Kiss With a Fist Lyrics (for justprompts)
(Spoilers for Psych's fall finale, Shawn Takes A Shot In The Dark. Firefox is
det_lassiter 's Welsh Corgi and they have been both kidnapped and used with much love. They even beta-ed this and I thank them for it. Even the dog, his good grammar is impressive.)
You hit me once
I hit you back
You gave a kick
I gave a slap
You smashed a plate
Over my head
Then I set fire to our bed
***
Things were not working out lately.
Maybe it had something to do with karma. Maybe in a past life Shawn had kicked a puppy and now life had put a shot wound on his shoulder and was sleep depriving him every time he turned on said wounded shoulder during his sleep. But then, believing in karma is necessary to support that point.
Getting shot was really lame in the first place.
God, his shoulder still hurts like a bitch.
Shawn spent a restless week trying to pretend that things were normal, that he hadn't been through the most epic scare of his life, a "dude, I shitted my pants" kind of scare that he wasn't really that used to going through.
The first time he had ended up in the hospital because of this job he had been beaten up. Of course, it hadn't been a pleasant trip to Miami, girls in bikinis and drinking cheap mojitos while resting with your legs inside of a pool. It had been almost as bad, maybe worse considering that he had to put up with a big bruise on part of his cheek and a black eye. And everyone knows that the face is off limits.
That time there was no time to think. It was simply: boom, fist to the face! This time he had been kidnapped, tied, toyed with. Abused in ways he'll never speak out loud of. Or maybe he will, after all it pushes the Mommy Hen button in women. And thank God he hadn't been gagged. As much as his Dad always considered that his tongue was the one who was going to pull the trigger one day, his tongue had proven that theory wrong more than once.
Not that proving his Dad wrong is that difficult. He's been practicing this sport since 1978.
Now he just needs to prove that everything is normal, that he's not feeling that tingle that tells him that it's time to move on. Time for new experiences. Time to meet new people, get new jobs, do new stuff for the sake of doing something different. Perhaps go to Vienna? He's always wanted to go to Vienna. Sounds like the land of wieners.
Or Portugal. They both sound nice. WIth less wieners but nice.
No, he's not going to fall into that. Wieners or not, now he's got a girlfriend and he's doing an astounding job at proving to everyone that he can go steady.
Perhaps it's just time of looking for a new apartment? As cool as the Dry-Cleaners is, he's having trouble with the plumbing and not having a fireworks store nearby kinda sucks.
Yeah, that might do the trick. And it definitely will keep Gus' eyes focused on something else than his arm sling on those rare moments in which Gus clearly thinks Shawn is not aware that he is looking.
Silly, silly goosey goose Gus. Worried about a silly little injury.
One silly injury that hurts like a Goddamn bitch.
***
My black eye casts no shadow
Your red eye sees no pain
Your slaps don't stick
Your kicks don't hit
***
It's not that he has nothing better to do. He doesn't even need an excuse to be right here, on Lassie's couch, feeding Lassie's dog with pieces of bread and peanut butter, while he fixes himself a peanut butter sandwich.
He's bent on his stomach, kissing the dog's muzzle while a very attentive Firefox licks off the remains of the based on peanut delicious nectar off his nose when the door is kicked, an outraged Lassiter bursting into his own living room and pointing with his glock right at his head. Or Firefox's. Judging the angle, it's not really clear from Shawn's point of view.
"Spencer, what the hell??" Lassie soon lowers his weapon, the look of disbelief on his face much more common than what the detective would probably approve of. With a couple of long strides, he's soon shooing his dog off his couch. And Shawn too.
"It's nice to see you too, honey. How was work? Did you bring me anything? A new ping pong table?"
"What are you doing here? I thought I was being very clear when I told you what I would do if I find you sneaking into my apartment again."
"See? That's your problem. You were trying to think. That explains the red face and the steam coming out of your flaring nostrils."
"Get out."
"That's what I'm intending to do."
Lassiter frowned. Confusion took over him for a second, which he visibly shook off since he already knew better than get easily confused by anything Shawn did.
Reaching into his arm sling, Shawn took out Firefox's lead.
"Join me for a walk?"
***
So we remain the same
Blood sticks and
Sweat drips
Break the lock if it don't fit
***
"It's a rehab walkie, dude. As simple as that. Everybody knows that animals are always efficient when it comes to physical rehabilitation."
"A walk by yourself should be effective enough then." Lassiter mentioned with a cocky grin, which Shawn simply counterparted with a roll of his eyes. As much as Lassiter had complained at the beginning, the detective clearly wasn't enduring any sort of torture. Judging his relaxed shoulders and his hands in his pockets he was even enjoying it. Seeing that Lassie's hands were away from his shoulder holster was always a good sign too.
Firefox was obviously enjoying himself too. Not only Shawn was taking unexpected turns and guiding them into streets the dog was visibly thankful of. After all Lassie's routine was as stiff as his p-... Posture.
Firefox kept bouncing on his little corgi paws, tugging on the lead and, to his master's annoyance, he kept on zig zagging, making both men stop on their tracks not to step on the little dog.
"Give me the lead. You're not directing him properly."
"What? I'm giving your pet all the motivation he needs. He'll be the new Von Van Beethoven. Give me three weeks, I'll teach him to stutter and I will get him chubby enough to play the lead pig in Babe 3. "
"With a peanut butter diet?" Lassiter snarled with annoyance. "How much have you fed him? He looks so stuffed he doesn't even walk properly now."
"Dude, it's not his fault that his body is naturally square shaped."
"His breed might not be the most lean one-"
"Or tall one. Or athletic. Or intransigent. Or purple."
"Right. Purple. Like most purple dogs."
"Lassie, purple dogs are venerated in Alaska, the East Coast and-"
Shawn's first thought when Lassiter's chest was forced against his mouth was that the detective had finally had enough and was trying to sternum-choke him. But then, as he felt the tightness of a rope around his calves, he realized that the one that apparently wouldn't take anymore of their bantering was in fact the free-sample-sized dog. Firefox had tied their legs together with it's lead.
Shawn looked up, his nose hitting Lassie's chin, admiring the perplexed expression on the detective's face. It looked as either he was deciding to turn invisible or simply ignore the fake psychic until his pet decided it was already time to release them both.
"I believe we are your dog's prisoners."
Lassiter shot an accusatory look at his pet, who whined in response but wouldn't move an inch from his spot. He then proceed to grab Shawn by the shoulders to keep his balance and probably try to untangle himself from the lead-prison.
"Ooowoowooooowaaaarm!" Shawn whimpered.
Lassiter froze. "Are you okay, Spencer?" He glanced around, probably purely by habit. "Shawn?"
There was real concern in his voice.
"Maybe if you kiss it better."
He felt Lassiter's grip tightening around his shoulder, his fingers pressing a little harder on his skin.
And Shawn saw. He saw Lassiter's lips briefly parting, right in front of his eyes.
***
"I can't do this." He had said.
And that is okay. It's all a game. It's always been a game between the two of them.
It's not as if he needs it. He now has a steady girlfriend, he's playing in the real leagues. The steady leagues for steady men.
And he's not really into cheating. Not anymore. He's never been a real fan of it, but then, stuff happens. But stuff won't happen anymore. He's a loyal boyfriend now. A steady, loyal boyfriend.
And he doesn't need that kiss.
He might have wanted it. But he doesn't need it.
They're not playing that game anymore.
Maybe it has something to do with karma.
... The fact that he doesn't really believe in that stuff is turning into a problem.
***
A kick in the teeth is good for some
A kiss with a fist is better than none
A-woah a kiss with a fist is better than none