Just a Kink
Title: Just a Kink
Type: Fanfiction, One-Shot
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Lassiter has a gun kink. Shawn/Lassiter
Disclaimer: I do not own Psych or any related plots and characters. They are the property of others who, as I have previously stated, are not myself. I am merely writing this for fun, and have no intention of using it for profit.
Notes: fghklfghfgk This sucks. XD Seriously. But I felt I had to write something for my own prompt challenge thing, and so here it is.
Crosspost: AdultFanfiction.net
Lassiter didn't like to tell people about it. It made him seem strange and off-putting, he thought - more off-putting than usual, anyway. He was sure it would have gotten him looks, and sure it would have reduced his dating prospects to exactly none. It certainly never went over well with his wife - ex-wife, almost.
Carlton Lassiter had a thing for guns.
For one thing, they were entirely too phallic to him. Every shot sent a tingle up his spine. And he had always thought good aim represented a lot of good qualities in a person - confidence, calmness in tough situations, a quick eye.
Good hand-eye coordination was sexy, in his mind.
The thing was, it had always applied to women before. His wife hadn't been much with a gun, but it hadn't mattered then, because he loved her anyway - and, after all, it was just a kink. Berry - she had been amazing, had even once taken down a thief by shooting him in the leg, missing anything that could have damaged him for life but keeping him from getting very far. It was after that case that he had first asked her into his home and his bed.
And then came Shawn Spencer. Lassiter tried to rationalize it by insisting - to himself, of course - that he'd always thought of Spencer as a woman, in some way, but it was useless. There was nothing physical about him that was girly, and even if his personality wasn't the epitome of masculinity, he still wasn't feminine.
He hadn't even seen him shoot a gun before the Hannigan case. When he was on the floor of the warehouse, the murderer he'd been pursuing stalking toward him, knife in hand, he hadn't even been thinking about guns. His own had been knocked from his hand several minutes before, and the only thought in his mind at the time was, "This is all Spencer's fault."
And then he'd seen, between his murderer's legs, Spencer. He was surprised that the fake-psychic would even dare handle a gun, but he thought it was surely useless anyway - he was too far away, and he couldn't possibly be a good enough shot. It's probably his first time handling a gun, he thought. I'm as good as dead.
But hours later he still wasn't dead, and neither was Kyle Merchant, Hannigan's killer, although at least the guilty man was in the hospital receiving treatment for the shot to his shoulder before being turned over completely to the SBPD. Spencer had statements to give and reporters to be questioned by, which gave Lassiter some time to think.
Or time to dwell on the shot.
He tried to find some reason to disapprove. Spencer was a civilian, he shouldn't even have been there - but if he hadn't, he would be dead. But that didn't change the fact that he was still an annoying, childish, bratty con artist who wasn't even taking saving Lassiter's life seriously, joking about it to the press. And hitting on that blond reported from Channel 5.
Not that Lassiter was jealous, of course. It was just a kink. Just because the mere thought of Spencer shooting off a gun lead to thoughts of him shooting off other things and a mildly irritating tightening in the detective's pants, it didn't mean he was going to do anything about it.
Except he was. He had to do something to distract himself, and the most effective distraction was Spencer himself. He had done enough sucking up to the press; he needed to be reeled back in before he made a complete mockery of Santa Barbara's finest.
"Excuse me," Lassiter said in the nicest voice he could manage as he approached the cameras and microphones. "Mr. Spencer still has to give his statement."
"What? No, Lassy, I already did that," he protested as the detective pulled him away by the collar of his shirt. "Lassy - my fans!"
"The last thing the public needs is a role model like you, Spencer." He needed some place away from Vick's prying eyes - she certainly wouldn't approve of Lassiter reprimanding the man who'd just saved his life. He tried not to think about the fact that it wasn't really logical to be upset with Spencer, and tried even harder not to think about what else he'd like to do in secluded spots with the little liar.
"Oh, come on. I'm a great role model - the kids love me!"
"Kids love Spongebob, too." And there it was - an alcove with a door to a small bathroom no one ever seemed to use. Perfect.
"Dude, Spongebob is awe- oof." He looked a bit startled when Lassiter pushed him against the wall. "Is this about the glue in your desk drawer? Because I swear that was an accident."
I should've known that was him. Lassiter shook himself mentally and focused on the one emotion he knew how to deal with when it came to the faux-psychic: irritation. "Do you expect me to be grateful or something?"
Spencer looked taken aback. "Um... yes?"
Lassiter clenched his jaw, glaring. "Just because you got us Merchant-"
"And saved your life," Spencer reminded.
"-just because you got us Merchant doesn't mean I buy your little act." He paused momentarily, narrowing his eyes. "I'm still going to figure you out, Spencer. I'm going to find your sources and I am going to bring you down."
"Lassy, Lassy, Lassy." Spencer shook his head, as though Lassiter was missing the point entirely. "Your denial of my psychic abilities is just becoming sad. And it's this 'little act' that saved your life, remember?"
Lassiter faltered. "That's besides the point-"
"And did you see me shoot him?" Spencer was suddenly giddy at the memory, and began miming aiming a gun at the plant against the opposite wall. "Spot on from, what? Twenty yards?"
Lassiter's dick twitched in interest, and he bit the inside of his cheek, trying very hard to not remember. "Spencer."
"Of course, that's not just because I'm psychic. That's just because I'm that good, and-" He stopped suddenly and cocked his head, looking intently at Lassiter. "Lassyface?"
Lassiter glared and did not answer.
"Funny. I never had you pegged as gay."
Lassiter paled. He wasn't even touching Spencer, and not hard enough to have created any sort of noticeable bulge through his slacks; what was Spencer seeing that gave him away so easily? "I-"
"Don't worry, Carlton!" Spencer said, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling their bodies together, still against the wall. "I won't tell. Psychic scout's honor."
Lassiter tried to step backward, but the moment Spencer's hand rubbed at the front of his pants he froze. He couldn't deny it now, and his body was more than willing to give up. He shuddered slightly when Shawn squeezed him, the blood returning to his face and turning it red. "What are you doing?"
Spencer had the audacity to laugh at that. "Come on, Lassy. It hasn't been that long since you've been laid."
Lassiter tried to protest, but his voice seemed to be controlled by his cock, which certainly was not going to turn away from a gun-firing hand. Instead he moaned as Spencer pulled down his fly and snaked his hand into his briefs. He brushed his fingers lightly up and down the length before wrapping them around it, applying a bit of pressure just to see the reaction. Lassiter clenched his fists, trying to hold back his reaction, but a hiss still managed to escape between his teeth.
"Don't bother holding back," Spencer said softly, smirking. "I what's turning you on, Lassy; remember, I'm a psychic."
And it almost seemed to be true, because his hand was moving with just the right speed and pressure, and when he tugged on Lassiter's shirt again and pushed his tongue into his mouth, the detective knew he was already too far gone to stop. He braced himself against the wall with one hand beside Spencer's head, and the tangled in his hair, tugging slightly now and then. Spencer seemed to understand, tightening his own fist around Lassiter's cock just a little to help bring the finale of their game on faster.
Lassiter gasped into Spencer's mouth, jerking his hips forward, and bit down on the other man's lower lip, coming into his fist. Spencer whimpered at the bite, but otherwise seemed unperturbed.
Lassiter breathed heavily against Spencer's lips, becoming quickly uncomfortable in his come-stained slacks. The psychic considered his hand for a moment before shrugging and licking the mess away, nearly making Lassiter groan again.
Then he remembered where he was.
"Shit." He zipped himself up and straightened his clothes quickly, looking repeatedly down both ends of the hall.
"Relax, Lassy," Spencer said, still leaning casually against the wall, his hair a mess. "The only time anyone ever comes down here is to use this bathroom or go the janitor's closet around the corner."
Lassiter knew he was right, but couldn't shake off the guilt of having done anything sexual at work. Even when he was with Berry, they never so much as kissed until they were well away from the SBPD.
"Well, I've got to get back to my adoring fans," Spencer said, pushing himself off the wall. "You should probably get cleaned up. And, Lassy?"
Lassiter grunted a response, already on his way into the bathroom.
"When I'm done, we can work out a good time for you to repay me."
Lassiter slammed his hand in the door and cursed out loud, and he knew Shawn would have a gun on him the next time they met.
Type: Fanfiction, One-Shot
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Lassiter has a gun kink. Shawn/Lassiter
Disclaimer: I do not own Psych or any related plots and characters. They are the property of others who, as I have previously stated, are not myself. I am merely writing this for fun, and have no intention of using it for profit.
Notes: fghklfghfgk This sucks. XD Seriously. But I felt I had to write something for my own prompt challenge thing, and so here it is.
Crosspost: AdultFanfiction.net
Lassiter didn't like to tell people about it. It made him seem strange and off-putting, he thought - more off-putting than usual, anyway. He was sure it would have gotten him looks, and sure it would have reduced his dating prospects to exactly none. It certainly never went over well with his wife - ex-wife, almost.
Carlton Lassiter had a thing for guns.
For one thing, they were entirely too phallic to him. Every shot sent a tingle up his spine. And he had always thought good aim represented a lot of good qualities in a person - confidence, calmness in tough situations, a quick eye.
Good hand-eye coordination was sexy, in his mind.
The thing was, it had always applied to women before. His wife hadn't been much with a gun, but it hadn't mattered then, because he loved her anyway - and, after all, it was just a kink. Berry - she had been amazing, had even once taken down a thief by shooting him in the leg, missing anything that could have damaged him for life but keeping him from getting very far. It was after that case that he had first asked her into his home and his bed.
And then came Shawn Spencer. Lassiter tried to rationalize it by insisting - to himself, of course - that he'd always thought of Spencer as a woman, in some way, but it was useless. There was nothing physical about him that was girly, and even if his personality wasn't the epitome of masculinity, he still wasn't feminine.
He hadn't even seen him shoot a gun before the Hannigan case. When he was on the floor of the warehouse, the murderer he'd been pursuing stalking toward him, knife in hand, he hadn't even been thinking about guns. His own had been knocked from his hand several minutes before, and the only thought in his mind at the time was, "This is all Spencer's fault."
And then he'd seen, between his murderer's legs, Spencer. He was surprised that the fake-psychic would even dare handle a gun, but he thought it was surely useless anyway - he was too far away, and he couldn't possibly be a good enough shot. It's probably his first time handling a gun, he thought. I'm as good as dead.
But hours later he still wasn't dead, and neither was Kyle Merchant, Hannigan's killer, although at least the guilty man was in the hospital receiving treatment for the shot to his shoulder before being turned over completely to the SBPD. Spencer had statements to give and reporters to be questioned by, which gave Lassiter some time to think.
Or time to dwell on the shot.
He tried to find some reason to disapprove. Spencer was a civilian, he shouldn't even have been there - but if he hadn't, he would be dead. But that didn't change the fact that he was still an annoying, childish, bratty con artist who wasn't even taking saving Lassiter's life seriously, joking about it to the press. And hitting on that blond reported from Channel 5.
Not that Lassiter was jealous, of course. It was just a kink. Just because the mere thought of Spencer shooting off a gun lead to thoughts of him shooting off other things and a mildly irritating tightening in the detective's pants, it didn't mean he was going to do anything about it.
Except he was. He had to do something to distract himself, and the most effective distraction was Spencer himself. He had done enough sucking up to the press; he needed to be reeled back in before he made a complete mockery of Santa Barbara's finest.
"Excuse me," Lassiter said in the nicest voice he could manage as he approached the cameras and microphones. "Mr. Spencer still has to give his statement."
"What? No, Lassy, I already did that," he protested as the detective pulled him away by the collar of his shirt. "Lassy - my fans!"
"The last thing the public needs is a role model like you, Spencer." He needed some place away from Vick's prying eyes - she certainly wouldn't approve of Lassiter reprimanding the man who'd just saved his life. He tried not to think about the fact that it wasn't really logical to be upset with Spencer, and tried even harder not to think about what else he'd like to do in secluded spots with the little liar.
"Oh, come on. I'm a great role model - the kids love me!"
"Kids love Spongebob, too." And there it was - an alcove with a door to a small bathroom no one ever seemed to use. Perfect.
"Dude, Spongebob is awe- oof." He looked a bit startled when Lassiter pushed him against the wall. "Is this about the glue in your desk drawer? Because I swear that was an accident."
I should've known that was him. Lassiter shook himself mentally and focused on the one emotion he knew how to deal with when it came to the faux-psychic: irritation. "Do you expect me to be grateful or something?"
Spencer looked taken aback. "Um... yes?"
Lassiter clenched his jaw, glaring. "Just because you got us Merchant-"
"And saved your life," Spencer reminded.
"-just because you got us Merchant doesn't mean I buy your little act." He paused momentarily, narrowing his eyes. "I'm still going to figure you out, Spencer. I'm going to find your sources and I am going to bring you down."
"Lassy, Lassy, Lassy." Spencer shook his head, as though Lassiter was missing the point entirely. "Your denial of my psychic abilities is just becoming sad. And it's this 'little act' that saved your life, remember?"
Lassiter faltered. "That's besides the point-"
"And did you see me shoot him?" Spencer was suddenly giddy at the memory, and began miming aiming a gun at the plant against the opposite wall. "Spot on from, what? Twenty yards?"
Lassiter's dick twitched in interest, and he bit the inside of his cheek, trying very hard to not remember. "Spencer."
"Of course, that's not just because I'm psychic. That's just because I'm that good, and-" He stopped suddenly and cocked his head, looking intently at Lassiter. "Lassyface?"
Lassiter glared and did not answer.
"Funny. I never had you pegged as gay."
Lassiter paled. He wasn't even touching Spencer, and not hard enough to have created any sort of noticeable bulge through his slacks; what was Spencer seeing that gave him away so easily? "I-"
"Don't worry, Carlton!" Spencer said, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling their bodies together, still against the wall. "I won't tell. Psychic scout's honor."
Lassiter tried to step backward, but the moment Spencer's hand rubbed at the front of his pants he froze. He couldn't deny it now, and his body was more than willing to give up. He shuddered slightly when Shawn squeezed him, the blood returning to his face and turning it red. "What are you doing?"
Spencer had the audacity to laugh at that. "Come on, Lassy. It hasn't been that long since you've been laid."
Lassiter tried to protest, but his voice seemed to be controlled by his cock, which certainly was not going to turn away from a gun-firing hand. Instead he moaned as Spencer pulled down his fly and snaked his hand into his briefs. He brushed his fingers lightly up and down the length before wrapping them around it, applying a bit of pressure just to see the reaction. Lassiter clenched his fists, trying to hold back his reaction, but a hiss still managed to escape between his teeth.
"Don't bother holding back," Spencer said softly, smirking. "I what's turning you on, Lassy; remember, I'm a psychic."
And it almost seemed to be true, because his hand was moving with just the right speed and pressure, and when he tugged on Lassiter's shirt again and pushed his tongue into his mouth, the detective knew he was already too far gone to stop. He braced himself against the wall with one hand beside Spencer's head, and the tangled in his hair, tugging slightly now and then. Spencer seemed to understand, tightening his own fist around Lassiter's cock just a little to help bring the finale of their game on faster.
Lassiter gasped into Spencer's mouth, jerking his hips forward, and bit down on the other man's lower lip, coming into his fist. Spencer whimpered at the bite, but otherwise seemed unperturbed.
Lassiter breathed heavily against Spencer's lips, becoming quickly uncomfortable in his come-stained slacks. The psychic considered his hand for a moment before shrugging and licking the mess away, nearly making Lassiter groan again.
Then he remembered where he was.
"Shit." He zipped himself up and straightened his clothes quickly, looking repeatedly down both ends of the hall.
"Relax, Lassy," Spencer said, still leaning casually against the wall, his hair a mess. "The only time anyone ever comes down here is to use this bathroom or go the janitor's closet around the corner."
Lassiter knew he was right, but couldn't shake off the guilt of having done anything sexual at work. Even when he was with Berry, they never so much as kissed until they were well away from the SBPD.
"Well, I've got to get back to my adoring fans," Spencer said, pushing himself off the wall. "You should probably get cleaned up. And, Lassy?"
Lassiter grunted a response, already on his way into the bathroom.
"When I'm done, we can work out a good time for you to repay me."
Lassiter slammed his hand in the door and cursed out loud, and he knew Shawn would have a gun on him the next time they met.