The second time Shawn sucked Carlton's cock was on New Year's Eve.
He hadn't seen the cop since the Christmas party a week and a half prior and the distance made him feel small. If it weren't for the fact that Lassie didn't particularly like what little family he had in SoCal, Shawn would have just brushed it off as typical end of year holiday plans, but the cop had made it known that his sister wasn't likely to be back this Christmas and that ever since Jules had accidentally let the news of his separation slip, he'd barely been getting along with his mother, so what else was Shawn supposed to do but assume he was being avoided?
He'd considered calling Carlton, maybe sending him a text, but every time he picked up the phone, a little voice inside his brain piped up to ask him what the fuck he was supposed to say –
Hey, Lassie. Do you miss me yet?
Obviously not, if he hadn't made contact.
How 'bout another blowjob? I know a nifty never-used broom closet down at the station…
Pathetic. Why debase himself a second time for a man who clearly didn't care?
Happy holidays, Jerkface. I hope they're as good as that orgasm I gave you.
Petty. That's all that one was. Just petty.
Shawn didn't send any of them, though, too forlorn to bother.
He thought that he and Lassie had shared something more than just bodily fluids that night in the closet, and the fact that they'd left it with an open-ended feeling of hope had Shawn feeling confused and a little sad, nothing having come from the event but Lassiter.
He wished he knew what was going on inside the man's head. Wished he was around so he could pick his brain or pester him enough to be able to read a reaction. But Jules had said that Lassie had called in sick the day after, then gone off to his mother's to celebrate the holidays, informing Shawn that he wasn't due back until New Year's Eve but that she planned on him attending her year-end soiree whether he liked it or not.
Shawn too, had promised Jules he would make an appearance at her shindig, but his heart wasn't really in it - the first time in long time he had no desire to celebrate. Not only wanting to be there to support her but also in need of the free booze to numb his pain, he wouldn't cancel no matter how bad he felt. But because he knew there would be no avoiding the detective whose dick had recently tickled his tonsils, getting something fruity and liquor-filled down his gullet was his number-one party priority. Lassie was going to be there, likely to give Shawn an answer he didn't want to hear, nor was he ready for.
The booze would help to numb the inevitable pain. Shawn was sure of it.
He thought It a damn shame things had turned out the way they had, and he shrugged his plaid over-shirt atop his shoulders with a sigh, trying to shake off his growing melancholy. The top out the color in his eyes and the shirt was one of Shawn's favorites because of it, the psychic always seemed to score when he had it on. It brought him a comfort he needed, even if it wasn't going to get him laid, and he was glad it, though part of him questioned why he was bothering to begin with. It wasn't like there would be anybody there to impress, after all. He'd already failed to make a mark on the detective he'd been crushing on forever, so why should he put effort for a person who didn't care and a party he didn't want to go? Shawn was just setting himself up to look good while his heart got broken, which seemed to be the smallest condolence of all.
His mood fouling instantly, the thought brought him crashing down, and Shawn began to regret his refusal to cancel, wishing he could somehow manage to avoid it all.
But because a promise was a promise and any answer better than no answer, he screwed on a smile, gathered his courage, spritzed himself with cologne, and walked out the door to where the Blueberry idled, Gus waiting patiently to pick him up.
Party time.
Shawn had been there about an hour when the ding-dong of the doorbell announced another arrival - a common occurrence all evening long. But this one was different, the sound seemingly never-ending. Jules was busy, so because Shawn was nearest to the door, he figured he could help by playing host a while. He was beyond bored of listening to Buzz and Gus beak about comic books, never having experienced the joy of them himself thanks to Henry, and he was growing desperate for something to do, needing to get his mind off things like where Lassie was, the man having yet to make an appearance.
Answering the door would have to be the thing that did it.
He motioned to Gus that he was off to welcome the next guest and paused in the hall long enough to straighten himself, wanting to make the best possible impression on Juliet's behalf. She was one of his best friends and this was her first big party, so he wanted to do what he could to help, knowing his melancholic mood wasn't doing it. He looked in the long thin mirror near the door and, after quickly adjusting the collar of his shirt, deemed himself presentable, though the spray in his amazing hair was really the only thing keeping him together. A fake smile plastered on his face, Shawn opened the door of the cozy bungalow, slightly tipsy and in the mood for someone fun.
Instead, he found Lassiter leaning against the rail, his finger still ringing the bell, a bottle of something in a paper bag hanging from his hand, and a cab at the curb pulling away.
Startled by the sight of it, the psychic stepped back, having never expected the man to show up in this condition. Half-expecting the man not to show up at all, despite Juliet's insistence he would.
With hair mussed, eyes red, and shirt un-tucked, Lassie stood there looking more disheveled than Shawn had ever seen him. It was chilling.
"Happy h'lidays. G'nna lemme in? Or will you jus' tell her you saw me, so I can go h'me?" he snapped, slurring his words as he stared at his shoes. He sounded both begrudged and a little hopeful that whoever answered would acquiesce., and after a moment, his hand slipped off the ringer.
Shawn blinked, too concerned by the detective's appearance to really hear his words and needing a second to register the statement.
"I'm sorry, tell who what now?" he asked as Lassie tottered unsteadily on the front step, his voice laced with worry as he reached out to stabilize the wavering cop.
Lassie stumbled, his shoes slipping on the rain dampened pavement, but he caught himself before falling. Jerking his arm back to avoid the touch, his empty hand gripped the railing tight. "Julesiet. Hooliet. O'Hara," he stuttered, her name finally coming to him. "Tell her I'm here, I'm queer, and I wan' n' part of it."
He stopped a moment, finally realizing not only what he had just said but who he was talking to, his entire body still as he locked eyes with Shawn.
"Lassie…" Shawn started, concern etched across his face as he registered the mess of a man in front of him, trying not to let the words hurt.
Unlaced shoe? Check.
Partially unbuttoned shirt? Check.
A lack of holster and gun?
Well, fuck.
It was a well-known fact that Santa Barbara's Head Detective never went anywhere unarmed – Shawn had even seen him grocery shopping fully strapped, once upon a time – and that meant that his not packing now proved things were worse than Shawn could possibly imagine. Mind you, Lassie with a weapon while wasted was probably the worst an idea could get, so while it seemed wrong, Shawn was glad he had left his pistol at home, not needing more trouble than he had on his hands already.
"Are you –" he started, then stopped, the answer obvious. "No, I don't even need to ask. You're clearly not okay. What's going on, buddy? Come on in."
He motioned to the house behind him, indicating the stairwell was a good place to converse, hoping he would be taken up on the offer.
"Please. Sit and we can talk. I'll get Jules to bring us some water."
Taking a swig of whatever was in his bottle, Lassiter glared like he wanted to throw it at him and swatted at Shawn with his other hand. Instead of entering, he chose to lean against the wall again, ignoring the offer of a welcome ear and warm house and resting his head against the stucco.
"I don' wanna c'me in," he said, flapping his hand indignantly, like the action could will Shawn away. "I don' wanna c'me at all. I shouldn' have. C'ming was stupid."
As he stepped out onto the veranda, Shawn glanced behind him to see the party in full swing and closed the door behind him to give them some privacy. He wasn't sure whether Lassiter meant his presence or that other thing lingering between them but knew the conversation didn't need to be public regardless of which it was.
"It was stupid and you're stupid," the cop said, swaying in place, swathed in misery. "And I'm stupid. Really stupid."
Radiating sorrow, he paused, staring at Shawn's knees as he continued. "Jus' fucking dumb."
Carlton went to take another drink from the bottle, but Shawn caught it by its base impulsively, holding it away from Lassie's lips as he responded, worried about the man in front of him.
"It wasn't stupid, Lass," he protested softly. "And neither are you. You're the smartest guy I know. Even smarter than Gus."
Lassiter looked at him, his bloodshot eyes locking onto Shawn's, and Shawn shivered, not sure if it was from the wind cutting through him or the feeling of being pinned beneath the detective's piercing blue glare.
"Don' do that," Lassiter replied, meaning the commiseration or the hold on his liquor or maybe both. Shawn wasn't sure of that, either. But as Lassie said it again - quieter this time but also more petulant - he jerked the bottle away, forcing Shawn to watch in slow motion as it slipped from his grasp and smashed against the railing, the bottom breaking open and soaking both the bag and the cop's leg.
"Fer fucks sake, Spencer why'd you hafta d' that?"
Shawn worked to keep his voice steady, knowing something was seriously awry and that anything he did might worsen the matter. He wanted to make things better but had no clue how, the detective too wasted to get much of a read from – even more out of it than the night he'd found him in Tom Blair's Pub, drinking away his grief at the end of his relationship with his ex. Sadly, Shawn knew that fixing this was going to be far more difficult than solving a case on the detective's behalf. Because somehow, even with nothing but his intoxication to base his theory off of, Shawn was certain this went much deeper than that.
"Do what, Lassie? The bottle was an accident –"
"Made me fucking fall fer you," the cop interrupted. The answer was one Shawn was completely unprepared for and it left him slack-jawed.
Lassiter continued, the shattered glass falling from his fingertips into Juliet's flowerbed as his body slouched in defeat. "You ruined everything, Sp'ncer. I fucking hate you."
Shawn didn't know what to say – didn't know what was happening or what had put Lassiter in this state – but he wanted to wrap his arms around the man and make it all go away, if only he could. If only Lassie wouldn't violently react to his doing so. Shawn opened his mouth to speak, unsure of how to fix things but knowing he needed to say something.
The words fell out without a thought, his hand reaching to grasp the cop's shoulder and gently squeeze.
"You don't mean that, Lassie. You don't hate me."
Looking over at the touch, Lassiter stood a little straighter, his gaze glued on the hand on his arm as it comforted him.
"No, I don't," he agreed with a whisper, his eyes clouding over with tears as he spoke.
He paused, and the silence stretched on for what felt like forever.
"That's the problem."
Head in his hands, he moaned. The sound cut through the night and on the dimly lit porch Shawn snapped into action, gathering his wits as he questioned the statement, everything hanging on Carlton's response.
"Why's that a problem, Lass?" Shawn asked.
He reached out with a tentative touch and, wondering If he was going to get hit or bit or told the hell off, slowly rubbed circles into the cop's shoulder when he didn't, the muscles beneath Lassie's shirt slackening. It was the first time he'd had his hands on the man since that night in the broom closet, and though they'd been publicly pawing at each other ever since they'd first met, this touch was different, loaded with so much more than words could say.
Shawn's digits throbbed at the feel of Lassie at his fingertips and he was forced to push naughty thoughts aside, knowing this moment of vulnerability was not the time for it. His libido couldn't matter when so much was at stake; Carlton never exposed such emotion if he could help it, and Shawn was not about to take advantage of the fact that he was.
"Help me out, buddy. I don't understand."
Lassie just looked at him like he was stupid, his head cocked slightly to the side before he spoke -
"Is a problem," he said plainly, eyes locked on the psychic like he was trying to express how he felt without words. "Because I think I love you."
He finished, then stared. And, in the moment before Shawn could say something in return, that was when Carlton puked on Shawn's shoes.
Shawn took a deep breath and tried his best to ignore the warm squishy feeling in between his toes, his hand still rubbing the back of the man who had just upchucked all over his Nikes.
He was right before. Something was definitely wrong with his favorite detective. Wronger than wrong. And, ignoring the unexpected Exorcist impression, maybe also a little right, Lassie's declaration of affection being a total game changer.Had it been anyone else who'd lost their cookies all over Shawn, there would have been hell to pay. But as it was Lassiter, who was not only uncharacteristically wasted but also proclaiming his love, Shawn figured he could overlook it just this once.
"It's okay, Lassie," he said as the man straightened, clearly embarrassed by the contents of his stomach making a surprise appearance. He tried to keep his voice full of humor, knowing the last thing the man needed was to be made more upset, hoping that the lightness of his tone would help diffuse the very confusing situation. "I didn't like those shoes anyway. Thanks for helping me realize it's time to throw them out. Couldn't have made the call without ya, pal."
He aimed a soft smile the cop's way, a grin set to de-escalate, but Lassie ignored him, sinking to his haunches and burying his head in his hands instead. "I shouldn't be h're," he mumbled, words Shawn barely caught as they slid between his fingers and disappeared into the night. "Shouldn' be here 't all."
Sidestepping the puddle (not that it mattered much with his feet soaked as they were) Shawn bent down, pulling Lassie's hands away and tilting his chin up, forcing the man to look at him - forcing a moment of connection to try to bring the cop back from the land of the liquored and into reality.
"No, Lassie. I don't think you should," he agreed. The last place Lassie needed to be in this state was inside where his colleagues could see him so completely and utterly wrecked. So, Shawn decided he wasn't going to allow that to happen, making it his duty to care for the crumpled detective in front of him. Jules might be pissed at him for leaving so early, but he knew he would have her forgiveness once she realized what happened.
She wouldn't want to expose her partner like this either.
"I'm glad you did, though, so I could see you, at least." He continued, his voice low and murmuring. "Will you let me help? Let me take you home and put you to bed?"
Carlton blanched at that, his head whipping up so fast he nearly cracked Shawn in the skull, his mouth opening to protest.
"Lassie, you're in no state to be in public right now, let alone partying," the psychic said, resting his hand on the cop's arm as he clarified. " Do really wanna be discussing why you're so fucked up with Dobson or McNab, right now? Think it'll go over well if the Chief sees you like this? C'mon, let me pour you into a cab and tuck you into bed, k? You've got a couch I can crash on, right?"
Lassiter nodded, closing his mouth as the meaning of Shawn's words registered, color slowly returning to his complexion.
"Also, a futon in the basement," he said. The words were weary, and he ran his fingers through his disheveled hair as he spoke, hand coming to rest of the nape of his neck. His voice was gruff from the unexpected upchuck, but still, the tone was softer than it had been before. "And a floor on the… um -"
He paused, trying to remember the word.
" - floor. You can figure it out."
Shawn laughed, amused at the detective's discombobulation, glad he had agreed to let Shawn take him home.
"I'm sure I can, Lassie."
He hadn't expected this to be a turn his night would take. But he was sure as hell going to take it, awkward though it may be. It did give him his answer, after all.
Lassie loved him.
He laughed.
"Now hold tight while I call us a cab."
Lassiter's head lay on Shawn's shoulder, his breath ghosting across the skin of the psychic's neck as he drifted in and out of consciousness.
Shawn knew that the cop needed all the shut-eye he could get, so he tried his best not to disturb him as he cupped the screen of his cell with his hand, dimming the light of his phone as he began to text. He'd managed to get Lassie in the cab with minimal effort - surprising because the man moved like a marionette made of lead – and having buckled them both in and given the driver Lassie's address, Shawn made quick work of messaging Gus to let he and Juliet know what was going on.
Well… not everything that was going on. Neither of them needed to know the extent of Lassiter's admission on the front step, after all, the slurred words bouncing around his skull like a kangaroo hopped up on methamphetamine.
It's a problem, Lassie said, because I think I love you.
Shawn's breath had caught in his throat when he'd heard it, those five little words hitting him with the impact of a cast-iron frying pan to the face.
I think I love you, Lassie said.
It was almost unconscionable, a phrase Shawn never thought he'd hear from anyone, let alone the object of his long-ignored affection.
I love you, Lassie said.
Shawn was gobsmacked. Flabbergasted. Completely and utterly fucking floored.
Also, a little soggy.
Knowing no cabbie would let him in their car with spew-soaked sneakers, he had thrown his shoes in the trashcan at the end of Juliet's block, sitting Lassie on the curb to await his barefooted return. He'd made it back just in time to see the car pull in and was shocked it had gotten there as fast as it had, considering he had called during peak hours on a holiday. He wondered whether the urgency in his voice had helped to speed it along, or whether it was because he'd had the wherewithal to name-drop the drunken detective, letting the company know it would look good to win over such a high ranking member of Santa Barbara society. Either way, it wasn't an especially important thought; it was just something he was using to distract himself, trying not to overthink the only crucial item of information he'd been given all evening - the proclamation of love from the man on his shoulder and the fact that he hadn't been ignoring Shawn after all.
Too wrapped up in his angsty assumptions during Lassie's week away, Shawn hadn't considered the possibility that Lassiter had been taking the time to work through things, the cop coming to the very same conclusion he'd wound up word-vomiting onto the psychic's heart before he'd vomit-vomited onto his shoes.
It's a problem because I think I love you.
He'd spent years trying to weasel his way into Lassie's personal life any way he could – pawing at the cop whenever the opportunity arose, showing off skin to tantalize as he wailed and flailed, even blatantly stating his affections on more than one occasion – but nothing had ever come of his tactics. Lassie had always ignored him at best, at worst putting up with the antics and manhandling him away with a scowl. But just like Shawn's unnecessary lewdness was his way of flirting, maybe those reactions were Lassie's way of showing returned interest, the cop only ever telling him to get off when the homoerotic subtext came too close to being just text - never pushing Shawn away until well after their fully-clothed sex (at least, that's what Shawn had been calling it in his head, the intent expressly obvious, in his personal opinion).
After all, Shawn had spent more than a full minute in Lassie's lap, once upon a time. And because of that and the fact that both men sucked at expressing their emotions, he thought that maybe, just maybe, it was possible that Carlton had actually been enjoying his attention.
Lassie never mauled anyone else like he did Shawn, after all. And he certainly never hesitated to drag him into a dark hallway where they could be all alone, hissing not-quite sweet nothings in the psychic's ear.
And those times when he smiled at Shawn, though they were quite rare, it lit up every crevice of the entire fucking room.
So, if he didn't know better - and really, he wasn't sure he did - he'd think that Lassie had been leading him on, his roughing up just foreplay, his way of flirting with Shawn.
Which meant that maybe Lassie had been letting his body do the talking, too scared to let his words say how he felt. Except now, when they came out in full force, trashing both the psychic's sneakers and every pre-conceived notion in his pretty little head.
Shawn still couldn't believe Lassie had said it -
Because I think I love you.
I think I love you.
I love you.
- and marveling, he wondered whether it was a new revelation or something that had been coming for a long time.
The revelation astounded him. It more than astounded him and, slowly shaking his head, Shawn looked at Lassiter with a new sense of wonder. Lassie just shifted in place, mumbling something under his breath as he tried to get comfortable, the phrase hitting the air twice more before Shawn the makeshift pillow caught on to what was being said, the words just as shocking as his original proclamation.
"Don' go," Lassie whispered, snuggling into the crook of Shawn's neck as he breathed deep, arms wrapping around the psychic's shoulders as he pulled himself close. "Don' leave."
Shawn's heart swelled at the sound, and he reached out a hand to brush away the hair from Lassie's temple, the man continuing to speak in his sleep.
"Don' wan' be 'lone nomore," Lassie said, and Shawn froze as the sound of despair reached his ears, his hand stilling in the other man's hair. He cupped him close and, fighting back tears, the words washed over him and carried him away. "Please don' go, Spencer."
Shawn swallowed, the lump in his throat nearly suffocating as Lassie continued.
"Spencer, please stay."