No Hope, No Harm
Title: No Hope, No Harm
Fandom: Psych
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,445 words.
Notes: A continuation of number 10 from the music ficlet meme, for rockinhamburger. Shawn/Lassiter. Title from "Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me" by The Smiths.
Summary: Shawn invites Lassiter to the office to play Wii Sports, but Lassiter has something else on his mind.
Shawn zooms in a bag of corn chips and presses the Nintendo's 'on' button. He's trying not to appear fidgety, but as he stands looking at Lassiter sprawled on his reclining chair --- top two buttons undone, showing off a little manly chest-hair, and long legs stretched forward --- he can't help but be less relaxed than if he was here with, say, anybody else ever.
Lassiter raises an eyebrow. "So you were serious about the Wii Sports. Huh."
Shawn goes to make something to drink and comes back with his best nonchalant smile. "Of course. However, I may have been playing coy about my prowess."
"I guess we'll have to wait and see."
"I guess so."
Lassiter's attitude perplexes Shawn --- he's usually so reserved. Stuck up, you might say. Anally retentive. Hardcore. But he's taking the drink of pineapple juice as if it's completely normal to be sitting there, all oddly bewitching small smile and intense eyes. And damned if Shawn is going to let that get to him. Even though it totally does.
Shawn stretches fully out on his chair as if he owns it, and he does, so that's just as well; feigning confidence with a superior smile. But every muscle is tense and he wouldn't be surprised if Lassie can see that, because he's annoyingly great at his job.
Lassiter confirms it by speaking. "You're nervous."
"Can you blame me? It's not every day your arch nemesis comes around for a little one-on-one action. Normally everything I get from you is hostile. Samantha Baker hostile, which is about 11 on the 1-10 scale of hostility. At the moment, you're not even clocking in a .2."
Lassiter raises his eyebrows, holding his free hand out, placating. It's just exaggerated enough a movement that Shawn can tell Lassiter's still not quite sober. "Hey, that's not fair, I've been dialling it down the past few months. You didn't notice?"
"I'd like to say yes, but the answer's more of a 'nuh-uh'."
"I have! I was even defending you the other day!"
"In God's name, why?"
"Chief Vick was saying something about you being more about money than you were justice and I pointed out that you'd done a couple of cases pro bono."
Shawn brushes his hand through his hair and frowns. "Chief Vick said that?"
"I think she's still pissed off with you about that whole Robertson debacle."
"Dude, that was totally not my fault."
Lassiter nods along. "I said that too."
Shawn sets up the game, choosing his super awesome mii with the best hair in the world, and tossing Lassiter his nunchuk. The nunchuk lands with a dull thud on the ground and Lassiter hardly gives it a glance. Shawn climbs out of his chair, goes to pick it up and squats down by Lassiter's knee, holding it out along with the Wii remote.
Lassiter gazes at his outstretched hand, and gives that strangely alluring smile again. "Look, I didn't really come over here to play Wii anything, so how about we stop the charade."
Sensing he doesn't really want to be asking, but too desperate not to, Shawn places the nunchuk and remote back on the ground. "Then why did you come over?"
"I thought you were flirting with me."
"I was. But then, I always am."
"Yeah, well, I submit."
"You... what? Sorry, but to use an outmoded yet appropriate colloquialism, I'm hella confused."
Lassiter leans forward, clicking his chair into place. He's ridiculously close, so close Shawn can smell his shampoo and cologne, can see the darker flecks amongst the light blue of his eyes. His voice is gravelled and low and downright indecent. "I was hoping we could have a little fun."
"You seem like you're on a peaceful mission, and you obviously have fine taste, but what have you done with the real Carly M Lassmeister?"
"Look, Spencer, it's simple. You like me, I like you. Why does it have to be more complicated than that? Everything in my life is structured --- no, restricted --- by rules. Do this, don't do that, be that guy, all the time. Hell, I have to fill out two forms in triplicate for special leave just if I want to take a three day weekend. Why can't this be trouble-free? "
"Because it's the natural order of things. Dogs chase cats, boysenberry gelato is awesome, and Carlton Lassiter has never once thought about getting into Shawn Spencer's pants."
"Sometimes cats chase dogs, rum & raisin gelato is so much better, and yes I have, too many times to count. I want this, Shawn, don't you?"
"And the whole fact I'm a guy...?"
Lassiter snorts. "Yeah. I gave up worrying about that kind of thing in third grade. Just don't tell my mother, because she will actually kill me and bury me in her back yard."
Shawn's conflicted. He's made a lot of mistakes in his life and regretted at least eight of them. Lassie's right, he does like him. Maybe too much. And Lassiter's obviously freaking out, and on the rebound, and a little drunk, which does not a stable situation make. Maybe if this didn't work out, he'd lose everything; a near-friendship, a job, the belief that he isn't going to grow old and die mostly alone because he's too emotionally stunted to really connect with anyone other than Gus.
But then he remembers that he's got along okay in life by refusing to take reality into account. That neuroses are best kept under lock and key. And Lassiter is right there looking totally hot and wanting him, and really, this could be fun. This could be fun with a gigantic FU.
He leans forward, curling one hand into the hair at the nape of Lassiter's neck, his heart thumping rapidly in his chest and his tongue feeling too large for his mouth.
"Lassie, I think you should know I've been in training for the Guinness World Book of Records for longest kiss. I've gotten up to nine minutes, but I'm not sure how I'll go with a partner who also needs to breathe. I mean, I don't have to worry about accidentally killing a mannequin, not unless it's Kim Cattrall."
Lassiter is right there now, his cheek just skimming Shawn's, his lips a quarter of an inch away. "I can breathe through my nose and kiss at the same time."
"That shouldn't sound as sexy as it does," Shawn murmurs. He hesitates. His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks and then he looks up at Lassiter again, being as serious as he ever gets. "Half an hour ago, you were miserable."
"Yes I was."
"So you're using me, to cheer yourself up."
"You make it sound so tawdry."
"Oooh, I like that word."
"I already told you, Shawn, I like you. I've liked you for --- I think I liked you when you first came into the station, and you don't have to tell me that's completely whacked, because I think we can both agree you were beyond obnoxious."
Shawn taps Lassiter's shoulder in a mock-slap. "So were you, doing your tough guy routine!"
Lassiter gives as good as he gets. "Just shut up and let me talk, please? I'm not gonna lie, here. Yes, I am using you to make myself feel better. But, in my defence, you use me all the time."
"All right, Lassie. Just so long as we're clear on where we stand. Or comport ourselves in other positions, as the case may be."
Shawn closes the gap between them, willing himself not to think too much. This is fine, this is okay, this is really amazingly great, wow. Lassiter's lips are warm and soft, but he's nothing like tender as he kisses Shawn. He's aggressive, and forceful, and impressively co-ordinated. He drags one hand up into Shawn's hair and tugs his head back a little rougher than Shawn would prefer, dominating their movement together. Shawn presses tighter into him, trying to win back some of the space, curling his hand into a fist to keep himself from mussing up Lassiter's perfectly-kempt hairstyle.
When they pull apart, they're both slightly panting, and Lassiter's eyes virtually glow at Shawn as he adjusts his collar.
Shawn tries to even out all the squeaks in his voice, but doesn't exactly succeed. "So, uh, did you wanna go back to my place and grab some coffee? And by coffee I mean wild monkey sex the likes of which hasn't been seen on the Discovery Channel because it's just too explicit?"
Lassiter bends his head and licks a stripe down Shawn's neck, placing a kiss on his collarbone before asking, "Why do we have to go anywhere?"
Fandom: Psych
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,445 words.
Notes: A continuation of number 10 from the music ficlet meme, for rockinhamburger. Shawn/Lassiter. Title from "Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me" by The Smiths.
Summary: Shawn invites Lassiter to the office to play Wii Sports, but Lassiter has something else on his mind.
Shawn zooms in a bag of corn chips and presses the Nintendo's 'on' button. He's trying not to appear fidgety, but as he stands looking at Lassiter sprawled on his reclining chair --- top two buttons undone, showing off a little manly chest-hair, and long legs stretched forward --- he can't help but be less relaxed than if he was here with, say, anybody else ever.
Lassiter raises an eyebrow. "So you were serious about the Wii Sports. Huh."
Shawn goes to make something to drink and comes back with his best nonchalant smile. "Of course. However, I may have been playing coy about my prowess."
"I guess we'll have to wait and see."
"I guess so."
Lassiter's attitude perplexes Shawn --- he's usually so reserved. Stuck up, you might say. Anally retentive. Hardcore. But he's taking the drink of pineapple juice as if it's completely normal to be sitting there, all oddly bewitching small smile and intense eyes. And damned if Shawn is going to let that get to him. Even though it totally does.
Shawn stretches fully out on his chair as if he owns it, and he does, so that's just as well; feigning confidence with a superior smile. But every muscle is tense and he wouldn't be surprised if Lassie can see that, because he's annoyingly great at his job.
Lassiter confirms it by speaking. "You're nervous."
"Can you blame me? It's not every day your arch nemesis comes around for a little one-on-one action. Normally everything I get from you is hostile. Samantha Baker hostile, which is about 11 on the 1-10 scale of hostility. At the moment, you're not even clocking in a .2."
Lassiter raises his eyebrows, holding his free hand out, placating. It's just exaggerated enough a movement that Shawn can tell Lassiter's still not quite sober. "Hey, that's not fair, I've been dialling it down the past few months. You didn't notice?"
"I'd like to say yes, but the answer's more of a 'nuh-uh'."
"I have! I was even defending you the other day!"
"In God's name, why?"
"Chief Vick was saying something about you being more about money than you were justice and I pointed out that you'd done a couple of cases pro bono."
Shawn brushes his hand through his hair and frowns. "Chief Vick said that?"
"I think she's still pissed off with you about that whole Robertson debacle."
"Dude, that was totally not my fault."
Lassiter nods along. "I said that too."
Shawn sets up the game, choosing his super awesome mii with the best hair in the world, and tossing Lassiter his nunchuk. The nunchuk lands with a dull thud on the ground and Lassiter hardly gives it a glance. Shawn climbs out of his chair, goes to pick it up and squats down by Lassiter's knee, holding it out along with the Wii remote.
Lassiter gazes at his outstretched hand, and gives that strangely alluring smile again. "Look, I didn't really come over here to play Wii anything, so how about we stop the charade."
Sensing he doesn't really want to be asking, but too desperate not to, Shawn places the nunchuk and remote back on the ground. "Then why did you come over?"
"I thought you were flirting with me."
"I was. But then, I always am."
"Yeah, well, I submit."
"You... what? Sorry, but to use an outmoded yet appropriate colloquialism, I'm hella confused."
Lassiter leans forward, clicking his chair into place. He's ridiculously close, so close Shawn can smell his shampoo and cologne, can see the darker flecks amongst the light blue of his eyes. His voice is gravelled and low and downright indecent. "I was hoping we could have a little fun."
"You seem like you're on a peaceful mission, and you obviously have fine taste, but what have you done with the real Carly M Lassmeister?"
"Look, Spencer, it's simple. You like me, I like you. Why does it have to be more complicated than that? Everything in my life is structured --- no, restricted --- by rules. Do this, don't do that, be that guy, all the time. Hell, I have to fill out two forms in triplicate for special leave just if I want to take a three day weekend. Why can't this be trouble-free? "
"Because it's the natural order of things. Dogs chase cats, boysenberry gelato is awesome, and Carlton Lassiter has never once thought about getting into Shawn Spencer's pants."
"Sometimes cats chase dogs, rum & raisin gelato is so much better, and yes I have, too many times to count. I want this, Shawn, don't you?"
"And the whole fact I'm a guy...?"
Lassiter snorts. "Yeah. I gave up worrying about that kind of thing in third grade. Just don't tell my mother, because she will actually kill me and bury me in her back yard."
Shawn's conflicted. He's made a lot of mistakes in his life and regretted at least eight of them. Lassie's right, he does like him. Maybe too much. And Lassiter's obviously freaking out, and on the rebound, and a little drunk, which does not a stable situation make. Maybe if this didn't work out, he'd lose everything; a near-friendship, a job, the belief that he isn't going to grow old and die mostly alone because he's too emotionally stunted to really connect with anyone other than Gus.
But then he remembers that he's got along okay in life by refusing to take reality into account. That neuroses are best kept under lock and key. And Lassiter is right there looking totally hot and wanting him, and really, this could be fun. This could be fun with a gigantic FU.
He leans forward, curling one hand into the hair at the nape of Lassiter's neck, his heart thumping rapidly in his chest and his tongue feeling too large for his mouth.
"Lassie, I think you should know I've been in training for the Guinness World Book of Records for longest kiss. I've gotten up to nine minutes, but I'm not sure how I'll go with a partner who also needs to breathe. I mean, I don't have to worry about accidentally killing a mannequin, not unless it's Kim Cattrall."
Lassiter is right there now, his cheek just skimming Shawn's, his lips a quarter of an inch away. "I can breathe through my nose and kiss at the same time."
"That shouldn't sound as sexy as it does," Shawn murmurs. He hesitates. His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks and then he looks up at Lassiter again, being as serious as he ever gets. "Half an hour ago, you were miserable."
"Yes I was."
"So you're using me, to cheer yourself up."
"You make it sound so tawdry."
"Oooh, I like that word."
"I already told you, Shawn, I like you. I've liked you for --- I think I liked you when you first came into the station, and you don't have to tell me that's completely whacked, because I think we can both agree you were beyond obnoxious."
Shawn taps Lassiter's shoulder in a mock-slap. "So were you, doing your tough guy routine!"
Lassiter gives as good as he gets. "Just shut up and let me talk, please? I'm not gonna lie, here. Yes, I am using you to make myself feel better. But, in my defence, you use me all the time."
"All right, Lassie. Just so long as we're clear on where we stand. Or comport ourselves in other positions, as the case may be."
Shawn closes the gap between them, willing himself not to think too much. This is fine, this is okay, this is really amazingly great, wow. Lassiter's lips are warm and soft, but he's nothing like tender as he kisses Shawn. He's aggressive, and forceful, and impressively co-ordinated. He drags one hand up into Shawn's hair and tugs his head back a little rougher than Shawn would prefer, dominating their movement together. Shawn presses tighter into him, trying to win back some of the space, curling his hand into a fist to keep himself from mussing up Lassiter's perfectly-kempt hairstyle.
When they pull apart, they're both slightly panting, and Lassiter's eyes virtually glow at Shawn as he adjusts his collar.
Shawn tries to even out all the squeaks in his voice, but doesn't exactly succeed. "So, uh, did you wanna go back to my place and grab some coffee? And by coffee I mean wild monkey sex the likes of which hasn't been seen on the Discovery Channel because it's just too explicit?"
Lassiter bends his head and licks a stripe down Shawn's neck, placing a kiss on his collarbone before asking, "Why do we have to go anywhere?"