Don't freak when you see things have disappeared. I'm in the process of rewriting so it flows better due to my 9 month break messing things up. I apologize for the wait and confusion, and promise the new versions will very much make it up to you; I just don't want to deal with the clusterfuck that it was before, so I deleted the old versions. I know that means losing my views and my reviews, and while I love and appreciate you for them all, I'd rather have well written work posted than a bunch of hits for work I think is shit. I can do better, and you deserve better. The first eleven are up now; look for the new Chapter Thirteen soon. You can also find me on AO3 under the same pen name.


(For Mixtape's playlist, go to open+spotify+com/user/zt1bbty6pkws8amec3zc7byt9/playlist/0sVBPcpFqvIEbG4qlrxVZr (replace the + with a .) I highly recommend listening as you read, as they were crafted to go together to enhance the experience.)


Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

*This chapter takes place after season 3 episode 8: Gus Walks Into A Bank

** The accompanying song is Girls Just Wanna Have Fun by Cyndi Lauper


Shawn and Juliet strolled silently along the boardwalk, their conversation having worn thin after an hour or so of non-stop gabbing. It was a comfortable silence, one Shawn was able to enjoy very rarely, with very few people. Glad the evening had turned out like it had, he smiled, looking over at the beautiful blonde beside him, all dolled up for her cancelled evening out.

He would be lying if he said he was sorry for sending Commander Cameron on a wild goose chase into the sewers, so instead he said nothing at all. Juliet could date the d-bag SWAT leader all she wanted if that was what made her happy, but the pseudo-psychic wasn't inclined to resign to maturity about the situation.

In Shawn's opinion, there was very little to like about the other man, and he wasn't about to hurt himself trying. Nor would he worry about how his bit of fun would affect his relationship with Juliet should she find out he was the reason her date had been cancelled. Jules was a big girl, Luntz had deserved what he had gotten, and Shawn had faith that he could deal with whatever happened.

Besides, there was just too much going on in his head to bother with any of that.

Though his night had taken a turn for the better, Shawn's day had been the worst. He appreciated that the situation had resolved itself the way it had - especially considering the alternative – but he needed to blow off some steam, nonetheless. It wasn't every day that his bestie was taken hostage, after all, and since the psychic had not only solved the case but managed to one-up Juliet's date in the process, he thought that he deserved a little satisfaction as his reward.

Just one night.

One night of debauchery and fun. That's all he wanted.

If only he could figure out how to make it happen.

"Let's go out," he said suddenly, an idea popping into his head.

"What? Go out where?" Juliet asked, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. "We are out."

"Let's go out out. Out to celebrate. We survived a hostage situation today, we deserve to party!"

"Okay," she said, and laughed at his enthusiasm. "It's a little more complicated than that, but sure. A night on the town could be fun. I look fabulous already," she shrugged, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder, "and a drink would be nice after a day like today."

"Let's go grab Gus. And Buzz. And Lassie!" Shawn exclaimed, tugging at her hand like an impatient child. "Let's make Lassie come out and play!"

He hoped Jules would say yes.

That she would find a way to make the object of his affections agree to join them.

That without knowing it, she would somehow help him fix his lack of love life.

Up until today, Lassie had been ignoring Shawn, which didn't sit well with him. In fact, it irritated Shawn as much as he usually irritated the stodgy detective, which was to say, a LOT.

Today, however, had been different.

Today there had been a hostage situation and Lassie had been forced to interact with him.

To talk to him. To listen to him.

Had been forced to touch him.

Had had his hands all over Shawn.

Though the psychic wasn't sure whether the detective knew it, he had been paying attention. Every moment of Lassie manhandling him was sinful torture; a torture he'd been thinking about all day. The feel of Lassiter's hands on his body – his forceful hands moving Shawn around like a ragdoll – had been the only thing keeping him grounded all day, worry over his best friend lessening whenever he felt the man's firm touch.

Glad she couldn't read his mind, Shawn looked at Juliet with giant puppy dog eyes, hoping they would help him achieve his goal. A broad grin spread across her face as she shook her head and laughed, walking back toward the Psych office to pick up her car.

"Sure. Let's go get Carlton -" she started.

Shawn grinned back, sure he was about to get his way now that he had her help. Once Jules got Lassie to agree to come play...

Well, then maybe I'll get to come and play, he thought, crossing both fingers and toes as his grin grew wicked.

"- I can't wait to see how you're going to convince him!" she finished.

Shawn's face fell,

Ahh, crap.


"It's not like I expect you to get up there and head-bang to Kickstart Your Heart or anything," Shawn cajoled, standing on Lassiter's doorstep.

Waiting patiently near the vehicle, his pals watched his attempt to work some magic. McNab was going to meet them there with wife in tow, so he and Gus had carpooled with Juliet, neither wanting to drive.

He had failed in getting Gus to bring the Blueberry; his best friend wanting to drink his face off for once, he was too paranoid to leave his company car at the bar overnight. Shawn couldn't begrudge him that, the man deserving to do whatever the hell he wanted after the day he'd had. Besides, should he agree to join them, driving together also meant driving with Lassie, which gave Shawn the perfect opportunity to play footsies with the detective in the back seat. So really, it was lucky that Gus had insisted he ride with the group for once.

Having no problem leaving her vehicle all evening, Jules had agreed to drive them there, but only after pointing out that cabs were not only a thing, but a thing they'd all need to take home anyhow, and Shawn had laughed so hard at Gus' reaction that he'd nearly fallen off his chair.

After a brief discussion on how best to convince Lassiter, they concluded they'd have better luck if they just showed up on his doorstep, so headed out to get him. Not only would it make them harder to get rid of than hanging up the phone would, it being Shawn's idea meant that they could and would leave the actual convincing up to him.

How'd he get to be so lucky?

And that was where they were now, Shawn doing his best to convince the stubborn cop to leave his house.

"C'mon, Lassiekins... just for drinks. Come celebrate. I know you know the meaning of the word, you party animal, you!"

He grinned his patented megawatt grin at the hesitant detective, knowing it had won him over in the past.

And also, Shawn was already a little tipsy.

He'd needed to calm his nerves, and because they'd had to wait a while for Gus to arrive, Shawn had rooted through the cupboards for the bottle of pineapple flavored special-occasion schnapps he knew they'd stashed somewhere. Far too excited about the potential the evening held, he was thirsting for a pregame shot or three, and said nothing when Juliet shot him an inquiring glance.

It wasn't every day he tried to seduce Lassiter, after all.

Well, not intentionally, anyhow.

Waiting less and less patiently, Shawn wished he had brought the bottle with him, feeling the need for a bit more liquid courage now. He didn't know what it was about the dour detective that set him on edge, but the lack of answer was causing his nerves to get the best of him.

Almost desperate in his desire for Lassie to say yes, he bounced on the balls of his feet in anticipation, a shiver racing up his spine.

Lassiter scowled at him as he waffled, running a hand through his graying hair while he thought, and Shawn wondered how responsible he was for its occurrence, shortly thereafter deciding that he didn't really care.

"Pleeeeeeease?" he begged, his lower lip sticking out in a pout. "It won't be nearly as much fun without you." He stared at Lassie, trying to decipher something - anything - in the detective's hard blue gaze, hoping – praying – he'd for some reason say yes.

The older man sighed, his contemplation over.

"I don't know why I'm allowing myself to be dragged into what I'm sure will be a night of drunken debauchery−"

Shawn couldn't believe his ears. No way did he ever think Lassie was going to agree. Especially not after having spent all day together, working much closer than usual in their attempt to undercut the SWAT team.

"−but fine," the detective finished. "I assume I'm supposed to ride with you?"

Unable to comprehend what he'd just heard, the psychic continued to babble, brain disconnected from his mouth. "Jules is even here to be our adult supervision since she's the grown-up in the group and did you just say okay?"

Carlton nodded reluctantly.

"You said okay? Really?" Shawn's jaw dropped in surprise. "You agreed? Awesome! That's great!"

The cop raised an eyebrow, which Shawn ignored as he turned towards the car.

"Guys!" he called out a little too enthusiastically, placing his hand on Lassiter's shoulder. "He agreed! Lassie's not allergic to fun after all!"

Lassiter scowled again and looked at Shawn's hand intently.

"Just don't make me regret this, Spencer," the cop said, grabbing his keys and locking the door behind him.

Shawn batted his lashes at the detective, a slow, languid smile creeping across his face as he linked arms with the reluctant man.

"Who, me?" he blinked. "Never!"


Staring at the shot in front of him, Carlton sighed; doing his best to avoid the stress he felt beating down upon him, he tossed it back, the tequila hitting his tonsils as the rest of the table shouted "Kanpai!".

He relished the burn, and his glass hit the table while the others cheered and jeered over who could finish their shot first, his companions making a race out of getting wasted. Carlton, however, was eyeing the tequila awaiting their resident charlatan's return. Needing its help to numb the whatever-the-fuck he was feeling, he contemplated snagging it for himself, figuring that if Shawn was bothered by it, well… he could just suck it.

No - wait.

Taking a page out of the psychic's playbook was a bad idea. If Spencer didn't like it, he would just order the man another, the much safer of two options.

It wouldn't even be a problem if the man were actually there drinking his drink, mind you. But he wasn't. To Carlton's chagrin, Spencer was onstage singing. Singing and shaking his thang. The cop had vehemently protested the psychic's use of the word, of course, but had quickly learned that any distaste shown would simply fuel the other man's fire. So instead, he sat there with his mouth closed, hoping to avoid catastrophe.

As if he wasn't already embarrassed enough.

Fuck it, he thought, reaching over to pilfer the drink and slamming it back as fast as he had the first, grimacing when the tequila hit the back of his throat.

Dammit Spencer! Why must you drive me to drink?

The psychic had insisted on going somewhere other than Tom Blair's Pub for once - not that Carlton found himself in the same bar as the consultant often anyhow - so although he had been in the establishment for a few hours by that point, he didn't actually know where he was. Too distracted by the man's attempt to get a piggyback inside, he hadn't bothered to look at the marquee as they'd walked through the door. He'd also done his best to stay rooted in place since, assuming that staying stagnant was less likely to get him into trouble; trouble bouncing around the bar like a suped-up pinball in the form of a pseudo-psychic.

Carlton had no idea what had possessed Spencer to try mounting him like a stallion, but he suspected the man had started drinking before arriving on his doorstep, which meant that he needed to catch up just to cope. It was, perhaps, not the greatest idea, the liquor forcing his defenses to lower, but because he didn't want to be a spoil-sport and put a damper on the evening, Carlton didn't know what else to do.

So, he drank.

And drank.

While it was true was known for having a taste for a good liquor, he didn't normally guzzle this much or this fast and had lost track of how much he'd had since his arrival. Spencer was mostly at fault, having bribed the karaoke host into letting him sing more than his fair share. Unfortunately for Carlton, every one of his performances had been not-so-subtly dedicated to the intoxicated detective, and it made him want to hide, his ears burning with humiliation. He nearly died each time the psychic took the stage - every performance growing increasingly more provocative until he sat there watching Spencer gyrate, crooning the Divinyl's "I Touch Myself" while rolling his hips and licking his lips in Carlton's general direction.

It left the cop mortified.

He hated Spencer in that moment, not only for being a public embarrassment, but more so for the way in which he chose to do so. Carlton was seething so badly he was surprised his head hadn't exploded. But, no matter how he might try, he couldn't deny his body's responses to Shawn's antics, his desire to throttle the man in no way negating the fact that he was turned on, hard as a rock, and unable to hide it.

He hoped no one asked about his shallow breathing because he had no suitable explanation to give. The flush on his cheeks could be explained away to intoxication, but everything else? If anybody noticed, he'd be screwed.

All the while, Spencer grinned lasciviously from the small stage, looking like he knew exactly what he was doing to the detective.

"I want you. I don't want anybody else, and when I think about you, I – ah – touch myself!" he sang, grabbing his crotch and thrusting.

Carlton had to get out of there. Had to remove himself from the room before Shawn got the stupid idea to give him a freaking lap-dance or something. He needed a moment to gather his thoughts, and another to compose himself, neither an easy task in a bar as crowded as this mystery spot.

Spencer only needed half an excuse to molest him these days and seemed half a step away from doing so now, so his escape had to be imminent.

Carlton couldn't let it happen here.

Couldn't let it happen at all.

He needed to clear his head.

Needed to breathe.

To try to get rid of his ever-growing erection.

He glanced at the rest of his table, thankful they were engrossed in the mockery the psychic was making of himself, and determining his departure was unlikely to be noticed, slipped off his chair and slunk away, his face burning as bright as his ears had been.


Shawn saw Lassie straighten the jacket he knew covered the man's holster, finding it insanely sexy the detective didn't go anywhere without his pistol and glad that it seemed to be his only competition for the man's affections these days. As for any human candidates… well, he'd kept a straight face when he was told, but Shawn had been delighted to hear that Lassie's lunch date with Barbara had gone belly-up.

Though not as delighted as he'd been when Lassie manhandled him away from Luntz today, then forgotten to let go.

Channeling his inner-stripper, Shawn ran a hand down his stomach as he sang and accompanied it with what passed as a body-roll, achieving his intent of riling the crowd up. His big finish approaching, he swung his leg across the mic-stand and thrust against it lewdly as he watched Lassiter walk away; the rest of the group too enthralled by his riding the mic-stand like a pony to notice the detective's disappearance. As he finished his performance and hopped off the stage, Shawn bowed a flamboyant bow, at which the crowd cracked up, cheering him on.

The applause was a music that set fire to his soul, and he beamed ear to ear, walking towards the table and blowing kisses at his imaginary fans while smiling at his friends.

"Ah, my adoring groupies! How-ever did you live without me?" he teased, approaching.

"Careful there, Shawn. Your inner attention whore is showing," Juliet mock-admonished, while Gus laughed and replied -

"Easy! It was the best and shortest four minutes of my life!'

Shawn chuckled. Gus said that, but he wasn't sure how his buddy even survived college without him, let alone the last three songs he'd sung.

"Another round of shots says I!" he proclaimed, looking for their waitress, only to find her stepping out for what he assumed was a quick cigarette.

It was okay, though. Shawn didn't mind having to wait. Not on a night like this.

A glance around the table showed his friends in various stages of inebriation; Gus was smiling his big goofy grin at Jules, who in turn was extolling the virtues of the citrus wedges she had bogarted while keeping an eye on McNab. McNab had two straws in his mouth and was pretending to be a walrus for his wife, and Shawn laughed at the sight, not even a little worried about keeping his companions entertained.

"I'm just gonna−" he said, pointing to the bar and Gus nodded at him.

Shawn flashed the two-fingered peace sign as he walked away, happy he could focus on other, more important things instead.

Things like where Lassie had gone off to.

Alone.

Shawn grinned, a wicked thought in his mind.


Carlton's head was swimming.

Since his entrance into the men's room, two others had already come and gone, having paid no attention to the man hunched over the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. Carlton felt the blood warm in his veins as it thrummed along to the crappy music thumping through the thin walls and wished he could've locked the bathroom door, but its lack of one made that an impossibility. If only he could shut out the world for a little while, a thing he also found impossible with that damned door constantly swinging open.

Fucking Spencer, he thought, splashing cold water on his face. It was always Spencer - Spencer who knew how to push not one, but all of his buttons.

Knew how to get him going. Rile him up.

Something that seemed to be his favorite activity in the whole wide world.

Lucky fucking me.

Carlton had been questioning why he'd agreed to join him the whole time he'd been rooted in place. He'd known something like this was bound to happen, yet against his better judgment, had accepted the offer anyhow.

What an idiot he was.

But…

Spencer had looked so needy.

And because Carlton knew it had been an intense day all around, he had acquiesced, already pondering the idea of a drink and surprised by the extent to which the hostage situation had affected them both.

Look where that had gotten him - he was hiding in a bar bathroom, for Christ-sakes!

What kind of man was he, that he couldn't control himself around such depraved displays?

It was just...

Whether he liked it or not, Spencer had always been physical with him. From the day they'd first met, he'd lacked a filter for his mouth and had propositioned the cop almost daily, something that had just gotten worse as the years had gone by. Still, Carlton had found himself surprised when the psychic first hit the stage, belting out the unlikely choice of Sex and Candy, staring at him lecherously as he sang.

This, the fraud had followed with a feisty rendition of Peter Gabriel's Sledgehammer a mere twenty minutes later, complete with unnecessarily melodramatic masturbatory motions.

Barely half an hour after that, Spencer had decided to embarrass them both a third time with Olivia Newton-John's desire to get Physical. Carlton shut his eyes to block out his memory of the motions attached to that one, learning Spencer really hadn't been lying about his acclaimed flexibility.

What in the blue hell made me think this was a good idea? he thought again, his brow furrowed.

Carlton was too worked up for his own good. He knew he needed to gain control over himself - something that was proving to be far more difficult than expected - but he had no idea how that was supposed to happen when Shawn was practically prostrating himself for all the world to see. Dealing with the psychic's advances on a normal day was already tough enough as it was without the additional stress his current behavior was causing and having spent the afternoon not resenting Spencer's involvement in a case for once – hell, even appreciating it – Carlton was left more confused than he'd ever been.

He wanted Spencer. But he didn't want to want Spencer.

He would never tell the man, of course - not that it seemed to matter. And the fact that Shawn was so obviously into him could be seen as an incredible compliment, the sheer hedonism of his pursuit sending all the right feelings to all the right places. But at the same time, he wanted to smother the psychic into silence, his incendiary actions causing Carlton to live in a state of fear. As much as the idea of Spencer really doing the things he sang about made the cop tingle, he was more than distressed to find himself being dragged into another situation that he didn't have the wherewithal to deal with.

Lost in his thoughts, Carlton almost didn't hear the creak of the door, and having maintained awareness of his surroundings only out of habit, he glanced up after a moment, aghast to find himself face to face with the last person on the planet he wanted to be trapped in the tiny two-stall bathroom with.

"Lassieface! Everything okay?"

Carlton groaned.

"You've been gone awhile," Spencer said, finding the detective leaning against the sink and looking pale. He put a hand on the detective's shoulder and looked around to see they were alone. "I was about to grab more shots. Wanna come with?"

"I don't need more shots, Spencer. I need to go home," Carlton snapped, turning to shove the man's hand away. "I shouldn't have come here and I'm sure as hell not about to go anywhere else with you. This was a mistake."

"Whoa! Why the sudden hostility, buddy? We're all just out to have a good time tonight!"

"I'm not your buddy. And I know exactly what kind of a good time you mean, Spencer," he objected, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt. "You're just trying to get in my pants!"

At his words, Spencer looked down at Carlton's pants rather pointedly, and Carlton blushed, realizing he'd accidentally drawn attention to his throbbing erection and had thereby lost the excuse of lacking interest.

"You don't seem entirely opposed to the idea," Shawn shrugged, stepping closer with a smile scrawled across his face.

The cop glowered.

"I've been drinking. Just because my libido is less inhibited doesn't mean I'm compelled to do anything about it," he replied with a scowl, aware he was a hairsbreadth away from doing something stupid and doing everything in his power to stop himself.

The psychic licked his lips.

"I could do something about it, if you'd like," he offered lightly, and reached towards Carlton to find his wrist caught in a tight grip.

"Why? Why do you keep doing this?" Carlton implored, torn with indecision as he held the man's hand in place. "Why won't you just leave me alone?"

It would be so easy...

Spencer leaned in to whisper in the detective's ear.

"Why don't you interrogate me?" he purred, pressing his body into Carlton's. "Just put the screws to me and see if I break? You know you want to."

Carlton wasn't supposed to want to, but he did.

More than anything he'd ever wanted before.

That was the problem.

Frustrated at his lack of willpower, he snarled. He needed to be stronger than this!

Thoroughly disgusted with himself, he dropped Spencer's wrist, flinging it and its owner back toward the wall. Shawn stumbled, his arm hitting the garbage can beneath the paper-towel dispenser, and Carlton did his best to ignore both the pained look the psychic shot him and the feeling of guilt that came with it.

"Fuck you, Spencer. I don't need your shit. If you're not going to be serious, I'm out of here," he spat, focusing on his frustration instead.

"I am being serious." Spencer rubbed at his wrist, a look of mild consternation flashing across his face before his hand dropped to his side. "I can't get you out of my head, Lassie; it's not a choice. You're addicting - it's like you're like my favorite flavor of creme-sicle and I can't get enough."

Spencer stepped forward.

Instinctively, Carlton took a step back.

"I've got a real bad sweet tooth, Lassie," Spencer breathed, voice husky as he cornered the cop. "I just wanna take a lick."

Carlton felt the color rise to his cheeks. He knew his face was ruddy with embarrassment and he made to step towards the exit, needing to bolt before he lost the sliver of self-control he still possessed.

Spencer intercepted him, pushing him up against the door.

"What are you doing?" the cop asked, bewildered.

"I thought Gus was going to die today," the man started.

Expecting the psychic to crack wise as per usual and unprepared for the response, the cop blinked slowly. Rarely displaying sincerity when other options were abound, Spencer was never serious if he could avoid it. Shawn's usual modus operandi was flirtatiousness laced with ridiculousness and Carlton was taken aback by the gravity of the situation, the look of solemnity on the psychic's face and ardent urgency in the man's voice leaving him shook.

Overwhelmed, he dropped his gaze as the psychic continued.

"I couldn't believe how terrified I was."

"What does this have to do with why I'm up against the door?" Carlton mumbled, eyes shifting to Shawn's face.

Shawn smiled, his eyes a little sad.

"When things got as hairy as they did at the end there..." he explained, trailing off. "It made me realize that Gus was right."

"Guster was -?"

Shawn nodded and cocked his head slightly, like he was searching Carlton's face for a reaction to his words.

"Life is fleeting," he said. "And I need to live it."

He reached out and ran his fingers along the detective's jaw, his feather-light touch causing Carlton to shiver.

"I need to say the things I'm feeling..."

Spencer's hand brushed through the soft strands of salt and pepper at the cop's temple.

"...and act on those feelings before it's too late."

He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, pelvis pressed against pelvis, and Carlton shuddered, feeling Shawn's excitement match his own. His body flush and skin singing, the detective knew what they were doing was a bad idea.

But he struggled to remember why.

"Lassie" Shawn muttered.

"What?" he responded flatly.

Shawn smiled, and Carlton's breath caught in his throat.

"I'm going to kiss you now."

The cop swallowed, seeing the determined look in his companion's gaze.

"Don't you dare try to stop me."