Sex Pollen: It's a Thing
Title: Sex Pollen: It's a Thing
Author: plainapple
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Shawn/Lassiter
Disclaimer: This is fan fiction, I make no claims to the copyright ownership of Psych or to its characters.
Summary: Shawn gets the sex pollen.
Note: Another entry from the old WIP, now finished folder. rispacooper said I couldn't write a psych sex-pollen fic (at least, that's how I remember the conversation going). I showed her!
“Come on Gus, it’ll be just like that time when we were fifteen and…”
“Do not finish that sentence.”
“But…!”
“I’m not joking Shawn. You keep talking and I will kill you.”
“Gus!”
“I will kill you with my bare hands, right here in the middle of the station, with all these officers watching me. Is that what you want?”
Shawn huffed indignantly, “Fine, whatever. Don’t put yourself out. It’s not like I won’t dead in half an hour anyway.”
Lassiter’s head snapped up immediately, “What?” he asked, scanning the room for eminent danger before he remembered that this was Spencer, and he probably meant he was going to be dead unless someone bought him a pineapple-mango smoothie, or unless he made it home in time for the Remington Steel marathon, or some other equally inane reason. Nevertheless, and against his better judgment, he found himself asking, “What the hell are you two talking about?”
“She got me, Lassie.” said Shawn.
“Who got you?” asked Lassiter.
“The bitch botanist from the arboretum.”
Lassiter frowned, “Is this about the dead groundskeeper?”
“Yeah.” Shawn confirmed, “She did it - stabbed him right through the back with his own hedge clippers - and now she’s got me too.”
“You’ve been stabbed?” asked Lassiter. That would explain the limp, but it couldn’t be that bad if Spencer had come to the station instead of gone to the hospital. Not bad enough to be lethal, anyway.
“No Lassie,” said Shawn. “She poisoned me.”
“She did not poison you,” said Gus.
“She did!” Shawn countered, “She blew it right in my face.”
“Blew what?” Lassiter asked.
“Lassie,” said Shawn, his voice low and his lips set in a grim line. “I’ve got the sex pollen.”
Lassiter arched an eyebrow, “Come again?”
Shawn wailed, “Don’t you think I wish I could?” He gripped the edge of Lassiter’s desk and half collapsed forward, holding himself up by his arms. “It hurts Lassie…”
Lassiter blinked. Shawn was staring up at him with watery eyes, Gus was crossing his arms and shaking his head, and Lassiter’s head felt sandy. He hadn’t been trained for this. He could barely tolerate Spencer, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed seeing him suffer. Whatever this ‘sex pollen’ was doing to him… wait… “Spencer!” Lassiter snapped, “There’s no such thing as sex pollen!”
“Thank you,” said Gus. “I’ve been telling him that for the last half hour.”
“Oh, really Gus?” Shawn asked, “No such thing? Then how do you explain this!” Shawn stood and gestured towards his crotch.
If Lassiter looked, it was only an automated reaction; you try not looking when someone points at something right in front of you. Once he had, it was too late. It was impossible to miss the clear outline of Shawn’s erection and - Lassiter found - one he’d seen it, it was damn near impossible to look away. “The hell, Spencer?”
“I’m so hard…” Shawn whimpered.
Lassiter could feel the heat rushing to his head. He had no doubt he was turning beet red as they spoke. He grit his teeth. “Spencer,” he hissed. “Get the hell out of my station.”
“But Lassie…!” Shawn protested. Lassiter was on his feet, his hand gripped firmly by the back of Shawn’s neck, before Shawn could finish his sentence.
“Out,” Lassiter insisted, forcing Shawn towards the station’s main entrance.
Shawn’s feet scraped on the floor as he tried brace himself, “You can’t throw me out in this state!” Shawn wailed, loud and tragic, “I’m dying!”
“For fuck’s sake …” As much as Lassiter hated to admit it, Shawn did have a point. Not about the dying, of course, but Shawn was downright indecent in his current state and Lassiter couldn’t in good conscious unleash him on the public. He made a sharp right and shoved Shawn into the single bathroom off the main hall.
“Not too romantic, Lass,” observed Shawn. “But I guess it will do.”
“Shut up.” Lassiter said, “You stay in here until you’ve taken care of, of…” Lassiter was not blushing. “Just, resolve the situation, Spencer.” Lassiter released Shawn and turned, only to have Shawn’s full weight slam into his back as Shawn frantically pawed at him.
“Lassie, no!” Shawn protested, “You can’t just leave me!”
Lassiter stumbled forward, managing to catch the bathroom door and slam it shut before any of his colleagues could catch sight of Spencer’s lunacy. It was, he immediately reflected, perhaps not the wisest move. The restroom was small; Shawn was plastered against his back, pushing him up against the door. Lassiter squirmed, turning to face Shawn and that was definitely not the wisest move. Now that they were alone Shawn was even more unabashed, if possible, rubbing up against Lassiter and whimpering and mouthing against his neck, “Please, Lassie. Please. Need you. Can’t do it myself…”
Too long. If Lassiter was tempted it was only because it had been too damned long. No man, officer of the law or no, could be expected not to respond to a wet, open mouth, to a firm body pressing against him in just the right way, or to the soft, needy noises - no. There was no way that wasn't going to do something to him, not after a dry spell like Lassiter had been having. His fingers were hooked in the belt loops of Shawn's jeans before he knew what he was doing.
Shawn's response was as immediate as it was enthusiastic, his hips ground forward and Lassiter found himself echoing the moans Shawn had been making moments before. Shawn's hands trailed down from Lassiter's hair and across his face to his tie. He only fumbled with the knot for a few seconds before giving up and leaving it around Lassiter's neck as he fumbled with his shirt buttons. He made a dissatisfied grunt as he popped a few open only to encounter Lassiter's undershirt.
Shawn pulled his mouth away from Lassiter's to ask, "Has anyone ever told you you wear too many clothes?"
"No," answered Lassiter.
"Well you do. Three piece suits went out with the 70's Lass."
"I’m not wearing a three piece suit."
"Pants, jacket, tie."
"It's pants, jacket, vest," answered Lassiter.
"I've heard it both ways."
"I don't care," said Lassiter before shutting Shawn up in what was fast becoming his favorite way. Shawn moaned into Lassiter's tongue.
Shawn's hands were at his belt now. Lassiter had no intention of being in any way less clothed than Shawn, so he followed example and made quick work of the front of Shawn's jeans. Shawn sighed in pleasure as his erection sprung free - Lassiter couldn't stop the little growl in his throat at the revelation Shawn was going commando.
"See how nice it is when people don't overdress?"
"Spencer, I'll give you a dollar if you stop talking."
"I'd settle for fifty cents and a blow job."
"Not gonna happen," said Lassiter, stifling any disappointment on Shawn's part by circling his cock in his hand.
"Uhn, Lassie!" Shawn encouraged, thrusting up into Lassiter's hand. Shawn's own hands left Lassiter's belt and clutched at the lapels of his jacket instead. "Good," said Shawn. "So good."
“This what you were after?” asked Lassiter. Shawn’s only response was an enthusiastic buck. It had been a while, though probably not so long as most people who knew him would guess, since Lassiter had jerked off another man, but it was a lot like riding a bike; after a few strokes Lassiter fell into his rhythm with an easy familiarity. Shawn was moaning like an idiot and Lassiter would have rolled his eyes if it wasn’t so damned hot. “Ridiculous little…”
“Lassie…” gasped Shawn. Shawn’s eyes were on him. Wanting, needy. Adoring, Lassiter would have called them, if he didn’t know better.
“Take this wherever you can get it, wouldn’t you?” Lassiter asked, twisting his wrist and thumbing the head of Shawn’s cock hard enough to get Spencer to shudder.
“No,” gasped Shawn. “ No, Lassie. You. Only you.”
“Bullshit,” Lassiter snarled. Before Shawn could disagree Lassiter caught his mouth in a firm, angry kiss, teeth and invading tongue. Lassiter barely heard Shawn’s muffled cry before Shawn was spilling into his hand. Lassiter worked him through it; rope after sticky rope, before grunting unhappily as Shawn collapsed against him, a sticky, wonton mess. Lassiter reluctantly wrapped his arms around Shawn’s back. Shawn was no doubt ruining Lassiter’s suit, but Lassiter was nothing if not a gentleman.
Lassiter absentmindedly rubbed circles over Shawn's back and planted a soft kiss on his forehead just at the hairline before he remembered that Shawn was a man and didn't need any help coming down from an orgasmic high. Still, Shawn didn't seem to mind and Lassiter had to admit that it wasn't completely unpleasant to have Shawn pressed, warm and contented, against him. It was nice, actually. More than nice. The need to be close to Shawn was almost overwhelming and… something was seriously wrong.
"It's the sex pollen," said Lassiter.
"Hmm?"
"It must... transfer through proximity or skin contact. Maybe you had some on your clothing and I..." Lassiter's mind scrambled for a plausible explanation for his sudden, insistant feeling of... feeling for Spencer, for god's sake. He could only come up with one. "It's the sex pollen," he repeated.
Shawn chuckled. "Silly Lassie." he muttered, wrapping his arms more tightly around Lassiter's waist and giving an affectionate squeeze."Don't you know there's no such thing?"