Psych Multi-Chapter Fic: The first...no, the Second Kiss is the Sweetest [Part 2/9]
The first...no, the Second Kiss is the Sweetest
Characters: Shawn Spencer, Carlton Lassiter, and the whole gang along with a few OCs
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter [Pre-Slash for now]
Summary: It was never about the first kiss, they were too awkward. But the second...The second was always the sweetest.
Rating: T for Teen
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Seasons 1 &2
Disclaimer: I do not own Shawn, Lassy-Face or Psych. They are all property of the USA Network. I am making no money from this.
Notes: Moving on rather slowly I'm afraid, but it is another chapter nonetheless.This is, again, unBeta'd.
Coming up next: Glefiddich, Lap Dances, Andrea Glassin and...Murder?
Part I Part II Part III Part IV
***
“Spencer, this better be good.”
Carlton Lassiter stepped out of his Crown Vic in the middle of a deserted, badly lit, parking lot already glaring at Spencer in annoyance. It was bad enough that the man pranced about in front of him all day, but he was going to have to put up with it at night too? A man could only take so much.
“Aw, come on Lassie, when have I ever disappointed you?”
Rolling his eyes, Carlton leaned against the car with his arms crossed. “I don’t have all night Spencer, spit it out.”
Shawn put his fingers to his temple closing his eyes and was silent for a moment, building up the dramatics. “I have visions of snow falling in side somewhere No! Not snow…powder. There were glasses, double images…mirrors. And a loud rumbling...”
“Falling powder and mirrors lead you to a parking lot by the piers? Jesus, Spencer!” Lassiter pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, wondering why the hell he’d bothered.
“Not here, silly pants. But somewhere close.” Shawn put his hands up again and then started sniffing. “Gun powder! I smell gun powder.”
“That’s me you idiot!”
Shawn got close and started sniffing at Carlton’s arms and hands, while the detective shifted uncomfortable at his antics; Lassiter was not amused.
“You’re right.” Shawn chirped, “but it’s coming from somewhere else. I smell it with my third eye.”
“Smelling with your third eye?” Lassiter echoed doubtfully.
Shawn didn’t hear him but continued as if the spirits were leading him somewhere, and he took off toward the club. Lassiter looked at his car than back at his pseudo colleague deciding whether to leave the man or not. The chief would have his head if he let the psychic go off and get him self killed or maimed, not to mention Spencer Sr.
Grumbling something about annoying psychics and police brutality cases, Lassiter started toward where Shawn had stopped jerking himself around and was now calling him to the corner of the street.
“I told you! Gun powder means gun which means, magnum! It’s the club, Magnum 54” Shawn bounced around and pointed toward the club as soon as Lassiter turned the corner. “Looks like we’re going undercover Lassie!”
Lassiter blinked at him before grabbing his phone and dialing “I’m calling O’Hara.” Shawn, thinking quick, grabbed it from the detective’s hand and held it away from him.
“Can’t do that.”
“Spencer, give me back my phone! I’m not going in there with you as back up, if there is anything going on in there at all.”
“Oh, there are definitely things going on in there,” Shawn grinned, “but O’Hara won’t be able to help us.”
“O’Hara is a perfectly capable detective. Give me my phone.” Shawn tried to keep it away, but was no match for Lassiter’s long arms. Grabbing for his phone, Lassiter pinned Shawn to the building by his wrists, ripping his cell out of his hand.
“Ok, as proper as this is right now Lassie, we’re not even in the place yet.”
The detective froze, looking down into Shawn’s mirth filled eyes and the position he had him in. With a blush very unbecoming of him, but what Shawn would call cute later on when talking to Gus, Carlton let go of the man quickly, and gave him a bit of space.
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s a strip club...for guys.”
“Strip clubs are for men, Spencer.”
“Yeah, but this is ONLY for men.” Shawn winked at him.
It took a second for his understanding to register, but when it did Lassiter’s eyes went wide. He took a few giant steps away from Shawn, frowning deeply. Going into a gay strip club with Shawn Spencer sent sirens going off in his head. This was either a sick joke that will only end in his embarrassment, or a really bad dream.
“Come on!” Shawn threw up his hands, “You aren’t going to freak out on me like Gus did are you? I thought you were a better cop than that Lassie.”
“What does this have to do with me being a cop?”
“Well, if you can’t play any part undercover…” Shawn knew he had him with that because the detective immediately squared his shoulders and looked down at him seriously.
“Fine,” Lassiter grabbed Shawn’s arm, and stalked toward the club. “You have an hour.”
The minute they got through the doors, Lassiter was already regretting it. Why couldn’t he have said five minutes?
***
PART 3
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