Fic: Just A Kiss, by mariska_lee PG-13 Shassie
Title: Just a Kiss
Author: mariska_lee
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter
Rating: PG-13? There's no porn, just a couple of bad words. And it's slash, but mild.
Disclaimer: I don't own them and I don't profit from them. I rent them sometimes from Netflix, but that's about it.
Warnings: The aforementioned slash and bad words. Also, it's my first fic, so reading this is the literary equivalent to attending a small child's first piano concert - and I'm no Mozart.
Words: About 3,100
Summary: There's no plot. There's no sex. There's no angst to speak of. There's maybe a little fluff. Mostly, it's just a lot of nonsense, and a lot of dialog.
Just a Kiss, by mariska_lee
“Happy Independence Day, Lassie!” Shawn came up to Lassiter’s desk and grinned.
The detective glanced up, scowled, and returned to the paperwork in front of him.
He didn’t really mind Shawn’s presence at the moment - until his suspect was finished speaking with his lawyer, Lassiter had only paperwork to deal with. And even Shawn’s nonsense was better than paperwork, though there was no reason to let Shawn know that.
But his definitely-not-psychic visitor seemed to know it anyway, because when Lassiter looked up again he was met with one of Shawn’s more brilliant smiles and a spark of something teasing and very Shawn-like in the other man’s eyes. “What, Lassie, not even a ‘hello’?”
Lassiter sighed. “Spencer.” He gave a reluctant nod of the head, letting the single word stand as a greeting. But Shawn looked at him expectantly.
“And maybe a smile?” the younger man prompted. Lassiter only glared in response.
“You know, Detective, you shouldn’t spend so much time with your face in that frowny position.” He drew imaginary frown lines in the air. “As handsome and masculine as it looks on you, it just can’t be healthy to be that grumpy. Now how about a smile?” As he spoke, Shawn made his way around the desk to stand beside Lassiter’s chair.
And now Shawn had a different expression in his eyes - the one that said, I’m going to sit in your lap now.
But Lassiter knew that look, so he scooted himself and the chair firmly into place at the desk, derailing any attempt Shawn might make. He might not mind Shawn - in fact, if he were honest, he might almost say that he even liked him a little bit, sometimes. Might. Almost. Sometimes. But Shawn’s antics could be embarrassing, and Carlton Lassiter hated to be embarrassed. Especially at work.
“Go away, Spencer. I’m busy.” He tried to make the order sound authoritative, but was pretty sure he missed the mark.
And in the meantime, Shawn shifted to stand behind the detective’s chair, waving something small over the other man’s head once or twice. Lassiter did his best to ignore Shawn, but the man seemed determined to crowd into his space.
Shawn leaned over Lassiter and looked at the paperwork on the desk, planting a brief kiss on Lassiter’s cheek as he did so. “What are you doing that’s so important you had to blow off my dad’s barbecue, anyway?” he asked. “Jules is there, so it’s not a case. Chief Vick is there. Practically half the force is there.”
“It is a case, Spencer,” Lassiter told him. “I told O’Hara I’d handle it without her so she could attend your father’s...” He pushed away from the desk again and turned his chair to face Shawn, puzzled. “Did you just kiss me?”
Shawn nodded. “Mistletoe,” he explained cheerily. He held out a little twig for Lassiter to see. “It’s a tradition.”
“That’s for Christmas,” Lassiter corrected. “Even you must know that.” His gaze flicked from Shawn’s eyes to his hand and back again.
“Nope.” Shawn boosted himself into a sitting position on the edge of the desk, facing the detective. “This is Fourth Of July mistletoe. Entirely different. My own brand-new tradition. And that was sweet, what you did for Jules, by the way.” He waved the sprig over Lassiter’s head. “Think it deserves another kiss?”
“There’s no such thing as Fourth of July mistletoe.” Lassiter swatted Shawn’s hand away impatiently. He tugged on a page trapped under Shawn. “Get your ass off my paperwork.”
“Hmm? Oh, sorry.” Shawn didn’t sound at all sorry, but he hoisted himself up, supporting his weight by bracing his arms on the desk until Lassiter rescued the stray page. “Anyway, back to my tradition...”
“Not now, Spencer,” Lassiter said, but Shawn continued as if he hadn’t heard.
“...See, when you’re anywhere around mistletoe, if you say someone’s name, you have to kiss that person.”
“That’s not how the tradition goes,” Lassiter pointed out.
“That’s how it goes with Fourth of July mistletoe,” the younger man insisted. “Work with me here, Lassie! Do I need to tie a red, white and blue ribbon around it? Fourth of July mistletoe, okay?”
Lassiter sighed. “Fine. Now why don’t you go try it out on someone else?”
“No can do, mon Lassiter. The act of the tradition is still in progress. You said my name before, so you have to kiss me. I can’t leave until you do. That’s part of the tradition.”
“You’re insane,” the detective muttered.
“I’m not.” Shawn said. “It’s a good tradition, when you think about it. And you said my name. Now kiss me.”
“I’m not going to kiss you,” Lassiter said.
“It just has to be a little kiss - I’m not asking for a tonsil-licking. Just a little kiss on the cheek...”
“No.”
“A peck, really. A simple...”
“Leave.” The detective emphasized the order with a nod of his head in the direction of the exit. Shawn ignored the gesture.
“Come on, am I that repulsive? It’s just a little kiss. You know, Lass, it could be worse...” Shawn went on.
But Lassiter, eyes still on the exit, caught a flutter of motion near the stairs. Officer McNab stood, waving at him, trying to get his attention. Good, Lassiter thought - his suspect must have finished conferring privately with his lawyer. Now maybe he could get back to his investigation. He nodded once in acknowledgment at McNab, who gave him a thumbs-up before heading in the opposite direction.
“...after all, you only said my last name, and according to the tradition, you have to kiss anyone whose name you say. And since my dad’s last name is the same as mine...”
Lassiter glanced back at Shawn, but he’d only half-heard the last part of his visitor’s argument. “Hmm? How is that worse?” he asked as he gathered his papers into a folder.
“Dude! Seriously? You’d rather kiss my father than me?”
“What?” Lassiter looked up and found Shawn staring wide-eyed and uncertain at him, and he tried to recall what Shawn had been talking about. “No. Oh. God, no...” The words were out before Lassiter caught himself. And the grin that made it to Shawn’s eyes was relieved and a little too pleased, and it left Lassiter flustered. “I don’t want to kiss either of you,” he protested. “So leave.” Standing, he straightened his tie to regain his composure and added, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a suspect to deal with.”
Shawn drew himself up from the desk and stood in front of Lassiter. It didn’t really serve to block Lassiter’s way, but he stopped anyway.
“Did I tell you I’m updating all of the other big holiday traditions, too?” Shawn asked. “Thanksgiving dinners and New Year’s countdowns and all?”
And Lassiter recognized that as bait for Shawn’s continued insanity. He thought about his suspect sitting downstairs in the interrogation room, but still he sighed and asked, “Why?”
“Why not?” Shawn countered. “They’re fun. Traditions, I mean. That’s why people keep doing them. You do know about fun, right? You’ve come across that somewhere, I’m sure. Stuff that lets you turn that frown upside-down? Tell you what. I’m hosting a pumpkin-carving at my place tonight. You’re invited. It’s BYOP. Bring your own...”
“Pumpkin,” Lassitier finished for him, and this time he met Shawn’s grin with a reluctant one of his own. “Yeah, I got that. Sorry, I’m busy.”
“Doing what, cleaning your gun? Come on, Lassiedoodle, live a little. After the pumpkin-carving, we’ll tell ghost stories about the old dry-cleaners.”
“There are ghost stories about the old dry-cleaners?”
“Lots of ‘em,” Shawn assured him. “Gus won’t even stay over to play Halo anymore, not since he heard about the old prospector.”
“Old prospector.” Lassiter repeated. “In a dry-cleaner’s?”
“Trust me, Lassie, you don’t want to miss it.”
“As tempting as it sounds, Spencer, I’m afraid I’ll have to.” He stepped around Shawn and started towards the stairs, the other man falling into place beside him.
“Is it because you don’t have a pumpkin? Because I’m willing to share mine. I’ve had it since last fall, so it should be easy to get the knife into it by now.”
“Last fall?” Lassiter stopped to look at his companion. “I’m surprised it hasn’t grown legs and run off.”
Shawn looked at him thoughtfully. “I hope it didn’t. Though I haven’t actually seen it around in a while, so I may have to offer you a rain-check on the whole pumpkin thing,” he confessed.
Lassiter shook his head, exasperated, and stalked towards the interrogation rooms, Shawn still trailing behind him.
“But how awesome would it be if it did take off on its own?” Shawn asked. “You could hunt it down and shoot it. Do you need a special license to hunt pumpkin?”
“Spe...? What? No.” Lassiter paused outside Interrogation Room B. “And why are you still here, Spencer? I thought I told you to go away. Why don’t you go back to Henry’s barbecue and pester your little playmate?”
“Gus isn’t at the barbecue,” Shawn told him with a pout. “He’s being all serious and jobby and worky like you. Says he hasn’t been putting in enough hours, and apparently that’s my fault. Anyway, I told you, I can’t leave.” He held the mistletoe out expectantly. “Kiss, remember? We talked about this already.”
Lassiter, his hand on the interrogation room door, turned to Spencer once more.
“I tell you what,” he said. “You run off and play like a good boy now, and I’ll stop by your office later and bring you a candy kiss.”
Shawn studied the detective with suspicion, but Lassiter spotted the familiar glint of humor in the younger man’s eyes. “This candy kiss of which you speak,” Shawn wanted to know. “Will it be poisoned?”
“Not with anything they can trace,” Lassiter assured him. “Now go.” With that, he walked into the room and closed the door on the other man. Through the small window in the door, he watched Shawn walk away before turning to deal with his suspect.
***
The next forty minutes were filled with unanswered questions, an uncooperative suspect, and a particularly self-satisfied lawyer. Lassiter felt his mood worsen with every tick of the clock. But at the end of it, he did have the name of the suspect's accomplice, and for the moment he was willing to accept that as a victory.
Notes updated, Lassiter strutted up the stairs towards his desk, scowling as he approached to find Shawn sitting in his chair, with McNab standing beside him listening to whatever nonsense the pseudo-psychic was spewing.
“Out of my chair, Spencer,” he ordered. “And why are you still here? Shouldn’t you be off coloring eggs or something?”
McNab looked at Lassiter, confused. “Fourth of July isn’t about coloring eggs,” he pointed out helpfully. “It’s about barbecues and fireworks.”
“Tell that to him,” the detective replied, nodding his head in the direction of the man still sitting in his chair. “He’s the one playing fast and loose with all the traditions the good people of this country hold sacred.”
Shawn muttered, “Oh, please.”
McNab looked, if anything, more confused than before. “Sir...?”
“Go on,” Lassiter said again. “Tell him.”
McNab gave an uncertain frown but turned to Shawn and said, “Umm, okay. Fourth of July is about barbecues and fireworks, Shawn.”
“Yeah, Buzz, I know,” Shawn assured him. “Hey, you know my dad’s got that barbecue going on all afternoon, right? You heading over there later?”
The tall officer smiled. “Sure am, as soon as my shift is over. Francie’s going to meet me there. We’re taking in the fireworks show at the marina later tonight,” he added.
“That’s good, Buzz. Should be fun.”
“What about you? Are you going to see any fireworks tonight?” the officer asked.
Shawn shrugged. His glance slid upwards towards Lassiter briefly, but to McNab Shawn only said, “I’m trying to arrange something.” Another sideways glance from Shawn, and Lassiter felt his cheeks flush.
“Well, it’s good to know everyone’s got plans,” Lassiter said briskly. “Now both of you get away from my desk and let me get my work done.”
Shawn leaned forward, propping his elbows on the desk as he looked up at Lassiter. “I can’t leave until I get my kiss,” he reminded the detective.
“F...” Lassiter rolled his eyes and sighed. “Are you still going on about that? I told you I’m not going to kiss you. Why don’t you try your little tradition on McNab here?” he asked, nodding his head towards the tall officer.
But McNab took a small step backwards. “Gee, I’m sorry Shawn,” he said, receding, “but I don’t think Francie would want me kissing anyone else.”
Shawn shook his head and chuckled. “It’s okay, Buzz. It doesn’t work without the mistletoe.” He stood, yielding the seat back to Lassiter.
“Oh. Well, that’s good, then,” McNab said. Nodding quickly at the other two men, he backed away and headed across the big central room to the stairs and out of sight.
Lassiter sat at his desk and returned his gaze to Shawn. “You don’t have the mistletoe anymore?” he wondered.
Shawn shook his head. “I lent it to Gracie at the front desk. She likes James, the desk sergeant,” he added confidentially, leaning back against the desk.
“Oh. Well, at least you got rid of that thing,” Lassiter said. And no, that wasn’t disappointment he was feeling, he assured himself. “So I guess you can head back to Henry’s barbecue, then.”
Shawn shook his head. “Nope. I had the mistletoe when you said my name earlier. So the rule still stands. You have to kiss me.”
“I’ve told you already, I’m not going to kiss you,” Lassiter told him. “So just give it up, Spencer.” Shawn’s eyebrows rose. As the words played back in Lassiter’s mind he felt his face grow warm.
“Lassie, I’m shocked!” Shawn slapped a hand over his heart emphatically. “You should know I don’t give it up if I don’t get a kiss first. I’m not that kind of boy.”
“That isn’t what... I didn’t...” Lassiter faltered as he caught the glow in Shawn’s hazel eyes. Amusement? Triumph? Affection? Again the detective felt himself flush, so he scowled up at the younger man. “I hate you,” he mumbled.
Shawn only smiled. “No, you don’t,” he said softly. Leaning close, Shawn maintained the eye contact between them. Lassiter returned Shawn’s gaze with a glare, but the other man didn’t waver.
Defeated, Lassiter muttered, “No, I don’t.”
Shawn drew back slightly.
“But you annoy the hell out of me,” Lassiter declared, trying to regain some control of the situation. Shawn chuckled.
“Give me a chance, I’ll try to come up with something not so annoying,” Shawn suggested. He was still too close, still looking at Lassiter with too much of something resembling affection. “Come on, Lassie. One kiss. Show me some fireworks.” His voice was almost a whisper, and Lassiter liked the sound of it. “I know you want to. You know you want to.”
And damn, Lassiter did want to, but there was no way this was going to happen in the middle of the police station - at his desk, for pete’s sake. He gave a quick, cautious glance around the room.
Shawn watched him, his grin not quite a leer.
Lassiter took a breath and rose from his chair. "Come on," he muttered.
Grabbing Shawn’s arm, he steered them both across the large room, turning down a quiet corridor. A quick glance down the hall told him no one was nearby; on the edge of his vision, he noticed Shawn checking, as well.
Certain they were alone, he turned to Shawn and backed him against the wall. He saw a touch of surprise in the other man’s eyes, found himself pleased that he could elicit that response. He was about to surprise him a lot more, he thought.
He brought one hand to rest against the wall behind Shawn, just beside the younger man’s head. His other hand came up to rest on the side of Shawn’s face, palm cupping the man’s jaw.
Shawn was staring at him with absolute intensity, as if there was no one else in his world at that moment. His hands came to rest on the detective’s hips.
Lassiter brushed his thumb across Shawn’s lower lip, pressing gently. Shawn’s mouth opened slightly, tongue peeking out just enough to lick at the intruding digit.
Lassiter was entranced.
He leaned forward, hand moving around to the back of Shawn’s neck to guide the man, and let his lips brush Shawn’s.
It was only the barest kiss, soft, warm, hardly more than a breath. Then he drew back.
Shawn swallowed, and there was something desperate in his eyes as he gazed at the detective.
“If you say April Fool’s right now, I really will die.”
Lassiter chuckled. It was intoxicating, being the one in control where Shawn was concerned. He looked into the other man’s face, the flushed skin and darkened eyes, and decided he liked what he saw. He moved in for another kiss.
Again his lips met Shawn’s. More firmly this time, and he felt Shawn’s lips part beneath his own, warm and insistent. Lassiter’s hand moved from Shawn’s neck up into his hair, gripping, pulling Shawn impossibly close as their kiss went on...
...until reluctantly, Lassiter drew back. There was a soft needy moan as the kiss was broken, but Lassiter couldn’t be sure whether it was Shawn’s or his own.
“Holy fuck,” Shawn murmured breathlessly.
“Yeah,” Lassiter managed.
For a moment, they stood there, staring, studying each other. The police station corridor was still quiet, but it suddenly seemed too bright.
And Shawn was watching him again with that look, as if he could read every thought in Lassiter’s mind. As if he really were some kind of psychic. But he wasn’t, and Lassiter knew that.
He was torn between the desire to kiss Shawn once more and the need to escape to the familiarity of his desk.
And then Shawn’s face broke into an easy smile, and something inside Lassiter relaxed again.
“So,” Shawn asked, his hands playing at Lassiter’s tie, “do you think maybe you can stop by my place tonight?”
Lassiter put on a frown. “I’m not sure,” he told Shawn, and disappointment broke across the younger man’s face. “I’ll have to get to a market somewhere, if I have to bring a pumpkin...”
Shawn rolled his eyes and Lassiter grinned.
“Bring a pumpkin, don’t bring a pumpkin, doesn’t matter. It’s Fourth of July, Lassie!” Shawn leaned in for another kiss. “Tonight’s all about the fireworks.”
End
Author: mariska_lee
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter
Rating: PG-13? There's no porn, just a couple of bad words. And it's slash, but mild.
Disclaimer: I don't own them and I don't profit from them. I rent them sometimes from Netflix, but that's about it.
Warnings: The aforementioned slash and bad words. Also, it's my first fic, so reading this is the literary equivalent to attending a small child's first piano concert - and I'm no Mozart.
Words: About 3,100
Summary: There's no plot. There's no sex. There's no angst to speak of. There's maybe a little fluff. Mostly, it's just a lot of nonsense, and a lot of dialog.
Just a Kiss, by mariska_lee
“Happy Independence Day, Lassie!” Shawn came up to Lassiter’s desk and grinned.
The detective glanced up, scowled, and returned to the paperwork in front of him.
He didn’t really mind Shawn’s presence at the moment - until his suspect was finished speaking with his lawyer, Lassiter had only paperwork to deal with. And even Shawn’s nonsense was better than paperwork, though there was no reason to let Shawn know that.
But his definitely-not-psychic visitor seemed to know it anyway, because when Lassiter looked up again he was met with one of Shawn’s more brilliant smiles and a spark of something teasing and very Shawn-like in the other man’s eyes. “What, Lassie, not even a ‘hello’?”
Lassiter sighed. “Spencer.” He gave a reluctant nod of the head, letting the single word stand as a greeting. But Shawn looked at him expectantly.
“And maybe a smile?” the younger man prompted. Lassiter only glared in response.
“You know, Detective, you shouldn’t spend so much time with your face in that frowny position.” He drew imaginary frown lines in the air. “As handsome and masculine as it looks on you, it just can’t be healthy to be that grumpy. Now how about a smile?” As he spoke, Shawn made his way around the desk to stand beside Lassiter’s chair.
And now Shawn had a different expression in his eyes - the one that said, I’m going to sit in your lap now.
But Lassiter knew that look, so he scooted himself and the chair firmly into place at the desk, derailing any attempt Shawn might make. He might not mind Shawn - in fact, if he were honest, he might almost say that he even liked him a little bit, sometimes. Might. Almost. Sometimes. But Shawn’s antics could be embarrassing, and Carlton Lassiter hated to be embarrassed. Especially at work.
“Go away, Spencer. I’m busy.” He tried to make the order sound authoritative, but was pretty sure he missed the mark.
And in the meantime, Shawn shifted to stand behind the detective’s chair, waving something small over the other man’s head once or twice. Lassiter did his best to ignore Shawn, but the man seemed determined to crowd into his space.
Shawn leaned over Lassiter and looked at the paperwork on the desk, planting a brief kiss on Lassiter’s cheek as he did so. “What are you doing that’s so important you had to blow off my dad’s barbecue, anyway?” he asked. “Jules is there, so it’s not a case. Chief Vick is there. Practically half the force is there.”
“It is a case, Spencer,” Lassiter told him. “I told O’Hara I’d handle it without her so she could attend your father’s...” He pushed away from the desk again and turned his chair to face Shawn, puzzled. “Did you just kiss me?”
Shawn nodded. “Mistletoe,” he explained cheerily. He held out a little twig for Lassiter to see. “It’s a tradition.”
“That’s for Christmas,” Lassiter corrected. “Even you must know that.” His gaze flicked from Shawn’s eyes to his hand and back again.
“Nope.” Shawn boosted himself into a sitting position on the edge of the desk, facing the detective. “This is Fourth Of July mistletoe. Entirely different. My own brand-new tradition. And that was sweet, what you did for Jules, by the way.” He waved the sprig over Lassiter’s head. “Think it deserves another kiss?”
“There’s no such thing as Fourth of July mistletoe.” Lassiter swatted Shawn’s hand away impatiently. He tugged on a page trapped under Shawn. “Get your ass off my paperwork.”
“Hmm? Oh, sorry.” Shawn didn’t sound at all sorry, but he hoisted himself up, supporting his weight by bracing his arms on the desk until Lassiter rescued the stray page. “Anyway, back to my tradition...”
“Not now, Spencer,” Lassiter said, but Shawn continued as if he hadn’t heard.
“...See, when you’re anywhere around mistletoe, if you say someone’s name, you have to kiss that person.”
“That’s not how the tradition goes,” Lassiter pointed out.
“That’s how it goes with Fourth of July mistletoe,” the younger man insisted. “Work with me here, Lassie! Do I need to tie a red, white and blue ribbon around it? Fourth of July mistletoe, okay?”
Lassiter sighed. “Fine. Now why don’t you go try it out on someone else?”
“No can do, mon Lassiter. The act of the tradition is still in progress. You said my name before, so you have to kiss me. I can’t leave until you do. That’s part of the tradition.”
“You’re insane,” the detective muttered.
“I’m not.” Shawn said. “It’s a good tradition, when you think about it. And you said my name. Now kiss me.”
“I’m not going to kiss you,” Lassiter said.
“It just has to be a little kiss - I’m not asking for a tonsil-licking. Just a little kiss on the cheek...”
“No.”
“A peck, really. A simple...”
“Leave.” The detective emphasized the order with a nod of his head in the direction of the exit. Shawn ignored the gesture.
“Come on, am I that repulsive? It’s just a little kiss. You know, Lass, it could be worse...” Shawn went on.
But Lassiter, eyes still on the exit, caught a flutter of motion near the stairs. Officer McNab stood, waving at him, trying to get his attention. Good, Lassiter thought - his suspect must have finished conferring privately with his lawyer. Now maybe he could get back to his investigation. He nodded once in acknowledgment at McNab, who gave him a thumbs-up before heading in the opposite direction.
“...after all, you only said my last name, and according to the tradition, you have to kiss anyone whose name you say. And since my dad’s last name is the same as mine...”
Lassiter glanced back at Shawn, but he’d only half-heard the last part of his visitor’s argument. “Hmm? How is that worse?” he asked as he gathered his papers into a folder.
“Dude! Seriously? You’d rather kiss my father than me?”
“What?” Lassiter looked up and found Shawn staring wide-eyed and uncertain at him, and he tried to recall what Shawn had been talking about. “No. Oh. God, no...” The words were out before Lassiter caught himself. And the grin that made it to Shawn’s eyes was relieved and a little too pleased, and it left Lassiter flustered. “I don’t want to kiss either of you,” he protested. “So leave.” Standing, he straightened his tie to regain his composure and added, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a suspect to deal with.”
Shawn drew himself up from the desk and stood in front of Lassiter. It didn’t really serve to block Lassiter’s way, but he stopped anyway.
“Did I tell you I’m updating all of the other big holiday traditions, too?” Shawn asked. “Thanksgiving dinners and New Year’s countdowns and all?”
And Lassiter recognized that as bait for Shawn’s continued insanity. He thought about his suspect sitting downstairs in the interrogation room, but still he sighed and asked, “Why?”
“Why not?” Shawn countered. “They’re fun. Traditions, I mean. That’s why people keep doing them. You do know about fun, right? You’ve come across that somewhere, I’m sure. Stuff that lets you turn that frown upside-down? Tell you what. I’m hosting a pumpkin-carving at my place tonight. You’re invited. It’s BYOP. Bring your own...”
“Pumpkin,” Lassitier finished for him, and this time he met Shawn’s grin with a reluctant one of his own. “Yeah, I got that. Sorry, I’m busy.”
“Doing what, cleaning your gun? Come on, Lassiedoodle, live a little. After the pumpkin-carving, we’ll tell ghost stories about the old dry-cleaners.”
“There are ghost stories about the old dry-cleaners?”
“Lots of ‘em,” Shawn assured him. “Gus won’t even stay over to play Halo anymore, not since he heard about the old prospector.”
“Old prospector.” Lassiter repeated. “In a dry-cleaner’s?”
“Trust me, Lassie, you don’t want to miss it.”
“As tempting as it sounds, Spencer, I’m afraid I’ll have to.” He stepped around Shawn and started towards the stairs, the other man falling into place beside him.
“Is it because you don’t have a pumpkin? Because I’m willing to share mine. I’ve had it since last fall, so it should be easy to get the knife into it by now.”
“Last fall?” Lassiter stopped to look at his companion. “I’m surprised it hasn’t grown legs and run off.”
Shawn looked at him thoughtfully. “I hope it didn’t. Though I haven’t actually seen it around in a while, so I may have to offer you a rain-check on the whole pumpkin thing,” he confessed.
Lassiter shook his head, exasperated, and stalked towards the interrogation rooms, Shawn still trailing behind him.
“But how awesome would it be if it did take off on its own?” Shawn asked. “You could hunt it down and shoot it. Do you need a special license to hunt pumpkin?”
“Spe...? What? No.” Lassiter paused outside Interrogation Room B. “And why are you still here, Spencer? I thought I told you to go away. Why don’t you go back to Henry’s barbecue and pester your little playmate?”
“Gus isn’t at the barbecue,” Shawn told him with a pout. “He’s being all serious and jobby and worky like you. Says he hasn’t been putting in enough hours, and apparently that’s my fault. Anyway, I told you, I can’t leave.” He held the mistletoe out expectantly. “Kiss, remember? We talked about this already.”
Lassiter, his hand on the interrogation room door, turned to Spencer once more.
“I tell you what,” he said. “You run off and play like a good boy now, and I’ll stop by your office later and bring you a candy kiss.”
Shawn studied the detective with suspicion, but Lassiter spotted the familiar glint of humor in the younger man’s eyes. “This candy kiss of which you speak,” Shawn wanted to know. “Will it be poisoned?”
“Not with anything they can trace,” Lassiter assured him. “Now go.” With that, he walked into the room and closed the door on the other man. Through the small window in the door, he watched Shawn walk away before turning to deal with his suspect.
***
The next forty minutes were filled with unanswered questions, an uncooperative suspect, and a particularly self-satisfied lawyer. Lassiter felt his mood worsen with every tick of the clock. But at the end of it, he did have the name of the suspect's accomplice, and for the moment he was willing to accept that as a victory.
Notes updated, Lassiter strutted up the stairs towards his desk, scowling as he approached to find Shawn sitting in his chair, with McNab standing beside him listening to whatever nonsense the pseudo-psychic was spewing.
“Out of my chair, Spencer,” he ordered. “And why are you still here? Shouldn’t you be off coloring eggs or something?”
McNab looked at Lassiter, confused. “Fourth of July isn’t about coloring eggs,” he pointed out helpfully. “It’s about barbecues and fireworks.”
“Tell that to him,” the detective replied, nodding his head in the direction of the man still sitting in his chair. “He’s the one playing fast and loose with all the traditions the good people of this country hold sacred.”
Shawn muttered, “Oh, please.”
McNab looked, if anything, more confused than before. “Sir...?”
“Go on,” Lassiter said again. “Tell him.”
McNab gave an uncertain frown but turned to Shawn and said, “Umm, okay. Fourth of July is about barbecues and fireworks, Shawn.”
“Yeah, Buzz, I know,” Shawn assured him. “Hey, you know my dad’s got that barbecue going on all afternoon, right? You heading over there later?”
The tall officer smiled. “Sure am, as soon as my shift is over. Francie’s going to meet me there. We’re taking in the fireworks show at the marina later tonight,” he added.
“That’s good, Buzz. Should be fun.”
“What about you? Are you going to see any fireworks tonight?” the officer asked.
Shawn shrugged. His glance slid upwards towards Lassiter briefly, but to McNab Shawn only said, “I’m trying to arrange something.” Another sideways glance from Shawn, and Lassiter felt his cheeks flush.
“Well, it’s good to know everyone’s got plans,” Lassiter said briskly. “Now both of you get away from my desk and let me get my work done.”
Shawn leaned forward, propping his elbows on the desk as he looked up at Lassiter. “I can’t leave until I get my kiss,” he reminded the detective.
“F...” Lassiter rolled his eyes and sighed. “Are you still going on about that? I told you I’m not going to kiss you. Why don’t you try your little tradition on McNab here?” he asked, nodding his head towards the tall officer.
But McNab took a small step backwards. “Gee, I’m sorry Shawn,” he said, receding, “but I don’t think Francie would want me kissing anyone else.”
Shawn shook his head and chuckled. “It’s okay, Buzz. It doesn’t work without the mistletoe.” He stood, yielding the seat back to Lassiter.
“Oh. Well, that’s good, then,” McNab said. Nodding quickly at the other two men, he backed away and headed across the big central room to the stairs and out of sight.
Lassiter sat at his desk and returned his gaze to Shawn. “You don’t have the mistletoe anymore?” he wondered.
Shawn shook his head. “I lent it to Gracie at the front desk. She likes James, the desk sergeant,” he added confidentially, leaning back against the desk.
“Oh. Well, at least you got rid of that thing,” Lassiter said. And no, that wasn’t disappointment he was feeling, he assured himself. “So I guess you can head back to Henry’s barbecue, then.”
Shawn shook his head. “Nope. I had the mistletoe when you said my name earlier. So the rule still stands. You have to kiss me.”
“I’ve told you already, I’m not going to kiss you,” Lassiter told him. “So just give it up, Spencer.” Shawn’s eyebrows rose. As the words played back in Lassiter’s mind he felt his face grow warm.
“Lassie, I’m shocked!” Shawn slapped a hand over his heart emphatically. “You should know I don’t give it up if I don’t get a kiss first. I’m not that kind of boy.”
“That isn’t what... I didn’t...” Lassiter faltered as he caught the glow in Shawn’s hazel eyes. Amusement? Triumph? Affection? Again the detective felt himself flush, so he scowled up at the younger man. “I hate you,” he mumbled.
Shawn only smiled. “No, you don’t,” he said softly. Leaning close, Shawn maintained the eye contact between them. Lassiter returned Shawn’s gaze with a glare, but the other man didn’t waver.
Defeated, Lassiter muttered, “No, I don’t.”
Shawn drew back slightly.
“But you annoy the hell out of me,” Lassiter declared, trying to regain some control of the situation. Shawn chuckled.
“Give me a chance, I’ll try to come up with something not so annoying,” Shawn suggested. He was still too close, still looking at Lassiter with too much of something resembling affection. “Come on, Lassie. One kiss. Show me some fireworks.” His voice was almost a whisper, and Lassiter liked the sound of it. “I know you want to. You know you want to.”
And damn, Lassiter did want to, but there was no way this was going to happen in the middle of the police station - at his desk, for pete’s sake. He gave a quick, cautious glance around the room.
Shawn watched him, his grin not quite a leer.
Lassiter took a breath and rose from his chair. "Come on," he muttered.
Grabbing Shawn’s arm, he steered them both across the large room, turning down a quiet corridor. A quick glance down the hall told him no one was nearby; on the edge of his vision, he noticed Shawn checking, as well.
Certain they were alone, he turned to Shawn and backed him against the wall. He saw a touch of surprise in the other man’s eyes, found himself pleased that he could elicit that response. He was about to surprise him a lot more, he thought.
He brought one hand to rest against the wall behind Shawn, just beside the younger man’s head. His other hand came up to rest on the side of Shawn’s face, palm cupping the man’s jaw.
Shawn was staring at him with absolute intensity, as if there was no one else in his world at that moment. His hands came to rest on the detective’s hips.
Lassiter brushed his thumb across Shawn’s lower lip, pressing gently. Shawn’s mouth opened slightly, tongue peeking out just enough to lick at the intruding digit.
Lassiter was entranced.
He leaned forward, hand moving around to the back of Shawn’s neck to guide the man, and let his lips brush Shawn’s.
It was only the barest kiss, soft, warm, hardly more than a breath. Then he drew back.
Shawn swallowed, and there was something desperate in his eyes as he gazed at the detective.
“If you say April Fool’s right now, I really will die.”
Lassiter chuckled. It was intoxicating, being the one in control where Shawn was concerned. He looked into the other man’s face, the flushed skin and darkened eyes, and decided he liked what he saw. He moved in for another kiss.
Again his lips met Shawn’s. More firmly this time, and he felt Shawn’s lips part beneath his own, warm and insistent. Lassiter’s hand moved from Shawn’s neck up into his hair, gripping, pulling Shawn impossibly close as their kiss went on...
...until reluctantly, Lassiter drew back. There was a soft needy moan as the kiss was broken, but Lassiter couldn’t be sure whether it was Shawn’s or his own.
“Holy fuck,” Shawn murmured breathlessly.
“Yeah,” Lassiter managed.
For a moment, they stood there, staring, studying each other. The police station corridor was still quiet, but it suddenly seemed too bright.
And Shawn was watching him again with that look, as if he could read every thought in Lassiter’s mind. As if he really were some kind of psychic. But he wasn’t, and Lassiter knew that.
He was torn between the desire to kiss Shawn once more and the need to escape to the familiarity of his desk.
And then Shawn’s face broke into an easy smile, and something inside Lassiter relaxed again.
“So,” Shawn asked, his hands playing at Lassiter’s tie, “do you think maybe you can stop by my place tonight?”
Lassiter put on a frown. “I’m not sure,” he told Shawn, and disappointment broke across the younger man’s face. “I’ll have to get to a market somewhere, if I have to bring a pumpkin...”
Shawn rolled his eyes and Lassiter grinned.
“Bring a pumpkin, don’t bring a pumpkin, doesn’t matter. It’s Fourth of July, Lassie!” Shawn leaned in for another kiss. “Tonight’s all about the fireworks.”
End