Title: Later Days (2/7)
Author: Wolfscythe
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter, Some Gus/Juliet
Rating: NC-17 overall
Length: 35,260 overall
Disclaimer: I do not own Psych or any of its characters. I only borrowed them for a short period and returned them in pristine condition.
Gus rolled over and answered the shrill ringing next to his dresser, garbling out a confused, "Wha?"
"Gus, what are doing?"
"I'm on the beach with Halle Berry and a Bahama Mama. What the hell do you think I'm doing Shawn! It's three in the morning," Gus grumbled, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.
"Really, uh… wow, I guess it is. Look, I need you to hear this."
"No, I don't. Whatever it is, it can wait till morning. Goodnight Shawn." Ignoring the protesting "Wait, wait!" over the phone, Gus hung up and threw the phone in the vicinity of his bathroom. A few seconds later he heard it chirping repeatedly. Covering his head with a pillow, he fell back asleep.
Gus woke up at 3:38am. Not of his own accord of course, but because there was a rhythmic knocking at his door. Already expecting an annoying best friend, he doesn't bother to put on his cream colored robe. Answering the door sporting only his purple shorts, the greeting he got was not surprising.
"Dude. Gross."
"What do you want," Gus asked, holding the door open while Shawn snuck in.
"Absolutely nothing until you put some clothes on. Are," Shawn squinted in the semi darkness, "are those Calvin Klein?"
"Seriously, what do you want?" Refusing to answer Shawn's question (He was right) Gus put on a pair of slacks and a large black shirt with "Ironmaiden" written on it. It was an old present from relatives and Gus never got around to getting rid of it. Shawn gave it an appreciative smile.
"I've got to tell you what happened today!"
"Yesterday. What happened yesterday," Gus said, helpfully reminding Shawn of the time.
"Yes, yes, anyway," Shawn took a deep breath to quell his excitement, "I found out about Lassiter's case!"
"Oh my god, how did you do it," Gus said in a bored monotone voice.
"A highly illegal phone tap," Shawn continued as Gus's eyes widened in surprise, "Don't complain, I removed it."
"Shawn! You want the Feds on your ass?"
"I believe I said don't complain. Look, I beat Lassiter to his secret meeting and here is what went down." After a thorough retelling of the conversation between Lassiter and Simon, even including what drinks were consumed (Simon's was a Derek Birch both times, and Lassiter's was a Coors) Gus sat down on his living room chair.
"What do you know about those people Simons giving up?"
Shawn rubbed his palms together. "This is where it gets really good: Teleski, Mount, and Susanna are all high runners in underground smuggling rings. All of them have been pulled in by the police for one thing or another, but the system can never prosecute. Connie too. His team of lawyers keeps him out of prison and his legit businesses away from his illegal ones. If this Simon character is telling the truth and can give Lassiter enough to bring these people down, it would be the largest smuggling bust this side of the country!"
Gus looked anything other than excited. "I don't like this. These sound like pretty dangerous people Shawn."
"That is exactly my point. Think about it, us, helping the Head Detective pull in these hardened criminals and making the world a safer place." Shawn obviously wasn't taking this as seriously as Gus was. "I'll be careful," Shawn promised, his eyes watering and lip pouting.
"No you won't," Gus scolded. "Lassiter already has everything under control."
"Ah ah," Shawn waved his finger, "Lassiter has four criminals in the bag with one on the loose. I can help take out Blaine." Gus rubbed his temples where he could feel a headache forming. His headache was screaming 'He's your best friend. Yours, yours, yours.' All the people in the world to befriend, and Gus chose the one who delights in pissing powerful people off.
"You promise to only collect information on this shady character, and will leave immediately if it gets too dangerous?" Gus halted him before he can promise, "and stay out of Lassiter's way so he can do his job?" Shawn nodded enthusiastically. "And when this is all over, you will never ever come to my place again before six am?"
"Scouts honor."
The two stared each other down before hitting knuckles. "Fine," Gus said, and opened the door to his bedroom. He turned around when he heard his cabinet hinges squeaking open. "What are you doing?"
Shawn had a bowl and a box of Cheerios. "Breakfast. What does it look like?"
He soon found himself locked outside of Gus's apartment, bowl and cereal still in hand. "Not very nice," he shouted through the door. "You could have at least left some milk!"
As funny as it was to wake up his friend early in the morning, it did have a purpose. Shawn always came off as a Do It Even Though You Might Get In Over Your Head kinda guy, and he liked that persona about himself. This case had him a little bit worried after doing some digging on Blaine (reading locked and private police files). Successful, wealthy, the works, but also intelligent, cunning, and ruthless. He was a serious player in underworld politics, and if he pulled the right strings, he could make Shawn's life, and everyone Shawn has ever been in contact with, hell. He meant it when he said he was going to be careful. Letting Gus in on the scoop and getting his opinion meant something to Shawn, and he was glad he did it.
Thomas Blaine was not a hard man to find. Owner of a ridiculously successful trading company, he was in the papers time to time. Also, super conveniently for Shawn, he had an article on wikipedia that explained where his top business fellows worked. Blaine's right hand man was mentioned, but of course downplayed as secretary and financial bookkeeper. Shawn had an easier time sneaking into the main office building than getting into a Gwen Stephanie concert. Convincing the maintenance that he was the new guy (Stolen uniform with the nametag Doug), he got access onto the higher floors. Picking one lock got him into Mr. Secretary/right hand man's office, and one glance at his itinerary got him Mr. Blaine's schedule for the week. The whole process took forty minutes and forty-six dollars (Taxi ride and lunch afterwards).
Shawn, reclining in a leather chair with his feet propped up on an ash cherrywood desk, fiddled with his binoculars. He was on the 14th floor in the executive building of G. Richard's Law Office. The only importance of this building to Shawn was that it is straight across from Zia's Trattoria restaurant and Hotel, also located on the 14th floor. According to Blaine's schedule, he should be in the restaurant six o'clock sharp for dinner with an important colleague, or so Shawn assumes. The itinerary said dinner with Swan, and he was pretty sure it didn't mean the bird. He checked his watch. He had less than an hour till Blain was due. A knock at the door distracted Shawn from his musing about swans, and he jumped to his feet, dropping the binoculars into a plastic lunchbox.
"Excuse me sir, but have you found the source of the smell yet?" A short bald headed man asked, timidly opening the door and peeking his skull in. His name badge said "Gary, Assistant Manager."
"I'm afraid it may be a gas leak Gary. So…I'm going to need you to clear the premise while I find the source. I'm pretty sure it's coming from this room." Shawn patted his jumpsuit and authentic looking Citywide badge.
"Oh, of course, yes."
Shawn threw him a small walkie-talkie. "I'll call you when it's clear." The man fumbled it, picked it up and left quietly. Shawn had no intention of calling Gary; the thing didn't even have batteries in it. He would be gone and the smell would dissipate on its own. It couldn't have been easier.
Several hours after getting Blaine's schedule, Shawn was scoping for places he could safely observe. Entering the restaurant was off limits because he didn't want Blaine or anyone else to know he was there. Plotting along outside the hotel, the neighboring building caught Shawn's eye.
An old truck was parked out front, 'Al's Mechanical repair' painted on the side. The man exiting the truck had a utility belt around his waist with wires, glue, tools, and two bottles of Raid. He watched the man enter the building and take the elevator up. The people milling around the bottom floor all had miniature fans or makeshift ones. Shawn wondered what is a man going to need Raid bottles for when fixing the internal cooler system. He crossed the street for a better look. A glance in the truck's bed revealed several empty bottles of Raid and insecticide. A man with Entomophobia, choosing a career where he was constantly in small tight places crawling with bugs, should have thought twice about it.
It was perfect. The guy would fix the vents while filling them with nasty fumes. The air ducks would be turned on when he was done, and slowly the building would fill with a nasty odor. Shawn figured he had a few hours to get some essentials.
The floor manager greeted Shawn at the doors with a polite, "Can I help you?"
"Yeah, I received a call about a bad smell. Said it was important." The manager looked confused. Shawn gave his best 'I'm a busy man with many other things to do' look.
"I never heard such a complaint."
"Well I sure did. Said the smell started after the vents were turned on. Don't you smell that?" For a moment he was worried he came to early and the Raid hadn't had the time to circulate through the building, but a distinct toxic odor began to blow in with the cooling breeze.
"Actually, now that you mention it, I do smell it now." He leaned in close to Shawn and almost whispered, "Is that…is it a gas leak? Should I be worried?"
"Not sure, but just as a precaution, I'm going to have to have a look around." At the suspicious glance the manager gave him, Shawn broke into a grin. "Don't worry, Citywide will pay for any and all damages to gas pipes, it's company policy." He flashed the manager his badge (made at Kinko's) and smoothed his jumpsuit (altered version of his first stolen jumpsuit, even kept the nametag Doug on it). With people coughing and leaving the floor, the manager pointed in the direction of the elevators. Shawn took a straight shot to floor 14, holding his lunch box close.
"There you are, you ugly bastard," Shawn mumbled to himself, binoculars held so close to the window they were pressing the panes. Across the street in the other building, a wide pavilion was visible through the glass. Tables dotted across the whole floor with waiters scattered amongst them. A beautifully sculpted ice woman held lilies in the palms of her hand and melted slowly into a bowl on a wide table covered in desserts. Decadence oozed from the buffet table, and Shawn reminded himself why hiding in the smelly building was safer and smarter.
Despite what he said earlier, Blaine was not a bastard (in the traditional sense), nor was he ugly. In fact he was pretty attractive. If Shawn were into purebred, high class, model good looks instead of overworked, intimidating, grumpy Irishmen looks he would be oogling into his binoculars. Blaine was in a nice suit, and his associate, Mr. Swan, could fence his whole ensemble and swim in the profits.
Something about Swan's face stuck in Shawn's head. He was never one to forget a face. He focused his (actually, Henry's) super 8-24x25 zoom binoculars to Swan, looking for anything distinguishing. He was blond, older in the way all men wish they would age, and used whitening strips. If Shawn could not identify him now, then he must have seen him years and years ago. He thought back to every criminal face he ever saw on television or paper.
Three days after Shawn's sixth birthday, a news report was on channel 13 about an arrest of a man trafficking young men and women for prostitution and trade. He had a different name, and looked much worse off than he did now. It appeared that Mr. Swan got out of prison and a makeover, but Shawn doubted he gave up his profit making ways. There were only a few reasons Blaine would be friends with someone like Swan. As horrible as it was, it was good news for Shawn. He could now give Lassiter some useful information and a way into Blaine's business.
Swan laughed at something Blaine said, and then reached into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet. Rolling out some photos like a proud father, Swan pointed to each of the pictures and told Blaine about them. Shawn didn't have to hear them to know what they were discussing. Each of the photos was a headshot of a young man, and it wasn't some story about Caleb at boys camp, it was a business deal. Shawn watched the two for the rest of the meal. Blaine ordered lamb, Swan the peking duck, (Shawn could tell that he wanted to order the Cacciucco instead, but decided against it) and when the dessert menu was placed on their table he decided to leave. He wasn't going to get anything else from them, and he really didn't want to watch two old friends discussing who was going to be brought into their hotel rooms that night.
Lassiter was lazing about in his newly furnished house. The moving fiasco turned up in is favor because he didn't loose any money in his quick sale and found a moderate sized place with a deck. He had to leave the station because Vick was furious he struck a bargain with known criminals and ignored her advice about dropping the whole thing and simply arresting the little thug. He knew Vick was more concerned about his safety than any stigma associated with dealings of the underworld kind. Lassiter felt bad about it, but it was the only way to put some of those people behind bars, and he has always put the citizens well being over his own.
He's pushed out the door after Vick got the call from Simon, and faxes began to pour through. She promised she would call if something wasn't right with the information or if it was useless. Karen Vick would never say it out loud, but she secretly wished the information was sour. If it would stop her best detective from putting himself in a very dangerous situation, she would rather have those greedy people on the streets any day. Bringing in some greedy scum was not worth loosing one of her own. There would always be criminals, but only one Carlton Lassiter.
It was late in the evening and Lassiter had yet to set up his new television. His bookshelves, computer, and file cabinets had come first; everything else was unpacked at his leisure. He already read the files on the four under bosses Simon promised to bring in, and was waiting impatiently for further instructions. He could do nothing until he knew where he was meeting Blaine and what they were going to discuss. He figured Simon would introduce him as a crooked cop trying to climb the political ladder, or maybe as a fence, handler, or money launderer. The point being that until he knew, he couldn't prepare for it. He sat on his fat leather couch with his tie off and shirt unbuttoned and flipped through American Handgunner without reading it.
His doorbell rang, but he ignored it. If someone needed to contact him from work they would call his cell phone, and it was on and charged. It rang again and was followed by loud obtrusive knocks. He gruffly got up and grabbed his gun that was sitting on the kitchen counter. Putting the safety on, he tucked it into the back of his slacks. Maybe a little paranoid, but better safe than sorry. Lassiter opened the door and immediately groaned. Shawn Spencer on his doorstep was the last person he expected, and frankly, on the bottom of the List Of People Carlton Never Wants To See On His Doorstep (although Saddam was a close second).
"Spencer," Lassiter greeted.
"Lassy, uh, Lassiter. Can I come in?" Shawn hoisted up a 12 pack, bribery most likely. Lassiter stepped back and held the door open. Shawn grinned and entered, checking out the décor. "Nice place. It's very—uh, sophisticated." He set the beer on the counter and took note of where every exit was and what kinds of weapons were lying about. Being paranoid was not a crime.
"What do you want Spencer?"
"Have you been drinking?" Shawn asked unexpectedly.
"What? No!"
"Damn, this would be so much easier if you had." Shawn sucked air through his teeth, expanding his chest. "Well, I had this vision today."
"Out," Lassiter said, motioning toward the door.
"Just hear me out. It's about Thomas Blaine," Shawn pleaded. Lassiter leaned against the counter, his eyebrows furrowed.
"Fine, I'll bite. What did your vision tell you?"
"Well," Shawn swallowed nervously, which was something that he Does Not Do. He rehearsed what was going to happen again and again in his head, but with Lassiter standing there it was a bit hard to get out. For this to work, Lassiter was going to have to play along. The options were: succeed and hopefully not get shot, or fail, and hopefully Lassiter does not get shot. "I can't tell you. I have to show you."
Lassiter cocked an eyebrow while still looking menacing. "Show me? What, are you in the seventh grade?"
"Here, I'm going to channel Blaine for a moment." Shawn closed his eyes while Lassiter rolled his.
"We're not at the station, you don't have to pull this shit with me," He remarked, folding his arms over his chest. Shawn shushed him and went back to concentrating. He was really just building courage, but that takes concentration too. Lassiter made a show of looking at his watch, but Shawn's eyes were shut. He walked directly up to Lassiter, thinking: 'kitchen chair four paces to the left, table angled, six steps to the counter,' and wrapped his arms around Lassiter's neck.
He opened his eyes before he pressed his lips to the detectives so he doesn't miss or ram his nose and completely screw this up. They are chest-to-chest and hip-to-hip. Lassiter's mouth was closed; the arms that were folded across his chest were now hovering in the air like he doesn't know what to do with them. Lassiter finally overcame his initial shock that Shawn Spencer was kissing him. Kissing him! and dropped his hands to put pressure on Shawn's shoulders.
Lassiter opened his mouth to object, yell, demand an explanation, vomit, or anything other that mutely take this from the fake psychic, but Shawn held tighter and swiped his tongue inside briefly to count Lassiter's front bottom teeth. Shawn pulled away slowly. The whole ordeal lasted only a few seconds, but took years off the detective's life.
Shawn spoke first with a weak "didn't know Blaine had it in em'. The scoundrel." Lassiter looked at him like he had gone crazy. He took a step back so he was no longer pinning the detective against his own kitchen counter.
Lassiter wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before saying, very quiet and calmly, "Spencer, what the hell was that?" His irises stayed fully incased in white, but his pupils began to shrink back to their normal size.
"Me showing you that Blaine has found alternative ways to sex."
Lassiter was not in a laughing mood. "I don't know what you're trying to pull—" he began, and Shawn had to clamp his mouth shut before he quipped, "I'm not pulling anything. Yet," and got himself slowly and painfully murdered on Lassiter's pristine kitchen floor. "—but this is not a joke. This is serious." Anger was filling Lassiter, and that was the last thing Shawn needed or wanted to deal with.
"I know. Just…listen for a second; this is your way in. Blaine is bisexual; you're an attractive, probable, and possible businessmen. You can use this to your advantage."
Lassiter's jaw clenched as he thought about it. "It's dangerous to play the part of corrupted cop, and it's even more dangerous, not to mention stupid," he gave a pointed stare in Spencers direction, "to play the part of sexually interested corrupted cop. But—" he hesitated, giving Shawn a look over, "you're right. It'd be worth it. It would open doors for me."
Shawn mentally high fived himself and gave Gus some skin (In his office many miles away, Gus, reaching for a glass across the desk, wondered briefly why his outstretched hand became a fist).
"Spencer, that was…uh, adequate," he said awkwardly. Shawn thought for a delirious second that he meant the kiss, but he was talking about the detective work.
"Your welcome?"
"If that was all you needed to tell me…" Lassiter doesn't finish, he just pointed in the direction of the front door.
"Wait, what? You're serious," Shawn asked in general confusion.
"That's the reason you came here isn't it? Unless you have more helpful information to give me, then you can go."
Shawn shook his head no. "That's not what I meant. You're going to go hit on a man, a man whom I might add has tapped more boy ass than the proctology ward, with no rudimentary knowledge on how to even kiss another dude."
"I know how to kiss, Spencer," he huffed, but his cheeks redden anyway. He walked out from his kitchen into the open space of his living room.
"I said you don't know how to kiss another dude. There is in fact, a big difference." Shawn casually followed the detective, choosing to sit on the new leather seat. "Blaine's going to see right through you."
"I know how to go undercover. I've done it before," he explained, like he's talking to a child. Shawn gave him a disbelieving quirk of the eyebrows. He stood up and walked over to face Lassiter head on. Before a staredown could commence, Shawn pushed the detective high on the chest hard enough that he was forced to fall onto the long couch behind him. He tried to stand up and protest, but Shawn straddled and kissed him hard on the mouth.
Shawn was happy that Lassiter didn't pull away, but he didn't participate either. Lassiter stayed sprawled on the couch, like a warm, breathing, frustrated, throw pillow. Shawn pulled his mouth away in anger. "This is why you're going to get yourself killed. How can you convincingly kiss a total scumbag but not me!? I thought that after all the time we—" Carlton shut him up by sealing his mouth over Shawn's. He balanced himself with one arm sinking into the soft cushions by Lassiter's head, and his other hand going up to cup Lassiter jaw. Lassiter's arm went under Shawn's and around to his back, anchoring him in place.
Teeth clacked once or twice until they got the rhythm right. Lassiter slipping his tongue in deep when Shawn exhaled. He was just the right amount of pushy and demanding that Shawn didn't even bother hiding his appreciative groan. It was hot, wet, and every bit illicit as he had ever daydreamed. Lassiter was proving his point, and he was proving it good. He nipped at Shawn's bottom lip, tugged on his jean clad hips to bring him closer, and shared the taste of exhausted coffee drinking cop.
Shawn was beginning to wonder if spontaneous sex was on the table. With how well things were going, it was looking quite plausible. Shawn's mouth was being plundered, and Lassiter sure was taking his time to map it out. He knew he was pushing his luck already, but figured, what the hell, and left Lassiter's mouth to plant an open mouthed kiss on his throat, scrapping teeth lightly against moist skin. His fingertips just barely grazed Lassiter's chest before warm hands halted them.
"My gun," Lassiter groaned. Shawn felt his flesh heat up and hoped the room was dark enough to hide how ridiculously sexy that sounded. Assured that he was getting lucky, Shawn leaned forward to attack Lassiter's throat again. Lassiter winced, and reached behind him to pull out a short barreled gun from the back of his pants that was probably digging painfully into his spine. He set it on the side table with a muffled clunk. Shawn, still straddling the detective, felt his face flush again, but this time with embarrassment. He assumed Lassiter was alluding to his genitalia. He clamored off and stood awkwardly in the semi-darkness of Lassiter's living room trying to quiet his breathing and get his blood to collect in the head with a brain.
He cleared his throat before speaking. "I guess you were right," referring to the earlier conversation about the detective being unable to pretend.
"Yeah. Yeah, it shouldn't be problem," Lassiter agreed, looking at anything besides Shawn. The room had so much awkward in the air, Shawn was surprised they weren't drowning in it. "It's…uh, late."
"Oh, yeah. I'll just go," Shawn says, reprimanding himself the second it left his mouth. "I got a busy day tomorrow. I'll see you later then." He let himself out, giving a disappointed sigh and leaning against the shut door. "Almost had him."
Lassiter sighed in confused relief and locked the door behind him.
It said a great deal about the two men by their reactions once they are alone. Shawn took a long hot enjoyable shower. Lassiter took a short frigid one and slept fitfully.