Poker? I Barely Know Her
Title: Birthday
Pairing: Shassy
Rating: A light PG-13Summary: An “alternative” ending to Poker? I Barely Know Her
Dull embers of an artificial light cast their shadows on the wall, the ample-sized living room lit only by the TV’s faint glow. Nothing worth watching was on, and yet the worn down and utterly exhausted man was hypnotized by the witty banter and other sounds that eventually all melted together into a calming static in the end. He had just faced down everyone who could possibly have it out for him (with the exception of his ex-wife), he had lost his home because of it, and he had ended up in the only safe and sensible place he could think of. Shawn Spencer’s.
He sure wasn’t going to spend the night in his house now that they all knew where he lived. Anyone could find him at a hotel, or worse, follow him to one, so that wasn’t a possibility either. Lassiter didn’t even consider staying at Juliet’s because A) it would be completely inappropriate and B) he was still somewhat upset about what the woman had cost him. So unless the detective wanted some quality time with his mother, the only place left was the fake psychic’s, who happened to be constantly on his mind anyway, whether he liked it or not.
So with a six-pack and Shawn’s rumored favorite fruit, Lassiter came to shamefully offer his peace (for the time being, mind you) and beg for a couch to crash on, if it came to that.
After the initial look of shock had worn off Shawn’s face, the young man graciously accepted the pineapple, holding it close and drawling on in his best southern belle impression, “Why Carly, you shouldn’t have!”
It was at that moment that Lassiter began to regret his decision, and he had yet to even step foot in the brunette’s home. Luckily for the head detective (or unluckily, depending on whichever way you see it), Shawn was just on his way out when he had arrived. It would be good for him to be by himself, he figured, so he first insisted, then ordered that Shawn not change his plans on his behalf. So once again, Carlton Lassiter was all alone.
Well, until half past 11, that is. As soon as Shawn walked in after coming home from a date cut short, he immediately deduced that the beloved detective was either very emotionally distressed or drunk off his ass, or quite possibly a mixture of both. He had always pegged Lassiter as the neat type. Hell, the man took hours to line up his pencils on his desk, for crying out loud. So it was quite the unpleasant surprise to find half a pineapple in the sink, a greasy pizza box laying on the counter, and three empty beer cans a few yards short of the trash. Shawn peered in the fridge for a moment, noticing the three beers left in there, hearing the faint hum of his TV in the background. Lassiter either didn’t feel like acknowledging his presence, or he was passed out in the other room, but regardless, Shawn swiped two cans from the fridge and made his way out to the living room. There would be no taunting or goading tonight. No, he’d let the detective unwind, vent, and do whatever else he felt like doing, within reason. He deserved it.
“There you are,” Lassiter said, gazing at Shawn out of the corner of his eye as he took a seat next to him on the couch. The man seemed as sober and ornery as ever, though much more defeated than he would have preferred to look in front of his “rival”.
“And where exactly are you?” Shawn asked, passing a beer to the other. He couldn’t resist.
“You think I’m drunk?” Lassiter scoffed, a disgusted look about him for a moment. “Please Spencer, I’m not drunk until I’m out cold…”
Ppsst. The can cracked open with ease.
Shawn decided not to bring up a certain talk they had exchanged a month or so previous, figuring he’d let that one slide. Not to mention, there was too much guilt attached to that evening after he didn’t do anything to ensure Lassiter had gotten home all right when he knew for a fact that man wasn’t himself. So instead, Shawn decided to strike up a conversation. It was either that or throw another “psychic fit”, and he was sure the detective got enough of that during the day. “Whatcha watchin’?”
“What does it look like?” Lassiter grumbled, taking a swig of the fresh beverage. He didn’t bother to look at Shawn this time, merely staring blankly at the images dancing across the TV screen.
“You like basketball?” Shawn asked in disbelief, raising an eyebrow as he look at the detective. Somehow he didn’t think letting Lassiter stay over was going to help the man at all, but there wasn’t much Shawn was aware of that the other would let him do to help.
“No.”
The silence was deafening to both men. They both just sat there, basking in the lack luster light beams and each other’s company. But that wasn’t enough for the detective. No, as far as Lassiter was concerned, he had nothing left to lose. No guts no glory. Somehow his free hand ended up on Shawn’s knee, eyes darting down for a moment. Calloused fingers so used to running over the trigger of his gun crept up the brunette’s thigh without so much as a care in the world. Lassiter held his breath in anticipation, muscles tense and shoulder’s stiff.
Shawn was caught off guard for the third time that evening, eyes narrowing a little at the unexpected feeling sliding up his leg. When he finally connected the oddly comforting sensation with whose hand it was, Shawn lightly swatted him away. Lassiter was obviously very drunk, he was sure of that now. Never in his right mind would the head detective attempt to grope him so bluntly. But the sad, wounded sigh Lassiter gave confused Shawn.
Nevertheless, both of them disregarded the entire thing, not speaking to each other whatsoever. They were almost comfortable with each other again by the time the basketball game was over, until Lassiter made another pass at the psychic. He was more hesitant, but this time the detective actually looked at him as his hand massaged its way up closer and closer to his zipper. The look in those hauntingly gorgeous blue eyes screamed what their owner refused to admit, a need and desire for an intimate fellowship with the other man who had only served to irritate him until recently. And another thing was evident; Lassiter was depending, actually depending on Shawn now.
The brunette had the opportunity to allow him to continue and restore his confidence and ego through the control he would have. Or Shawn could reject him flat out and make things even more awkward between the two of them. And Lassiter got exactly what he had expected; a second stinging smack to his hand.
“Oh come on, Lassy,” Shawn sighed, watching the man brace himself for what he could only assume Lassiter thought were going to be piercing words. “That’s not what you want. Not by a long shot…”
Lassiter sank back against the couch, cradling his hand at his side as if Shawn had nearly sliced it right off with his “attack”. There was no taking it back now, he knew that. He could only pray and hope that Shawn wouldn’t go blabbing things around the office. In fact, he had just been about to get up and leave when he felt a hand touch his thigh. He was skeptical at first, looking over to Shawn for some sort of clarity. When he received none, Lassiter grew angry, but not for long, since soon the hand was inching its way near his lap. The sound of his zipper flying down and the button on his jeans popping open drowned out any noise the TV was making, and Lassiter gave another sigh. But this was a happy sigh, one that told both Shawn and himself that things would be all right. Those cool, blue pools drifted shut as he felt a hand slip down the front of his pants, wrapping around heated flesh.
“Happy Birthday, Lassy,” Shawn whispered at his ear, wasting no time in pleasing the officer.
No guts, no glory…No regrets.