Title: Love Should be a Crime
Genre: Romance / Humor
Rating: M
Pairing: Shawn x Lassiter
Spoilers: N/A
Summary: Suppose that you and I were sitting in a quiet room, chatting and sipping at our drinks while we talked about something that had happened, and I said to you, "That afternoon when I met so and so… was the very best afternoon of my life, and also the very worst afternoon." I expect you might put down your glass and say, "Well now, which was it? Was it the best or the worst? Because it can't possibly have been both!"
Word Count: 1,165
Warnings: Literal crack
Disclaimer: Not mine. Summary is from Memoirs of a Geisha
A/N: Companion piece to So Cruel.
"So what brings you to my couch today, Mr. Lassiter?" The psychiatrist gave a perky smile, obviously used to men being put at ease by her cookie-cutter appearance. Blonde hair, blue eyes, delicate features, glasses resting on a pert nose, light dusting of freckles. She looked as harmless as a milkmaid and she knew it.
Lassiter frowned. "It's mandatory."
She shuffled her paper, aligning the edges with practiced ease, movements sure and relaxed. "Ah, yes, your yearly evaluations, that's right." As if she didn't know. "A lot has changed since I spoke to you last."
The frown deepened, forcing himself not to think about last year's evaluation.
"Come on Lassie, you've been a good boy."
He wanted to get offended at the degrading nickname. He wanted to tell Spencer not to call him that, wanted to tell him to treat him like a Detective, especially when they were in his damn office. But Spencer was nipping a trail of fire from his ear down his neck, inching closer and closer to a spot that always made him...
"UGH!" When blunt teeth pressed down on the curve of skin where his neck met his shoulders, Lassiter felt his knees give out as pleasure, white hot and intense, raced across his nerve endings. Hands scrambled for purchase against wide shoulders, trying to find purchase, trying to stay steady, to stay standing, but fingers slipped, knees buckled.
"So eager to get on your knees, huh? Does the dog want a bone?"
Hips thrust suggestively against him in his new position, jeans straining to contain the visible sign of Spencer's arousal. It was demeaning, undignified – and yet… And yet he was panting harshly in anticipation, moist breaths ghosting over that stretch of fabric. Spencer was making little mewling gasps under his breath at the feeling, eyes pressed tightly closed, one hand gripping Lassiter's shoulder tight enough to bruise, the other braced against the wall.
A cocky grin spread across his face. Maybe he was in more control of the situation than he thought. "Maybe I do." He nosed the denim, delighting in the shallow thrust Spencer made involuntarily. "But I'm very hungry, I might just… take a bite – " He emphasized this statement with a nip, teeth scrapping over zipper, pressing down into the sensitive flesh beneath.
Spencer collapsed on top of him, legs falling open to straddle the man beneath him, mouth slamming onto his fiercely, tongue sweeping in, rocking against him with delicious friction, little "ah … ah … ah…" noises between every breath.
"Detective, are you ready for your – shit!" The door to his office swung open suddenly and Lassiter really wished he would just die.
"Hm." He chose not to answer the psychiatrist, instead shifted uncomfortably in his seat and slanted his eyes away. Up until that moment, he and Spencer had had a secret tryst, of sorts, but when your partner walks in on you dry-humping each other before a psych eval - well, it's pretty much out in open.
He'd thought Spencer would deny it, come up with some psychic reason and win back Juliet, but, in fact, just the opposite had happened. He'd spoken to Juliet and the next time she'd seen Lassiter he'd cringed, waiting for the inevitable blow. But she had smiled, pat him softly on the shoulder, and wished them well. To this day he still had no idea what Spencer had said to her.
And though uneasy with the new level of their… relationship (?), Spencer seemed perfectly at ease. He rushed forward as blindly as ever, uncaring of the consequences, greeting him with kisses and intertwining their fingers in full view of others. He didn't seem to care what people might think, even seemed happy to be possessive and affectionate in public.
"How has your relationship with Mr. Spencer been going?"
His head snapped back up. "You want to talk about my relationship?" He couldn't keep the disbelief out of his voice. "If that's all there is in my file to address, then I guess I'm doing pretty good."
She smiled brightly. "Well, new relationships can be unstable and bring unresolved issues to the forefront. It is my job to make sure things are going well at home, so they continue to go well at work."
A huff to display his irritation, but he realized that he would be sent back here again and again until he gave her what she wanted. "It's fine. He's fine. We're all fucking fine."
"So you'd say it's a good thing you two met?"
"What? No, of course not. He's an irritating, obnoxious little child." He snorted. "A brat."
The psychiatric blinked slowly, the wheels in her head turning. "So you regret meeting him…"
"I wouldn't say that either." He shifted in seat, sighing. "He's made me… happy." He glanced up at her, waiting for her to say something, but she was merely watching him with interest, wheels in her head turning and turning. "I don't think I could have… had this with anyone else."
Her smile widened. "So you love him."
"I – " It was Lassiter's turn to blink. Love? He hadn't really thought of it. They were in a relationship, yes, but were they in love with each other? Was it love when the mere thought of another person made you hot and wanting, when the sight of their smile make your stomach flutter, when the brush of their hand made you relax, when they were in your thoughts all the time, when you missed them ten minutes after they left. "I – suppose I do."
"And have you told him that?"
"I – well, no." Should he? Did he need to? Would saying the words make it any different? Would they make his breath catch more or his heart beat faster? Would the words make the pleasure more intense? No… But then he thought about Spencer saying the words to him, hearing that cocky voice declare I love you and the thought alone made him harder than a rock even in his seat and he thought that – Yes, it was worth it.
The psychiatrist was giggling softly behind her hand, eyes cheerful and dancing. "Love is crazy, isn't it, Detective?"
Lassiter slouched in his seat, arms crossed and frowning, trying to dampen his sudden surge of arousal at his daydreams of Spencer. "Humph."
But inside his own head, he was thinking that, no matter how crazy, no matter how hard, not matter how much Spencer made Lassiter want to wring his neck with irritation, well… He glanced down at his lap, hiding the small smile from the doctor… Well, he wouldn't have his life any other way.