[fic] psych - friends help you move - g - shawn/gus
Title: Friends Help You Move
Fandom: Psych
Pairing: Shawn/Gus
Length: ~1100
Rating: G
Summary: Shawn's surprises aren't always bad, but they are a bit disruptive.
Notes: Written for the
you_know_thats_right Shawn/Gus Winter Fest. Thanks to quatredeathlady for the beta.
Gus should have known better.
He tries not to be too hard on himself, but this is Shawn and Gus has spent his entire life realizing he should have known better. Gus should have known better than to ever be Shawn's friend in the first place, but that ship sailed so long ago that he can't bring himself to spend too much time lamenting it.
But he definitely should have known better than to believe that Shawn was out of pineapple chunks. Shawn was never out of pineapple chunks.
"Surprise!" Shawn is saying, arms spread wide, grinning that stupid grin that's always on his face whenever he does something like this, something that Gus obviously isn't going to go along with, something that it's too late to stop.
"Surprise?" Gus says.
(He will deny to his dying breath that his voice jumped three octaves when he said it.)
"Yeah!" Shawn says, rushing to the door and rocking on the balls of his feet. "Surprise!"
And it's a surprise, all right. In fact, Gus can't think of a bigger surprise than coming home from a quick trip to the grocery store, only to find Juliet, Henry, Gus' parents, Chief Vick, Buzz, and Lassiter waiting for him when he got home. All of those people and boxes. Many boxes. Labeled in Shawn's handwriting.
"Happy Housewarming!" Juliet says, thrusting a potted plant into his hands.
"Housewarming?" Gus asks. Shawn throws an arm around Gus' shoulders and takes the plant from Juliet with his free hand.
"Thanks, Jules," he says. "But I'd better handle this. Gus is terrible with plants."
That's enough to break Gus out of his shocked stupor. As if Shawn has ever nurtured anything into bloom. He yanks the pot out of Shawn's hands.
"Excuse me?" Gus asks. "I'm not the one who managed to not only kill my own tomato plant, but the tomato plants of everyone else in the seventh grade!"
"That was a long time ago," Shawn insists, reaching for the plant. "I've grown since then. I've changed. I've learned that light is crucial to plants. And I think Mrs. Lopez learned a valuable lesson about teaching kids about energy conversation in the same week she puts their tomato plants under a sun lamp."
Gus stalks over to the kitchen with the fern and almost trips over more boxes. He places the plant on the counter and takes a few deep breaths, reminding himself that Shawn has been his best friend for years and he loves him with a ferocity that would be totally mortifying if anyone else ever found out. Killing Shawn would be terrible, if only because Gus has a lot of clients to meet with next week and it will be next to impossible to do that from jail.
Outside, he hears his parents laughing at something Shawn has said.
He wonders if maybe Jules could pull some work-release strings so he could make those visits from jail after all.
No. No. He loves Shawn. He does. And even though right at this moment, the urge to wring his neck is stronger than the urge to screw him into the mattress doesn't mean that won't change in a few minutes.
Outside, Chief Vick joins in on the laughing.
Or a few hours. Or a few days. Or....
Gus has just about calmed himself to the level below "murderous" on the Shawn Reaction Chart when someone's hands start tugging on his belt loops.
"You're missing your own housewarming party, Gus!" Shawn says.
Gus whirls around.
"No," he says, voice clipped, "I am not missing my own housewarming party. This can't be my housewarming party, because I already live here. You on the other hand--"
Shawn waves his hand dismissively.
"We can argue about the logistics later. Your mom made one of those cakes that I like! She said we couldn't have it until you got here. And Buzz brought beer!"
Shawn is bouncing again, from foot to foot, and rubbing his hands together. He looks genuinely excited, genuinely happy, except Gus has known Shawn for a long time, and he can clearly see there's a bit of genuine anxiety beneath the bolster and the bouncing.
Which only makes sense, really. Shawn does stupid things all the time, but he only does things this stupid when he's trying to hide something, like the time he rode Benny Rudman's dirt bike through the block's garage sale to keep his dad from noticing that Gus had broken that stupid fish vase, or, most recently, the time he tried to link a routine dognapping case into an elaborate smuggling ring in order to keep Gus from checking his voicemail and finding the mopey, drunken message about how deeply Shawn loved him.
"Shawn," Gus says. He tries to snap it, but it comes out as a sigh. Normally, Gus has no problem snapping at Shawn, but that hopeful, pouty puppy look is more effective than Shawn can ever be allowed to find out.
"Cake!" Shawn insists. He drops Gus' belt loops and grabs his hands. "Your mom's cake!"
"Shawn," Gus says again. He would say more, but Shawn is leaning in to kiss him, the excited, energetic kisses that Shawn uses to get him to on board for particularly shaky cases.
"Cake!" Shawn says again. His voice is edging on desperate. "Cake will make everyone feel better!"
"Shawn. If you wanted to move in with me, you could have asked," Gus says.
The corner of Shawn's mouth twitches. Shawn may be the fake psychic, but Gus has been around long enough to learn all of Shawn's tells.
"Cake," he says, but the layer of anxiety is gone. That is 100% genuine Shawn Spencer Joy beaming back at Gus through Shawn's smile, and it's Gus' turn to lean in for a kiss, his hand cupping the back of Shawn's head, fingers running through the short hairs on the back of his neck.
When they pull apart, Shawn's eyes are hooded and bright.
"Cake," Gus says. Shawn nods and nearly dances back out into the living room, grabbing Gus' hand as he goes.
This isn't over. Gus plans on giving Shawn a pretty long lecture later, perhaps with charts and figures, and he absolutely can't let Shawn unpack by himself--he already wreaked havoc on Gus' very precise organizational system before he lived here. But for now, there's cake and beer and, well, Lassiter for some reason, but also that look on Shawn's face.
Gus settles in on the couch and takes a beer from the table as Shawn tells some elaborate story that involves hand motions and sound effects. He shakes his head and doesn't fight to hide his grin. He has to concede that it's possible that, occasionally, Shawn does know best after all.
Fandom: Psych
Pairing: Shawn/Gus
Length: ~1100
Rating: G
Summary: Shawn's surprises aren't always bad, but they are a bit disruptive.
Notes: Written for the
you_know_thats_right Shawn/Gus Winter Fest. Thanks to quatredeathlady for the beta.
Gus should have known better.
He tries not to be too hard on himself, but this is Shawn and Gus has spent his entire life realizing he should have known better. Gus should have known better than to ever be Shawn's friend in the first place, but that ship sailed so long ago that he can't bring himself to spend too much time lamenting it.
But he definitely should have known better than to believe that Shawn was out of pineapple chunks. Shawn was never out of pineapple chunks.
"Surprise!" Shawn is saying, arms spread wide, grinning that stupid grin that's always on his face whenever he does something like this, something that Gus obviously isn't going to go along with, something that it's too late to stop.
"Surprise?" Gus says.
(He will deny to his dying breath that his voice jumped three octaves when he said it.)
"Yeah!" Shawn says, rushing to the door and rocking on the balls of his feet. "Surprise!"
And it's a surprise, all right. In fact, Gus can't think of a bigger surprise than coming home from a quick trip to the grocery store, only to find Juliet, Henry, Gus' parents, Chief Vick, Buzz, and Lassiter waiting for him when he got home. All of those people and boxes. Many boxes. Labeled in Shawn's handwriting.
"Happy Housewarming!" Juliet says, thrusting a potted plant into his hands.
"Housewarming?" Gus asks. Shawn throws an arm around Gus' shoulders and takes the plant from Juliet with his free hand.
"Thanks, Jules," he says. "But I'd better handle this. Gus is terrible with plants."
That's enough to break Gus out of his shocked stupor. As if Shawn has ever nurtured anything into bloom. He yanks the pot out of Shawn's hands.
"Excuse me?" Gus asks. "I'm not the one who managed to not only kill my own tomato plant, but the tomato plants of everyone else in the seventh grade!"
"That was a long time ago," Shawn insists, reaching for the plant. "I've grown since then. I've changed. I've learned that light is crucial to plants. And I think Mrs. Lopez learned a valuable lesson about teaching kids about energy conversation in the same week she puts their tomato plants under a sun lamp."
Gus stalks over to the kitchen with the fern and almost trips over more boxes. He places the plant on the counter and takes a few deep breaths, reminding himself that Shawn has been his best friend for years and he loves him with a ferocity that would be totally mortifying if anyone else ever found out. Killing Shawn would be terrible, if only because Gus has a lot of clients to meet with next week and it will be next to impossible to do that from jail.
Outside, he hears his parents laughing at something Shawn has said.
He wonders if maybe Jules could pull some work-release strings so he could make those visits from jail after all.
No. No. He loves Shawn. He does. And even though right at this moment, the urge to wring his neck is stronger than the urge to screw him into the mattress doesn't mean that won't change in a few minutes.
Outside, Chief Vick joins in on the laughing.
Or a few hours. Or a few days. Or....
Gus has just about calmed himself to the level below "murderous" on the Shawn Reaction Chart when someone's hands start tugging on his belt loops.
"You're missing your own housewarming party, Gus!" Shawn says.
Gus whirls around.
"No," he says, voice clipped, "I am not missing my own housewarming party. This can't be my housewarming party, because I already live here. You on the other hand--"
Shawn waves his hand dismissively.
"We can argue about the logistics later. Your mom made one of those cakes that I like! She said we couldn't have it until you got here. And Buzz brought beer!"
Shawn is bouncing again, from foot to foot, and rubbing his hands together. He looks genuinely excited, genuinely happy, except Gus has known Shawn for a long time, and he can clearly see there's a bit of genuine anxiety beneath the bolster and the bouncing.
Which only makes sense, really. Shawn does stupid things all the time, but he only does things this stupid when he's trying to hide something, like the time he rode Benny Rudman's dirt bike through the block's garage sale to keep his dad from noticing that Gus had broken that stupid fish vase, or, most recently, the time he tried to link a routine dognapping case into an elaborate smuggling ring in order to keep Gus from checking his voicemail and finding the mopey, drunken message about how deeply Shawn loved him.
"Shawn," Gus says. He tries to snap it, but it comes out as a sigh. Normally, Gus has no problem snapping at Shawn, but that hopeful, pouty puppy look is more effective than Shawn can ever be allowed to find out.
"Cake!" Shawn insists. He drops Gus' belt loops and grabs his hands. "Your mom's cake!"
"Shawn," Gus says again. He would say more, but Shawn is leaning in to kiss him, the excited, energetic kisses that Shawn uses to get him to on board for particularly shaky cases.
"Cake!" Shawn says again. His voice is edging on desperate. "Cake will make everyone feel better!"
"Shawn. If you wanted to move in with me, you could have asked," Gus says.
The corner of Shawn's mouth twitches. Shawn may be the fake psychic, but Gus has been around long enough to learn all of Shawn's tells.
"Cake," he says, but the layer of anxiety is gone. That is 100% genuine Shawn Spencer Joy beaming back at Gus through Shawn's smile, and it's Gus' turn to lean in for a kiss, his hand cupping the back of Shawn's head, fingers running through the short hairs on the back of his neck.
When they pull apart, Shawn's eyes are hooded and bright.
"Cake," Gus says. Shawn nods and nearly dances back out into the living room, grabbing Gus' hand as he goes.
This isn't over. Gus plans on giving Shawn a pretty long lecture later, perhaps with charts and figures, and he absolutely can't let Shawn unpack by himself--he already wreaked havoc on Gus' very precise organizational system before he lived here. But for now, there's cake and beer and, well, Lassiter for some reason, but also that look on Shawn's face.
Gus settles in on the couch and takes a beer from the table as Shawn tells some elaborate story that involves hand motions and sound effects. He shakes his head and doesn't fight to hide his grin. He has to concede that it's possible that, occasionally, Shawn does know best after all.