Chapter 1: When I Close my Eyes, All I See is You

A/N: Welcome to my new story! Please note that this is a prequel to my story You Can't Hold Onto Secrets Forever. If you haven't read that one, go ahead and read it after you finish this one!

Please keep in mind that this is a preslash story! If you do not like that, just don't read it

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the TV show Psych. All I own is season 7 8 on DVD.

Nothing was out of the ordinary at the Santa Barbara Police station. Officers found their way across the bullpen with either files occupying their hands, or a criminal in tow to and from the interrogation rooms.

It was an uneventful afternoon and Lassiter was thankful for that. Nothing like a nice and quiet environment to finish his reports. Peaceful days were rare at the station, mostly due to one Shawn Spencer--ah crap. Where was Spencer, and what kind of trouble was he most likely getting himself into? Expecting the dynamic duo to walk through the front doors at any moment, Lassiter looked up.

A quick sweep of the station and it was still Spencer-less. He glanced at his watch to check the time as if Spencer kept a schedule. Hm. 1:30. Usually Spencer is at the station causing trouble alrea--

"What'cha waitin' for, Lassie?"

Lassiter couldn't help but jump at the sudden question that came from behind him. Dropping his pen, he quickly turned to face the perpetrator. "I'm waiting for you to go away, Spencer," he snapped at the younger man in his usual fashion, wondering why he even cared to know where the fake psychic was in the first place.

"Aw, but I just got here. Didn't you miss me?" Shawn pouted slightly as he inched closer to the still seated detective.

The action didn't go unnoticed by Lassiter as he responded to the movement by scooting his chair back to maximise the distance between the pair. "You know what I miss, Spencer?" He paused just long enough for Shawn to ponder the question, but not long enough for him to anwser. "Being able to get my work done without getting interrupted."

Shawn seemed to take the answer into consideration before he took another step closer. "It didn't look like you were working. It looked like you were waiting for something. For someone," he lowered his voice as he looked down at the man sitting before him.

Immediately Lassiter's heart rate spiked. What did Spencer think he was doing? Why had he taken interest in watching him? And why the hell did he keep stepping closer? These questions plus many more raced through Lassiter's head as he pushed the chair back as far as it would go before colliding with his desk. "What.. What do you.. What do you want, Spencer?" He finally managed to ask as he stared up at the man in question.

Shawn bent down to be at eye level with Lassiter as he smirked at the question. "What I want, Detective, is you."

Lassiter's heart stopped. There was no way in hell he heard Spencer correctly. He must be pulling a prank on him. At least, that what he was thinking before Spencer leaned forward and planted his lips on his.

Shock. Shock was the only emotion Lassiter could use to explain what was going through his head. He was so consumed in trying to rationally explain what was suddenly happening, he didn't hear his name being called until it elevated to a yell with a vigorous shake to his shoulders.

He opened his eyes and quickly snapped his head up to check his surroundings. Looking straight ahead he saw O'Hara staring down at him, trying her best not to laugh.

It was just a dream. Thank sweet justice. Spencer hadn't actually assaulted him in the middle of the station. Though, would it still be considered assault if he liked it? His eyes widened at the sudden unexpected thought.

No way. No way in hell Head Detective Carlton Lassiter would like kissing (fake)Psychic Consultant Shawn Spencer. So why did he keep dreaming it?

Sleep deprivation. That was the only answer. He'd driven himself to the point of exhaustion and his brain was creating impossible scenarios. The only flaw with that theory were the dreams themselves. It wasn't just the piles of cases on his desk keeping him awake. Every time he closed his eyes he found himself doing inappropriate things with one Shawn Spencer.

Looking past O'Hara, who he know realized was still staring at him, he was thankful the man currently inhabiting his dreams was nowhere to be seen. He didn't know what he would do if Spencer was present at the station at this very moment. He wouldn't be able to look the man in the eyes, let alone explain why he had slept very little for the past week and a half.

Almost the second O'Hara suggested Lassiter go home and get some rest he was out of his chair packing up his stuff because like O'Hara said, "The cases can wait until tomorrow," unlike his current problem which he preferred to fix as soon as possible.

Instead of attempting to get a mere few hours of sleep and subject himself to the torture of Spencer dreams, he could simply continue the habit he'd recently picked up of drinking through the night.

It started as one or two nightly drinks, just something to take the edge off a stressful day. Unfortunately it quickly evolved into six or seven drinks a night, in a mere attempt to push Shawn Spencer from his mind, and not remember his thoughts the next day.

The last few days of sleeplessness with the added continuous hangover, have only skyrocketed the detective's imagination, and he only had one solution. The bar near his house. It was a public setting, to keep himself from doing something embarrassing, not to mention out of Spencer's usual radius of travel, and the most convincing point of all, stronger alcohol. At his house he was limited to the few beers and bottles of whiskey he had on hand, but not tonight. Tonight, Head Detective Carlton Lassiter was getting uncontrollably hammered and no one could stop him.