Title: Head Over Heels
Pairing: Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer
Rating: R (verging on NC-17 in later chapters)
Disclaimer: I don't own Psych! No copyright infringement intended
Summary: Sequel to "Falling Slowly". Back in Santa Barbara, Shawn and Lassiter try to make things work.
Author's Note: I'm doing something a little different here and posting this as a WIP, something I didn't think I would ever do because personally, I always find it so disappointing to get wrapped up in a story only for it to never be finished. However, I'm about 90% done writing this, so I thought I might go ahead and post the first couple of chapters as an incentive for me to get through the ending.:) I promise, this will not go unfinished!
lj-cut text="Chapter One"
iAh, don't take my heart,
Don't break my heart,
Don't, don't throw it away/i
Tears for Fears
Less than half a mile after he passes the "Welcome to Santa Barbara" sign, Shawn has to pull over to the side of the road to throw up.
Sudden onset nausea after entering the city limits can't be a good sign.
He doesn't know why he's so nervous; it's just ihome/i, and home is Gus and pineapple smoothies and sunny boardwalks and Lassiter. And okay, maybe Lassiter is a teeny tiny part of why he's nervous, because attempting to make this thing work in Real Life is going to be a lot more difficult than enjoying fun sexytimes on the road. Real Life is where Lassie has a grown-up job and a mortgage and an ex-wife and probably a savings account or an IRA or something. Shawn isn't even entirely certain what an IRA is; he counts on Gus to know boring facts like that, so that he can free his mind up for more interesting things, like trying to figure out how Billy Zane could get his career back on track. Clearly he should have capitalized more on the success of Titanic somehow, but surely there's still a way to…
Wait, what had he been thinking about? Oh, right. How Lassie was going to get tired of him in a few weeks and dump him on his ass because he can't adequately define what a 401(k) is, although, do both people in a relationship really NEED to know that? Isn't one of them knowing sufficient, particularly if it's the one who actually has a job? Which is another reason why Lassiter is going to get sick of him, the fact that he's currently a lowly unemployed slacker.
Shawn knows he's distracting himself by thinking about Lassiter right now. As doomed, doomed, doomed as their relationship might be, they probably still have at least a few weeks before it all goes to hell, and Shawn is a live-in-the-moment kind of guy. It's easier to dwell on something that's not even a problem yet than it is to face up to what's really bothering him, which is that he's home again. He's in Santa Barbara. And Henry isn't. Which in the past might have actually been a relief, but since the reason Henry's not there is that he got shot and bled out in front of Shawn and died, well, all things considered, Shawn would really prefer it if Henry were still here. You know, alive.
His hands are shaking. Fuck.
Okay, he can do this. He's going to get back on his bike and go straight to Lassie's place, where Lassie will distract him by being unwittingly sexy, with his rolled up sleeves and his manly chest, and…yeah, this is good. If he can get absorbed in a fantasy about how hot Lassie is, and how good it will be to see him again, and how even better it will be to ifeel/i him again, then maybe he can forget for a little while how Henry's blood felt spilling out around his fingers when he tried to slow down the flow by putting his hand over the wound.
Stop it, he tells himself. Focus. He gets back on his bike and drives into town, but doesn't go straight to Lassiter's place as he had planned. Instead, he goes by his old apartment at Mee Mee's Fluff and Fold, which has inexplicably been rented out to something called Majik Touch Dry Cleaners. What a waste of excellent living space! After that he stops by his favorite local smoothie place for a bottle of water and a delicious frosty tropical fruit flavored treat. He has to admit that it's a little gratifying when the owner of the place comes rushing out from behind the counter to hug him, saying something about how he's her favorite customer and if he's back she'll be able to make her rent payment next month. It's nice to be needed.
After that he rides past the former Psych office, which is now apparently an insurance place. Seeing the cheerful green lettering gone from the window is kind of heartbreaking. He needs to go see Gus, because after all Gus is the one who has had to see the office for all these months looking sad and serious and un-Psych-like, but that's going to have to wait for tomorrow. Tonight is for seeing Lassiter again.
It's been nearly three weeks since he and Lassie parted ways in Atlanta. In the end, it was clear that they were going back to Santa Barbara; Lassiter had a home and a career there, and Shawn had Gus, who he missed terribly. Lassiter had offered to buy him a plane ticket home, but there was no way Shawn was going to leave his bike; the only thing he's had in his life longer than that motorcycle is Gus. More than that though, the bike is a symbol of independence. If things get to be too much, he can just jump on it and igo/i.
Lassie understands that, or at least he says he does; Shawn could tell that he was a little disappointed that they wouldn't be traveling back home together, but Shawn thinks the temporary separation might be a good thing. He knows that he's a commitment-phobe, and he's willing to concede that maybe that's not entirely healthy, but Lassiter's the opposite: he's like, a commitment-slut, or something, and that has to be equally bad. This was, after all, a man who blew his nest egg on a condo so that he could live with a woman he had been on one aborted date with. Shawn finds that kind of complete whackadoodle insanity incredibly appealing, particularly when it comes wrapped up in the package of one Detective Carlton Lassiter, whom the world at large seems to see as repressed and uptight, but at the same time he wants to give Lassie a chance to think about what, as well as who, he's doing here.
Not that he wants Lassiter to back out of this relationship! Not at all. He just doesn't want Lassie to wake up one day and feel trapped by decisions he made when he was feeling emotionally vulnerable or especially horny or whatever it was that he was feeling that caused him to go looking for Shawn on the other side of the country.
Shawn had never intended to come back to Santa Barbara so soon; he didn't think about it much, but there was a part of him that assumed it might be years before he went home again. But then Lassie had shown up one day out of nowhere, looking at him with so much want and need that Shawn honestly thought his heart might have stopped beating for a few seconds, like he was the heroine of some cheesy romance novel. He imagined it was what Charlie Brown might feel like if the little red-haired girl that he had adored from afar for years had shown up on his doorstep one day and proclaimed her undying devotion, except he had much better hair than poor old Charlie Brown.
Lassiter might not have proclaimed his undying devotion exactly, but as much as he might want to delude himself into believing otherwise, Lassie didn't do flings or meaningless affairs; just the fact that he had tracked Shawn down and slept with him meant that this was serious business, and seriousness of any sort usually makes Shawn anxious. So it's puzzling that he feels so decidedly un-anxious about this; yeah, he's worried in a theoretical way about the day when he and Lassiter are going to blow up at each other again, because that happening is inevitable, but he's surprisingly calm over acknowledging to himself that what he has with Lassie is very real and yes, very serious.
At the moment though, he is a little bit worried about what his reception is going to be when he shows up on Lassiter's doorstep, because Lassie miiiiiight be kind of pissed off at him right now. Getting back to Santa Barbara on his bike shouldn't have taken more than a week, but instead of coming straight home, Shawn had done some meandering around the countryside, because while he wanted to see Lassie and Gus again, he still isn't that keen on being home. Lassie would probably understand about that, since he had seen firsthand how conflicted Shawn had been over his decision to come back, but what he's liable to be less understanding about is how Shawn lost the new phone Lassiter bought him before leaving Atlanta. A phone purchased for the express purpose of Shawn keeping in contact and not disappearing off the map.
"You don't have to call me if you don't want to," Lassiter had said in his adorably insecure way, "but at least let Guster know where you are and if you're okay."
Shawn had warned him that he has terrible phone karma when he's on the road and would probably lose the phone, but Lassie hadn't listened. And sure enough, four days into his trip back west, he couldn't find the damn thing. Two days later he sent both Gus and Lassie postcards promising that he was on his way, but he has a feeling that Lassiter is still going to be irritated with him.
It's getting dark now, which means that it's probably late enough that Lassie's home from work, unless of course he has a big case to work on. Shawn makes his way to the condo, trying to quell the butterflies in his stomach. The worst that can happen is that Lassiter will slam the door in his face, right? And in that unlikely event, Shawn will either talk his way in with his irresistible charm, or he'll go see Gus a little earlier than planned.
When he gets into the elevator at Prospect Gardens, the creepy elderly twins who live down the hall from Lassie are there.
"Ladies," he says to them politely, as they turn identical unnerving looks towards him.
"Hello," they say in unison.
"Are you here…" one of them says.
"to visit a friend?" the other one finishes.
"Why yes, I am! I'm here to see Detective Lassiter on the fifth floor."
"Lovely!" they say together.
"He's such a…"
"nice young man. Just last week…"
"he moved some furniture for us."
The twins have distracted him enough that he's made it to Lassiter's door without any further procrastination. He bids them goodnight, wondering if this is what the future holds for him and Gus when they get old, finishing each other's sentences and creeping out younger people. He thinks he could probably live with that. It's just too bad that they're not twins, but maybe it's even creepier that they don't look alike.
Lassiter opens the door after Shawn's third knock. The man looks itired/i; there are bags under his eyes and his shoulders are slumped. For a long moment he just stares silently at Shawn, who finally clears his throat uncomfortably and says "Hey, Lass. Is that a gun in your hand or are you just happy to see me?"
Lassiter hastily holster his service weapon. "Sorry. I wasn't expecting company."
Shawn winces. "I know, I lost my phone and…can I come in? Please?"
"Oh!" Lassiter looks startled at the realization that Shawn is still standing in the hall. "Of course. Come in. "
Shawn follows him into the condo. "You look like you just got home from work," he says, referring to how Lassie's still wearing his holster and tie.
"I've had a lot of catching up to do after being gone for three weeks. Where have you been, Shawn?"
His tone doesn't change from one sentence to the next; he sounds calm but fatigued, like Shawn has already exhausted him by not showing up in a timely manner. Shawn looks down at his shoes.
"I'm sorry, Lassie. I needed a little extra time before I could come back here. And I'm really sorry about the phone. I'll pay you back for it. Look, I understand if you don't want me here. I can leave if –"
Lassiter grabs him by the arm. "Don't you dare leave," he says a little desperately, then shuts up like he's afraid he's said too much. Shawn feels a familiar little squeeze around his heart, a feeling he only ever gets around Lassie.
"Okay," he agrees softly.
Lassiter releases his arm and moves around him towards the kitchen. "Are you hungry? I was just about to make myself a sandwich."
"I can always eat, Lassie. You know that."
Lassiter starts gathering things together for sandwiches – bread, a knife, some kind of deli meat from the refrigerator. "Do you want mayo? Mustard?"
Oh, this is so awkward. Shawn is usually fine with awkward, hell, he often instigates awkward, but this is just uncomfortable and no fun and he's done with the small talk.
"Lassie," he says a little helplessly, reaching out to touch Lassiter's shoulder, and suddenly he's up against the counter with Lassiter's mouth plastered across his. Worth the awkwardness, he decides, rubbing the smooth leather of the holster before sliding his fingers through Lassie's hair and pulling him closer so he can't get away. Lassiter is making soft, needy sounds against his mouth and has an iron grip on his hips that doesn't ease up until he finally ends the kiss and rests his forehead against Shawn's.
"I didn't think you were coming," he admits a little breathlessly.
Shawn bites back the inappropriate comment on the tip of his tongue (maybe that's a sign of maturity? Nah.) and pets his hand down Lassiter's back. Poor Lassie, always so sure that no one wants him. Well, Shawn wants him. Shawn wants him a lot.
"I AM sorry," he apologizes one last time. "Come on Lassie, let's skip dinner and go right to dessert."
Lassiter smiles slightly. "It's amazing you ever get laid if that's the kind of pick-up line you use."
"Are you questioning whether or not I have game?" Shawn asks, quirking an eyebrow. "'Cause let me tell you, Lassie, I've got a whole Toys R Us store worth of game. I've got Battleship and Clue and Jenga and Tiddleywinks…"
"You should shut up now before you ruin the mood," Lassiter advises, and kisses him again.
And yeah, ithis/i is what Shawn came back to Santa Barbara for, rough, hungry kisses and Lassie's hands stroking up Shawn's back then back down to his ass like he's trying to map the planes and angles of Shawn's body. After a few minutes he pulls away, grabbing Shawn's wrist and leading him out of the kitchen.
"The bedroom's this way."
Shawn is busy trying to unbutton Lassie's shirt while they're walking. "Who needs a bedroom? Why not the kitchen, or right here in the hall?" he attempts to demonstrate the possibilities by pushing Lassie against the wall and kissing him again.
"Because I don't keep condoms in the kitchen or the hall?"
Shawn considers this briefly. "That is sound reasoning," he's forced to agree.
"Besides," Lassiter continues, "you made me wait three weeks for this. You can wait twenty more seconds."
Shawn freezes, because Lassie isn't usually so passive-aggressive, and the fact that he is now means that he's probably really mad, but trying to hide it. He takes a step back, still hanging on to Lassie's shirt but putting a little space between them.
"You're pissed."
"Of course I'm pissed! I was worried about you, you idiot! Jesus, Spencer, you couldn't find a phone somewhere and call me?"
Guilt is starting to overtake lust. Lassiter isn't touching him anymore, is instead leaning against the wall fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. Shawn shuts his eyes, trying to tamp down the panic threatening to suffocate him at the thought that Lassie could end this thing between them right here, right now.
After the silence stretches out for a few more unbearable seconds, Shawn opens his eyes and says quietly, "If you're going to kick me out, then do it. If you're not, then let me make it up to you."
Lassiter clenches his fists and looks at the floor, like he's giving this some thought, and for a terrifying moment Shawn worries that he really is about to get kicked out, but suddenly Lassie's hands are fisted in his t-shirt and he's being pushed backwards into the bedroom.
"Never do that to me again, Spencer," and then he's falling back onto the bed with Lassiter on top of him, and he's never been more relieved in his life.
Later, after sex and a shower and sandwiches, Shawn is sprawled out bonelessly on Lassie's couch.
"I wish you'd been with me the last couple of weeks, Lassie. I spent a week working as a tour guide at the Alamo. We have to go back there sometime, you would love it. It's all cowboys and history and macho shit."
Lassiter has that slightly pained expression on his face that suggests he's already regretting his next words, but he forges ahead anyway.
"Spencer, why did you stop for a week to work? I thought you had enough money for the trip back."
Shawn shrugs. "I needed a little more time. And I wanted to give you some space, you know?" What he can't quite bring himself to say is that the closer he got to California, the more he wanted to turn around and go anywhere else. Alaska, maybe; he's never been and it would be cool. The only thing that kept him from running was knowing that Lassiter was here waiting for him.
"Space for what?" Lassiter asks, sounding baffled. "Wait, did you think I would change my mind?"
Shawn looks at the ceiling, because he doesn't want to see the mixture of irritation and hurt on Lassie's face right now. "Maybe."
"Haven't I proven to you that I'm serious about this?" Oh crap, Lassie's annoyed now. Shawn peeks over at him to see him scowling.
"I know you're serious, Lassiepants," he says gently "I just keep thinking that you're going to come to your senses and run screaming the other way."
"I lost my senses years ago, thanks to you," Lassiter grumbles, but he seems slightly mollified.
"You're welcome!" Shawn says, beaming. Lassie rolls his eyes and Shawn relaxes again.
Lassiter changes the subject by asking "Have you seen Guster yet?"
"No, you were the first stop on my Welcome Home tour. Well, second stop, actually. They were overjoyed to see me at The Smoothie Hut. I'll go see Gus tomorrow."
"I'm flattered that I came in second to the smoothies," Lassiter says dryly.
"You should be. I've been daydreaming about their Mango-Pineapple Super Smoothie for the last three states. Luckily, you're almost as delicious." He peeks over again to see Lassie's ears turn pink, which is what always happens when Shawn pays him a ridiculous compliment, then goes back to talking about Gus.
"I was thinking I would surprise Gus at his place in the morning. It's Saturday, so he should be home."
"No," Lassiter says. "Wait until afternoon. Guster has his cake decorating class on Saturday mornings."
Shawn sits up. "How do you know that?" he demands. "Also, cake decorating? Seriously? How is it that out of the three of us, Gus is the only one who's completely straight?"
"I think he's just going through all of the courses offered by the community center. Four months ago it was dioramas, then digital photography, basket weaving, oil painting, and now cake decorating. He claims that it's a good way to meet women, but I think he's just trying to keep busy without you around."
"Ouch. Right to the heart, Lassie. I'll make it up to Gussy, but don't think I didn't notice how you avoided my question. Are you and Gus BFFs now? Do you braid each other's hair and talk about boys over skinny lattes?"
Lassiter looks annoyed, but that's okay; Shawn's been annoying him for years, and look where that's gotten him.
"We talk about you, over beers. Does that count?"
"Definitely. What do you say about me? Like, do you talk about how sexy I am, or my awesome dance moves, or how amazing my hair is?"
"No. Mostly Guster tells me embarrassing stories from when you were a teenager. Like the time you took Sharon Grenier to the water park and—"
"No! No! We are not telling that story tonight. Or iever/i. Oh, Gus is going to pay for this."
Lassiter smirks at him. "I have enough blackmail material to last for years. I had no idea how rewarding a friendship with Guster was going to be."
"Huh," Shawn says, getting off the couch and dropping to his knees in front of the chair Lassiter's sitting in. "I think you should give some more thought to how much more rewarding a friendship with me is," he says, running a hand up Lassie's thigh. "I bet I can make a convincing argument for you to forget every embarrassing story Gus tells about me."
"Oh?" Lassiter says roughly, threading his fingers through Shawn's shower damp hair, "Fine. Convince me."
As he palms Lassie's dick through the thin pajama pants, Shawn thinks that at this particular moment, it's good to be home.