A word to the Wise ain't necessary...
Title: - it's the stupid ones that need the advice.
Author: mtnhi32 & thedeathchamber
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter (preslash), references to Shawn/Juliet
Rating: PG for this part
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. [Psychfic.net]
Summary: If he's really a robot, then why does he feel so human?
Lassiter stood staring at the swinging door where Spencer had been standing only a moment before. He could still hear his feet pounding up the steps as though the devil himself was on his heels.
“What the hell was Spencer up to now?” he couldn’t help but wonder. He didn’t buy for a minute that he had been looking for McNabb. That smoothie story was lame, even for Spencer’s low standards and Lassiter found himself looking around for some sign of a prank or something disgusting left in the file room for him to trip over, even patting himself down cursorily to check that nothing was missing from his person. Never mind that Spencer had been acting a little oddly and hadn’t even thrown himself at him as was his wont. When he confirmed that nothing was out of place he scratched his head in confusion.
“What the hell?” he thought for what seemed the millionth time in the last few minutes. Shaking his head he stuffed the files he had pulled out, for nothing more than for Spencer’s benefit, back into the drawer. Afraid that Spencer might still be loitering around upstairs he opted to stay in the file room a bit longer.
“You mean hide, don’t you?” his traitorous mind remarked tauntingly. While he mentally dismissed the idea that he was hiding from anyone, much less that idiot Spencer, his brains delivered another blow.
“Shawn was definitely checking you out” his inner monologue went on, much to his dismay.
“That’s ridiculous,” he said out loud, neither noticing nor caring that he was now effectively talking to himself.
“Is it?” his mind persisted mercilessly. “Have you ever seen Spencer blush like he did after he said you were hot?”
Lassiter replayed the scene in his head: Spencer’s eyes shamelessly moving down his body and going to places that his eyes had no business wandering. Carlton flushed, unsettled, as he remembered his own warm feeling watching Spencer’s tongue moistening his lips.
Carlton Lassiter knew, indisputably, that he was not “good looking” in the conventional sense but he had come to realize however that he was far from ugly. He’d had women checking him out before, so he knew what it looked like... and what if felt like. He could admit to himself that Spencer was a good looking man, in any given sense of the word, and was far more disturbed to realize that he was not disturbed in the least thinking of Spencer in that way than he was to be thinking it in the first place.
“God I am not even making sense now,” he thought cynically. Spencer and his tomfoolery were getting to him today because he was tired. That was it. He had been up all night and his mind was playing tricks on him. Spencer had not been checking him out, he hadn’t come looking for him and he was not thinking- repeatedly- that Spencer was attractive.
Peeking out cautiously into the hall to make sure no one was around he left the file room and took the back stairs up to the chief’s office. She looked at him somewhat strangely when he told her that he was going home to catch some sleep but released him nonetheless telling him to not come back until the next day. Feeling overwhelmed with his thoughts of Spencer and the exhaustion that suddenly seemed to make his body leaden, he headed to his car and then home, determined to put Shawn Spencer out of his mind.
Across town, Shawn Spencer was slowly awakened by the sensation of hands on his body... all over his body. The touch was gentle, almost exploratory but felt incredible and he found himself arching up into the intimate caress.
“Jul-” Yet he could not continue as he was silenced by a mouth descending upon his own. He groaned softly, low in his throat, at the unexpected intensity of the kiss and gasped weakly into the space between their mouths as their lips parted.
He was so blown away that it took him a few moments to realize these were not the soft lips of Juliet. In fact, they were not lips that belonged to any woman. These were thinner and slightly chapped and he could feel the light sting of stubble on his cheek. Shawn’s eyes flew open to see the face of one Carlton Lassiter disturbingly close to his own. When his eyes widened in shock, Lassiter whispered, “Don’t fight it, you know you want it too,” before leaning down to capture Shawn’s lips once more. Shawn melted into the kiss unthinkingly, parting his lips willingly and pressing close as Carlton’s hands trailed down his side and back to cup his ass through his jeans.
However, when those same hands started unbuttoning his jeans, Shawn bolted upright, awakening abruptly with a yelp. He heard the remote, which he’d sent flying at his unwitting start, land somewhere to his left and stared unseeingly at the half eaten bag of Doritos scattered across the floor, his mind reeling too hard for him to bemoan the loss of some perfectly good chips.
For several long seconds he sat unmoving, completely dazed, his breath coming in harsh pants and his heart pounding so fast he could almost feel himself shaking. Finally, he sank back onto the couch running his hands through his hair. Glancing at his phone he noted it was now 7PM. Disconcerted he looked towards the window only to find himself staring at growing darkness. Although he didn’t remember falling asleep- he’d only settled down to watch some TiVo- he had obviously slept for the majority of the day.
“Damn Gus and his stupid ideas,” he groused, “Now he’s got me dreaming about Lassie of all things.”
Noticing suddenly that his hands were shaking he wiped them on his jeans then gripped the soft denim in an effort to quell their trembling, although he was glad they gave him something to focus on other than the persistent throbbing warmth in his crotch.
He swallowed thickly, his mouth and throat parched from sleep, pondering whether it was worth the effort to get up for a drink. He licked his lips thoughtfully and stopped immediately when his mind piped up with an image of Lassiter leaning towards him, eyes closed. The dream had been so vivid Shawn swore he could still taste Lassiter on his lips; still feel his lips as they moved over his, light stubble grazing against his own. He felt his body respond at the memory of the dream, as his mind reminded him how inconceivably realistic it had been and just how good it had felt.
It shouldn’t feel so real, but then again he wasn’t supposed to know what Carlton’s lips felt like, the warm weight of his body or the scent of his skin when he was close enough to lick. Shawn shuddered at that thought but his mind immediately went back to all the times he’d run his fingers over Lassiter’s face and lips, down his body and even to that time he’d settled himself on his lap.
“Oh, God,” he groaned out loud. “Gus was right. I really do have a crush on Lassie.”
He’d have to give it to Gus because it was a miracle he’d managed to contain himself from giving him a speech about propriety for so long. Shawn wiped his hands against his jeans in frustration.
“No. No, no, this is ridiculous,” he argued with himself. “Gus got the idea stuck in my head and I was so tired that it turned into a dream and my body reacted. A perfectly normal reaction…could happen to anybody. It doesn’t mean anything except that I have an impressionable mind.” For all that, the more Shawn argued with himself the more he couldn’t get the idea out of his mind.
“I can fix this problem right now, once and for all,” he said. “I’ll go to Lassie’s right now. I, of course, won’t have any big gay crushy feelings and my mind will finally get it straight.” Chuckling to himself as he grabbed his helmet and if the laugh was a little bit strained, well, there was no one there to comment on it.
“That will serve Gus right when I tell him about it tomorrow. He’ll freak out I even went to see Lassie. Oh, this will be good.” Not even bothering to arrange his hair or change into clean clothes, he grabbed the keys to his motorcycle and headed out the door.
Even as exhausted as he was, it had taken Carlton forever to fall asleep so he was more than a little irritated when he was awoken by a most importunate pounding on the door. For a moment he’d thought he was dreaming but the pounding continued unrelenting. Fuming, he flung the covers back and stomped to the door, determined to give whoever was disturbing him a piece of his mind and maybe a good look at his gun if they turned out to be particularly infuriating.
As he wrenched open the door, the angry retort died on his lips as he saw who it was standing on his threshold. Apparently, he was caught in some kind of nightmare. He took a deep breath; eyes closed and was very tempted to pinch himself, hoping that this whole insane day had only been some kind of bizarre dream. But when he opened his eyes again Shawn Spencer was still standing there, his hair and clothing disheveled and looking uncharacteristically nervous.
He let out a vexed sigh, thinking back on McNabb’s words from that morning- and, Christ, didn’t that feel like a lifetime away already- about him being a robot. He’d felt justifiable pride at that but he now realized it couldn’t be farther from the truth. There was one thing, one person, who’d always managed to ruffle his feathers and he was sure as hell that real robots didn’t have such... weaknesses. Actually, he wasn’t entirely sure that Shawn Spencer wouldn’t succeed in driving more than one robot berserk.
“What are you doing here Spencer?” he asked quietly.
He shuffled uncomfortably, hyperaware of his tousled bed hair and bare feet as Shawn stared at him very obviously with that same disconcerting look he’d worn that morning. Well, Carlton was a cop and for a cop there was only one way to deal with things and that was head on.
After a moment he turned and began heading down the small hallway by the door.
“You coming?” he called over his shoulder to Shawn.
Despite the early hour, Lassiter could not resist the temptation of a drink. Dealing with Spencer was exhausting at the best of times; after a day like the one he’d had- nothing could keep him away from a glass of scotch. As he moved towards the cabinet to grab the bottle he could feel Spencer’s eyes on his back, he’d closed the door and followed him into the living room in unprecedented silence. Inclining his head, Lassiter gestured to the bottle in his hand in offering. When Shawn nodded, still eerily silent, he grabbed another glass and poured the shot, handing it to him with a sigh.
“What’s going on Shawn?” he asked quietly, his irritation grudgingly giving way to concern. It didn’t even disturb him that he had slipped and called him Shawn; the situation was unconventional enough that it didn’t seem out of place and given the man’s more than odd behavior, it felt justified.
When Shawn continued to stare at him, eyes wide and a small crease on his brow, Lassiter took the glass, poured himself another shot and then gestured to the couch.
Shawn held the glass in his hands for a moment before taking a sip. His face contorted with unmistakable distaste and he shuddered after he swallowed, some of the liquid dribbling down his chin. Carlton frowned, disgruntled.
“Spencer, that’s a 12 year old single malt scotch. I knew I shouldn’t have wasted it on you.”
At Shawn’s lack of retort though, the flare of anger died down again and he quickly finished his drink and set the glass down.
“What is it?” he asked gently, again surprised at himself. “Did something happen to O’Hara or Guster?” His heart was in his throat with the thought that only something truly horrible could make Shawn (Spencer, dammit!) this quiet.
Shawn looked at Lassiter in astonishment when he heard the quiet, gentle tone. That was not like Lassiter at all. He found himself unable to look away until his brain finally caught up and he realized what Lassie had just said. He suddenly became aware that he was still standing in the middle of the living room and quickly walked over to the couch and sank down next to Carlton albeit at a prudent distance.
“No, no, they’re fine,” he said hurriedly, embarrassed that he had been struck completely dumb. He hadn’t expected Lassiter to answer the door like that, in a pair of sweats and T-shirt, his hair ruffled and out of place. And he certainly hadn’t expected the reaction of his own body at the sight, he flushed even then at the thought that he had probably gotten the detective out of bed.
He stared down into his glass for a moment and took a tiny sip between pursed lips, grimacing. He jerked in surprise when unexpectedly Lassiter yanked the glass out of Shawn’s grasp.
“If that’s what you’re going to do with perfectly good scotch than you can go without,”
he growled and set the cup down next to his, so forcefully the liquid sloshed dangerously close to the edge.
Shawn took a deep breath, jiggling his leg nervously and missing something to do with his hands. He forced out a strained laugh.
“It’s funny really,” he said, not quite daring to meet Lassiter’s sharp gaze. “You might even get a laugh out of it.”
“You mean if he doesn’t shoot you first,” his brain put in and he laughed edgily again. He caught Lassiter narrowing his eyes doubtfully and hastily plunged ahead.
“It’s Gus’ fault really,” he began uncertainly. “You know him and his crazy ideas.”
Hearing Lassiter’s snort and seeing him smirk made his own lips quirk and some of his self-confidence return.
“Well, you see... it’s like this...” he continued before trailing off…clearly, he hadn’t thought this through. What was he supposed to say? “Hey, Lassie, guess what, I have the hots for you, how about that?”
If not for the burn of scotch in his throat there was nothing separating this from your typical awkward confession of a teenage crush and that was all this was, Shawn thought emphatically. No matter that it’d been going on for longer than any of his previous crushes put together or that he’d never been so fixated on anyone in his life except for Val Kilmer... He looked up through his lashes at Lassiter, who was being startlingly patient, staring at him calmly and expectantly. Sweet pineapple, this really was so much more than a crush...
Something of his thoughts must have shown in his eyes, because all of a sudden Carlton was much closer that he was before, his eyes unwavering on Shawn’s. Shawn wanted to blink, he wanted to blink and turn and walk away. What had he been thinking? What about Juliet? His subconscious had been very effective in keeping his affections for Lassie at a minimum, deep in the recesses of his brain and he’d been fine. There was nothing to say he couldn’t continue like he had before, admiring Lassiter from afar and devoting himself to the wonderful woman he had at his side.
Nothing except the heat radiating from Lassiter’s body and the magnetic pull of his gaze and why had he never realized that Lassiter had superpowers.
“Shawn?” Lassiter whispered, half in question as he grabbed his shoulders and pulled him to him.
Carlton wasn’t thinking when he reached out for Shawn. All he could focus on were Shawn’s eyes on his and the irresistible pout of his lips. He’d always prided himself on being in complete control of his emotions and actions but there was nothing controlled about this. The day had been too long and too absurd, too full of madness and near-death experiences. His battery was dead. This wasn’t Carlton the robot. This was Carlton the man.
At the first touch of his lips against his, Spencer tensed for a moment then melted into the kiss. Within moments he had opened his lips, sliding his tongue into Shawn’s mouth without encountering any resistance, barely stifling a groan when their tongues tentatively brushed. He moved a hand to cup Shawn’s jaw, angling his face to deepen the kiss, chasing after the unknown taste that the alcohol couldn’t quite mask in the scorching heat of his mouth. Carlton felt lightheaded when Shawn moaned softly and fisted a hand in Lassiter’s shirt, pulling their bodies closer.
Abruptly Spencer pulled away with a gasp. His breath coming in harsh pants he stared at Lassiter, his face unreadable.
“Crap,” he mumbled before leaning towards him and pulling Lassiter to him, capturing his mouth once more. Lassiter groaned when Shawn pushed him back against the couch, his hands moving incessantly and all the while making noises that should not be allowed outside closed doors. Lassiter’s hands moved to Shawn’s waist and strayed lower without conscious thought. That seemed to jolt Shawn back into his right mind and he reluctantly pulled back.
For a moment neither of them said anything. Working to get his raging passions under control Lassiter said the one thing guaranteed to ruin the mood.
“What about O’Hara?” he asked quietly.
At Spencer’s stricken look he knew he had hurt the other man and hated himself for doing it yet knew it had to be asked. O’Hara was his partner and, well, his friend. Of course, he trusted Juliet to have his back no matter whatever hard feelings might arise between them she was too honorable a cop to let personal matters influence her duty. Nonetheless, partners had to trust each other. There shouldn’t be any resentment or animosity between them; he couldn’t betray her and above all he didn’t want to hurt her in any way.
Wanting nothing more than to reach out and kiss that unfamiliar hurt look away he clenched his hands at his sides and waited for Spencer to answer. When he did his voice was hoarse and raw.
“I don’t know,” he answered softly, scrambling away from Carlton. “I shouldn’t have come here,” he muttered and before Lassiter could move he was gone and out the door, nearly upsetting the table in his haste to get away. For the second time that day, Carlton Lassiter stood staring at a door that Shawn Spencer had just run out of.
“Now what?” he thought to himself as he downed what was left of Shawn’s drink, trying not to think about how his lips had been on that glass just minutes before. He trudged back to bed with a frown, determined to put everything out of his mind. That’s what you got out of letting your emotions rule you: complications and more complications. Although he had been exhausted only minutes before, sleep was a long time coming that night.