Gus/Juliet PG)
for enfeebledchi "Gus/Juliet. Shawn is stupid and they complain about him. ALCOHOL MAY BE A FACTOR. Smoochies ensue."
Juliet was surprised to open her front door to find Burton Guster standing on her porch. He looked flustered as he shoved a paper sack at her.
"Shawn claims he borrowed this from you," he said, sounding very much like he didn't believe his best friend.
Juliet opened the sack cautiously, not sure she wanted to see what Shawn had claimed was hers. Inside was a vintage Thingmaker. She looked from the sack to Gus, raising a confused eyebrow.
"I didn't include the mold he custom made for it..." Gus said by way of explanation. Juliet decided it'd probably be best not to ask.
"Well, it's not mine. But I'm guessing you probably don't want it back either..." Gus shook his head emphatically in the negative. Juliet gave him an assessing look before she stepped aside. "Would you like to come in?" she asked him. "I DVRed last night's American Duos auditions..."
"I would love to come in, Juliet. Someone cleared our DVR to make room for repeats of Saved by the Bell."
Gus accepted the beer Juliet offered him as they settled in on the sofa. Before Juliet could pick up the remote, Gus started talking.
"Do you know how often I have to clean up after him?" he asked. Juliet sat back against the cushions with her own beer, figuring she should just let Gus rant it out. Working with Lassiter had given her a near-infinite amount of patience.
"And it's not like he's just leaving papers lying around or that he forgets to empty his trashcan...the over day I found a hamster in one of those ball things stuck under his desk. A HAMSTER! When I asked Shawn about it he said the hamster had been missing for days. FOR DAYS! Who just misplaces a hamster in a glow-in-the-dark ball!?"
Juliet fought really hard not to laugh at Gus's indignation. There was just something so adorable about the way his voice changed when he got all worked up. She covered her smile with a long drink of her beer.
"I mean, he's my best friend. And things are never boring when he's around. He's just so...so..."
"Shawn?" Juliet finished for him, stretching forward to set her beer on the coffee table.
Gus gave her a sheepish look as he whispered, "Yeah." Juliet couldn't help it, she had to lean in and kiss that quirk of his lips. His eyes were wide when she pulled back. "Did you mean to do that?" he asked, sounding slightly awed. Juliet smiled.
"Definitely," she confirmed.
"I hear that," Gus murmured before he pulled her close for another kiss.
/end
[The next three were part of a "Pick a number from my iTunes and I'll write you a drabble" meme.]
#4 - In which Shawn asks Carlton for a rocket (Shawn/Lassiter PG-ish)
for tju_tju_tju_tju "964 [Cosy in the Rocket - Psapp], Shawn/Lassiter, comic books."
Carlton cracked one eye open as the mattress dipped behind him. The alarm clock was positioned on the nightstand so he could see it easily: 4 a.m. Apparently, the detective was coming to figure out, this was Spencer’s bedtime. He closed his eyes again, hoping Shawn would take his example and go to sleep quickly.
“Lassie? Are you asleep?” Shawn asked in a hissed whisper. Lassiter rolled his eyes behind his eyelids.
“Yes, Spencer,” he grumbled. “Leave me alone.” He wasn’t all that surprised when Shawn suddenly draped himself across his back and side.
“I gotta ask you something,” Shawn whispered in his ear before he planted a kiss to the side of Carlton’s neck. Lassiter groaned but he’d been sleeping with the other man long enough to know he’d never get to sleep if he didn’t let Spencer just ask whatever the hell he wanted to ask.
“What?” he grouched. He rolled onto his back, dislodging Shawn so he could face him in the mostly dark room.
“Will you buy me a rocket?” Carlton blinked at him, feeling baffled. Maybe he wasn’t actually awake.
“What?” he repeated. Shawn gave him his long-suffering sigh and Lassiter heard the rustle of paper.
“A rocket; there’s an ad in the latest issue of Unholy Balthazar: one rocket, for only $6.99 shipping and handling!” Lassiter continued to blink at him in confusion.
“You woke me up to ask if I’d buy you a cheap toy out of a comic book?” he asked slowly.
“You’re right, Lassie.” Lassiter heard the words, but wasn’t quite sure he trusted them as they came out of Shawn’s mouth. He heard the rustle of paper again before something hit the floor with a soft thunk. “We’ll just go to the hobby shop tomorrow and I’ll let you build me one.” Lassiter huffed a breath and was about to launch a complaint when Shawn’s mouth landed on top of his own. He groaned a different kind of groan as he felt Shawn’s hand drifting down his stomach. Shawn shifted closer as he pressed kisses along Carlton’s jaw. “Meanwhile,” he murmured into Lassiter’s skin, “back in the Cozy Castle, since the Mighty Lassicus was already awake...”
/end
#5 - In which Gwen goes for take-away (Gwen/Owen, Gwen/Rhys PG)
for vanitykidman "#1873 [Buddha's Delight - Haley Bennett], TW Owen/Gwen"
It’s ridiculous, really, how easy it is for Gwen to slip out of the flat. All she has to do is mention take-away and her lengthy absence is easily explained by a long queue or a messed up order. The more she gets away with it, the more she wants it; it almost feels like the universe is giving her something in exchange for the hell she’s come to live through every day at Torchwood.
She doesn’t even really like Owen. He’s an ass most of the time; nowhere near the sweetheart Rhys is. But for some reason she gets off on it and Owen is always willing to do the sorts of things Rhys is always too embarrassed and awkward to even discuss.
“What’s the happy couple dining on tonight?” Owen taunts as he kisses her newly exposed shoulder.
“Shut up,” she orders, even as she tries to remember what Rhys’ favorite dish is from that place down the street...
Owen’s looking down at her and Gwen can’t figure out what that look on his face means. She almost asks; it’s right on the tip of her tongue...but then his mouth’s on hers and she settles for telling herself that this is her reward for a hard day’s work...
/end
#6 - In which Arthur unexpectedly runs into Eames; literally (Arthur/Eames PG)
for fly_meaway "1314 [Corridors and Fire Escapes - Murray Gold], Inception, Arthur/Eames"
Down the corridor, third door on the right... Arthur counts as he jogs down the hall, all the while cursing his latest client. The armed gunmen in the lobby had been Arthur’s first clue that the meet was a set-up. Now he’s racing through the upper floors of the hotel, trying to find his pre-determined exit before the henchmen figure out he ditched the elevator halfway down.
Many of his colleagues over the years have complained about Arthur’s obsession with the details. They say he makes too much of even the simplest jobs. Perhaps it’s true he’s a bit excessive at times, but he can’t help but thank himself for his own preparedness as he uses his procured key card to slip into room 414. The beauty in this particular hotel lies in the still-functioning external fire escape, leading all the way down to the side alley Arthur had parked his car in. The window sticks a bit, but Arthur’s learned to persuade even inanimate objects to bend to his will, and soon he’s climbing out onto the steel structure.
Arthur moves quickly down the steps to the next level, forcing himself to keep his breathing level in case he has to blend into a crowd when he reaches the ground. He’s tried explaining to his more skeptical colleagues that there’s a very good reason he prefers to wear suits while working in an urban environment; most of them just laugh in his face.
Arthur is rounding the corner to the third floor when he collides suddenly with another body. It takes a dazed second for both he and the other man to gather their wits, but very quickly they’re grabbing onto each other, both fighting to be the one to slam the other up against the rail. “Arthur?” a voice asks and the man he’s grasping by the biceps suddenly stills. Arthur uses the moment to press the man up against the rail, wondering if he can loosen his grip enough to reach for the handgun concealed beneath his suit jacket. He hesitates when he finally looks down at the man he has half bent backward over the rail.
“Eames!?” he croaks in surprise. It’s been nearly two years since he last saw the forger; not since the job they were working in Barcelona went south. They’re not exactly friends, but Arthur is reluctant to call him an enemy. Still, there’s apparently a price on his head and Eames is nothing if not opportunistic.
There’s a crash from above and Arthur can hear shouting from the roof. It’s only a matter of seconds before men with guns start storming down the escape toward them. Arthur has no clue what to do with Eames; this definitely hadn’t been in his escape plan.
The forger solves Arthur’s dilemma for him, grabbing Arthur by the arm and hurling him toward the last set of steps before the ladder to the pavement. Arthur goes along with the momentum, if only because Eames crowds him from behind and doesn’t give him the chance to go any other direction.
“If I’d known Rhys was after you,” Eames says with a grunt as he drops down into the alley next to Arthur. “I might have been able to stop this bloody mess.” Arthur is leading him toward his escape vehicle without even really thinking about it.
“It’s not like I think to keep you up-to-date on my constant whereabouts,” Arthur grumbles as he slides in behind the wheel. He lets Eames get halfway settled in the passenger seat before he speeds out of the alley.
“Well, maybe you should consider it, love. I’m very resourceful, you know.” Arthur spares a glance for Eames even as he swerves through downtown traffic. Eames gives him a small smile. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Arthur,” he says in a voice so smooth Arthur practically gags on it.
“You have a place nearby?” Arthur asks instead. He doesn’t look, but he can feel the grin aimed at him from the next seat.
/end
FANDOMS: 4 Psych, 1 Torchwood, 1 Inception
PAIRINGS: 3 Shawn/Lassiter; 1 Gus/Juliet; 1 Gwen/Owen, Gwen/Rhys; 1 Arthur/Eames
RATING: PG to PG-13
WARNINGS: #1 for cheesy musical reenactment, #2 for interrupted self-love, #3 for adorableness...and I think I've run out of warnings :/
SUMMARY: I don't even know...
#1 - In which Shawn and Gus break into a car museum (pre-Shawn/Lassiter PG)
for carolbrown "that time Shawn and Gus caught Lassie reenacting a scene from Grease and how Shawn not so secretly thought it was hot."
"Tell me again, Shawn, why we're trespassing in an antique car museum when there's a squad car parked outside doing surveillance," Gus hissed as he waited for his best friend to check around the corner to make sure the coast was clear.
"Because, Gus, Lassie won't let us see the crime scene in the daytime and I know I can solve this if I can just see where they found the body," Shawn explained. Gus found himself incapable of arguing with Shawn as he was forced to keep up as his friend disappeared around the corner.
They were just about to enter the largest room in the museum, the one housing the exhibit of 1950s automobiles, when they heard a voice, singing just slightly off key. Gus was ready to turn and run, thinking that meant they'd neglected to consider the presence of a security guard. But Shawn, the most perpetually curious individual Gus had ever met, was creeping forward toward the entryway. Gus, being the excellent friend he was, had no choice but to follow with the goal of keeping him out of trouble.
The singing wasn't coming from a night security guard, but from a very familiar figure in a cheap suit. A very familiar figure in a cheap suit who was also dancing. Dancing and still singing. It only took Gus a moment to recognize the lyrics.
"Is he..?" Gus began in disbelief.
"Dude, he totally is," Shawn replied in awe, his gaze fixed on the Head Detective of the Santa Barbara PD in the middle of a terrible rendition of Grease Lighting.
"That's messed up," Gus said, wincing as he watched Lassiter's arms flail. Shawn didn't respond, his eyes still following the moves. Gus recognized the expression on his friend's face. "Shawn..." he said, hoping he was wrong about what he was seeing in his friend.
"Shhh!" Shawn hissed. "Don't interrupt Lassie!" He was practically drooling over the detective.
"Oh god," Gus muttered, closing his eyes. They snapped open again when he heard Shawn take in a sharp breath. "Oh. God," he repeated as watched Lassiter execute a clumsy hip thrust.
"Dude, we are totally breaking into museums more often!"
/end
#2 - In which Carlton "scrapbooks" and Shawn wants to "decoupage" (pre-Shawn/Lassiter PG-13ish)
for xela_fic "That time Lassiter was totally NOT doing that thing and Shawn totally didn't catch him (except he really, really did )."
Somehow one late-November evening, Carlton Lassiter found himself playing host to a temporarily-homeless Shawn Spencer. There'd been some freakishly elaborate story about giant, mutant mouse-cockroach hybrids staging a revolution in the basement of Spencer's apartment building, but Carlton figured that just meant the place was being fumigated. For whatever reason, Shawn had chosen his doorstep on which to show up looking hopeful.
The detective didn't do well with roommates; never had. He was pretty certain a major factor in his and Victoria's divorce stemmed from the fact he's impossible to live with. He needed his own space and Victoria had always stressed the importance of "ours" in their relationship. Sometimes he doesn't know why he was so surprised when those divorce papers were handed to him.
Spencer, shockingly, had managed to keep (mostly) to himself the past two nights he'd been crashing in Lassiter's guest room. He'd mumbled something about a missing canine case that was taking up all his free time, but Carlton hadn't really paid that much attention. Wherever Shawn might have been, Lassiter had been relieved to return to an apparently empty house after an especially long day at the station. He desperately needed a good night's sleep and, as he shuffled toward the master bedroom, he considered the fastest way to achieve the state of relaxation he required.
Lassiter wasn't particularly a fan of...suggestive...materials, but there was one magazine his brother had given him as a gag gift that he'd felt compelled to hang onto. It'd been well used over the years, particularly since he first separated from Victoria, but the men within still seemed to do enough for Carlton to satisfy his needs. Being a creature of habit had its benefits, apparently.
He shucked his shirt and tie as soon as he reached the bedroom, unbuckling his pants as he moved toward the dresser and the bottom drawer he kept the magazine in (it wasn't hidden, exactly, just...kept out of the way). Carlton sat with a sigh on the edge of the bed as he flipped open the magazine. He slid a hand inside his boxers, palming himself idly as tried to decide between pages six and nineteen. It didn't really matter, he knew he could get off on either.
"Page eight's my favorite," a voice suddenly came from behind him. Lassiter jumped, quickly pulling his hand from his underwear as he twisted to face Shawn, stepping casually out into the middle of the room.
"Spencer, what the hell were you doing in my closet!?" Lassiter demanded. He started to stand from the bed, but quickly thought better of it, wondering how obvious it'd be if he slid the nearest pillow over into his lap...
"Trying to find where you hid my Christmas present. What are you doing on your bed, Lassie?" Spencer asked, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. Lassiter could feel himself turning beet red. Logically, he knew he shouldn't be so mortified. Guys beat off, it was just a given fact of life. Lassiter had just never been caught at it before. He tried desperately to fabricate a cover story.
"Scrapbooking," he blurted suddenly. He very briefly flashed the magazine in Shawn's direction, remembering the clutter of periodicals Victoria had amassed the one brief winter she'd attempted the hobby.
Shawn's grin widened and Carlton really wanted to grab that pillow. "Dude, I scrapbook all the time," he confided, as he moved toward the door. "Just be careful with your glue stick, Lassibator; no one likes sticky pages!"
Lassiter breathed a sigh of relief when Spencer was finally out the door. Of course, by then he didn't even need the pillow or the magazine, too embarrassed to have any lingering interest in the latter. He was just standing from the bed, ready to take a cold shower, when Shawn's head appeared around the door again.
"Hey! Maybe we could decoupage together later!" Shawn suggested cheerfully. "I've even got my own glue stick!" With a wink, Shawn ducked away again, leaving a suddenly re-aroused detective in his wake.
/end
#3 - In which Shawn's annoying but good things come of it (Gus/Juliet PG)
for enfeebledchi "Gus/Juliet. Shawn is stupid and they complain about him. ALCOHOL MAY BE A FACTOR. Smoochies ensue."
Juliet was surprised to open her front door to find Burton Guster standing on her porch. He looked flustered as he shoved a paper sack at her.
"Shawn claims he borrowed this from you," he said, sounding very much like he didn't believe his best friend.
Juliet opened the sack cautiously, not sure she wanted to see what Shawn had claimed was hers. Inside was a vintage Thingmaker. She looked from the sack to Gus, raising a confused eyebrow.
"I didn't include the mold he custom made for it..." Gus said by way of explanation. Juliet decided it'd probably be best not to ask.
"Well, it's not mine. But I'm guessing you probably don't want it back either..." Gus shook his head emphatically in the negative. Juliet gave him an assessing look before she stepped aside. "Would you like to come in?" she asked him. "I DVRed last night's American Duos auditions..."
"I would love to come in, Juliet. Someone cleared our DVR to make room for repeats of Saved by the Bell."
Gus accepted the beer Juliet offered him as they settled in on the sofa. Before Juliet could pick up the remote, Gus started talking.
"Do you know how often I have to clean up after him?" he asked. Juliet sat back against the cushions with her own beer, figuring she should just let Gus rant it out. Working with Lassiter had given her a near-infinite amount of patience.
"And it's not like he's just leaving papers lying around or that he forgets to empty his trashcan...the over day I found a hamster in one of those ball things stuck under his desk. A HAMSTER! When I asked Shawn about it he said the hamster had been missing for days. FOR DAYS! Who just misplaces a hamster in a glow-in-the-dark ball!?"
Juliet fought really hard not to laugh at Gus's indignation. There was just something so adorable about the way his voice changed when he got all worked up. She covered her smile with a long drink of her beer.
"I mean, he's my best friend. And things are never boring when he's around. He's just so...so..."
"Shawn?" Juliet finished for him, stretching forward to set her beer on the coffee table.
Gus gave her a sheepish look as he whispered, "Yeah." Juliet couldn't help it, she had to lean in and kiss that quirk of his lips. His eyes were wide when she pulled back. "Did you mean to do that?" he asked, sounding slightly awed. Juliet smiled.
"Definitely," she confirmed.
"I hear that," Gus murmured before he pulled her close for another kiss.
/end
[The next three were part of a "Pick a number from my iTunes and I'll write you a drabble" meme.]
#4 - In which Shawn asks Carlton for a rocket (Shawn/Lassiter PG-ish)
for tju_tju_tju_tju "964 [Cosy in the Rocket - Psapp], Shawn/Lassiter, comic books."
Carlton cracked one eye open as the mattress dipped behind him. The alarm clock was positioned on the nightstand so he could see it easily: 4 a.m. Apparently, the detective was coming to figure out, this was Spencer’s bedtime. He closed his eyes again, hoping Shawn would take his example and go to sleep quickly.
“Lassie? Are you asleep?” Shawn asked in a hissed whisper. Lassiter rolled his eyes behind his eyelids.
“Yes, Spencer,” he grumbled. “Leave me alone.” He wasn’t all that surprised when Shawn suddenly draped himself across his back and side.
“I gotta ask you something,” Shawn whispered in his ear before he planted a kiss to the side of Carlton’s neck. Lassiter groaned but he’d been sleeping with the other man long enough to know he’d never get to sleep if he didn’t let Spencer just ask whatever the hell he wanted to ask.
“What?” he grouched. He rolled onto his back, dislodging Shawn so he could face him in the mostly dark room.
“Will you buy me a rocket?” Carlton blinked at him, feeling baffled. Maybe he wasn’t actually awake.
“What?” he repeated. Shawn gave him his long-suffering sigh and Lassiter heard the rustle of paper.
“A rocket; there’s an ad in the latest issue of Unholy Balthazar: one rocket, for only $6.99 shipping and handling!” Lassiter continued to blink at him in confusion.
“You woke me up to ask if I’d buy you a cheap toy out of a comic book?” he asked slowly.
“You’re right, Lassie.” Lassiter heard the words, but wasn’t quite sure he trusted them as they came out of Shawn’s mouth. He heard the rustle of paper again before something hit the floor with a soft thunk. “We’ll just go to the hobby shop tomorrow and I’ll let you build me one.” Lassiter huffed a breath and was about to launch a complaint when Shawn’s mouth landed on top of his own. He groaned a different kind of groan as he felt Shawn’s hand drifting down his stomach. Shawn shifted closer as he pressed kisses along Carlton’s jaw. “Meanwhile,” he murmured into Lassiter’s skin, “back in the Cozy Castle, since the Mighty Lassicus was already awake...”
/end
#5 - In which Gwen goes for take-away (Gwen/Owen, Gwen/Rhys PG)
for vanitykidman "#1873 [Buddha's Delight - Haley Bennett], TW Owen/Gwen"
It’s ridiculous, really, how easy it is for Gwen to slip out of the flat. All she has to do is mention take-away and her lengthy absence is easily explained by a long queue or a messed up order. The more she gets away with it, the more she wants it; it almost feels like the universe is giving her something in exchange for the hell she’s come to live through every day at Torchwood.
She doesn’t even really like Owen. He’s an ass most of the time; nowhere near the sweetheart Rhys is. But for some reason she gets off on it and Owen is always willing to do the sorts of things Rhys is always too embarrassed and awkward to even discuss.
“What’s the happy couple dining on tonight?” Owen taunts as he kisses her newly exposed shoulder.
“Shut up,” she orders, even as she tries to remember what Rhys’ favorite dish is from that place down the street...
Owen’s looking down at her and Gwen can’t figure out what that look on his face means. She almost asks; it’s right on the tip of her tongue...but then his mouth’s on hers and she settles for telling herself that this is her reward for a hard day’s work...
/end
#6 - In which Arthur unexpectedly runs into Eames; literally (Arthur/Eames PG)
for fly_meaway "1314 [Corridors and Fire Escapes - Murray Gold], Inception, Arthur/Eames"
Down the corridor, third door on the right... Arthur counts as he jogs down the hall, all the while cursing his latest client. The armed gunmen in the lobby had been Arthur’s first clue that the meet was a set-up. Now he’s racing through the upper floors of the hotel, trying to find his pre-determined exit before the henchmen figure out he ditched the elevator halfway down.
Many of his colleagues over the years have complained about Arthur’s obsession with the details. They say he makes too much of even the simplest jobs. Perhaps it’s true he’s a bit excessive at times, but he can’t help but thank himself for his own preparedness as he uses his procured key card to slip into room 414. The beauty in this particular hotel lies in the still-functioning external fire escape, leading all the way down to the side alley Arthur had parked his car in. The window sticks a bit, but Arthur’s learned to persuade even inanimate objects to bend to his will, and soon he’s climbing out onto the steel structure.
Arthur moves quickly down the steps to the next level, forcing himself to keep his breathing level in case he has to blend into a crowd when he reaches the ground. He’s tried explaining to his more skeptical colleagues that there’s a very good reason he prefers to wear suits while working in an urban environment; most of them just laugh in his face.
Arthur is rounding the corner to the third floor when he collides suddenly with another body. It takes a dazed second for both he and the other man to gather their wits, but very quickly they’re grabbing onto each other, both fighting to be the one to slam the other up against the rail. “Arthur?” a voice asks and the man he’s grasping by the biceps suddenly stills. Arthur uses the moment to press the man up against the rail, wondering if he can loosen his grip enough to reach for the handgun concealed beneath his suit jacket. He hesitates when he finally looks down at the man he has half bent backward over the rail.
“Eames!?” he croaks in surprise. It’s been nearly two years since he last saw the forger; not since the job they were working in Barcelona went south. They’re not exactly friends, but Arthur is reluctant to call him an enemy. Still, there’s apparently a price on his head and Eames is nothing if not opportunistic.
There’s a crash from above and Arthur can hear shouting from the roof. It’s only a matter of seconds before men with guns start storming down the escape toward them. Arthur has no clue what to do with Eames; this definitely hadn’t been in his escape plan.
The forger solves Arthur’s dilemma for him, grabbing Arthur by the arm and hurling him toward the last set of steps before the ladder to the pavement. Arthur goes along with the momentum, if only because Eames crowds him from behind and doesn’t give him the chance to go any other direction.
“If I’d known Rhys was after you,” Eames says with a grunt as he drops down into the alley next to Arthur. “I might have been able to stop this bloody mess.” Arthur is leading him toward his escape vehicle without even really thinking about it.
“It’s not like I think to keep you up-to-date on my constant whereabouts,” Arthur grumbles as he slides in behind the wheel. He lets Eames get halfway settled in the passenger seat before he speeds out of the alley.
“Well, maybe you should consider it, love. I’m very resourceful, you know.” Arthur spares a glance for Eames even as he swerves through downtown traffic. Eames gives him a small smile. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Arthur,” he says in a voice so smooth Arthur practically gags on it.
“You have a place nearby?” Arthur asks instead. He doesn’t look, but he can feel the grin aimed at him from the next seat.
/end