Onto the second chapter. I imagine this will mostly be told from Lassie's perspective, but we'll see. There will be at least some Shawn, like we're starting with here.
There's a hiccup in the timeline here, because some of what's referenced happens in Season 5 in "Not Even Close…Encounters" while the first chapter put this sometime a little after "Shawn Takes A Shot In The Dark", which is in Season 4. So I'm aware of the discrepancy, and I'm being transparent about it. Maybe you would have noticed without me pointing it out, maybe you wouldn't. But I'm big on policing continuity errors, so I'm up-front when I allow one on purpose.
Also, I decided for sure on the BDSM themes. Hope you're down with that.
Oh, and Abigail isn't in this, or they broke up long enough ago that Shawn isn't thinking about her anymore. Either way, she isn't a factor.
(-)
Maybe he had a little too much fun with that. As he watched Lassie's swift retreat, Shawn only felt regret because it had ended their walk. And he never thought outing himself as a fraud would go so well or make him so happy.
When Lassie assured him that he just expected Shawn to be a "Peter Pan pain in his ass" like always, it filled the psychic with warmth and affection. It sounded disparaging, but the fact that the detective didn't expect Shawn to change was one of the things that most appealed to him about the man.
Everyone thought he'd grow up someday. His father, even Gus to some degree. Sure, they planned to someday get married and have houses next to each other with a pool stretching between their backyards, but the likelihood that they would both find women willing to accept the co-dependency and friendship they shared was slim.
Some people, Gus included, expected Juliet to be that woman for him. And, yeah, Jules was great and he liked her, but he knew she'd expect him to be more mature about their relationship. That didn't appeal to Shawn.
Lassie knew he wouldn't grow up. He might get angry and yell at him to grow up, but he had no expectation that it would actually happen. And the detective knew how close his friendship with Gus was, so Shawn was pretty sure Lassie knew better than to think that would change either.
This whole thing had gotten him excited. He could tell that Lassie didn't hate him. Hell, there was even some responses to his flirting that gave him hope that Lassie might even like him back. Now his brain was plotting on ways to get the detective into more intimate situations like their walk with frozen yogurt, because it clearly changed how the older man felt comfortable responding to him. At the station, he would have gotten more defensive and angry, aware of all the eyes on them. Alone, he had just gotten flustered and offered flimsy protests.
He'd finished his yogurt, so he threw the cup and spoon into a nearby trash can before pulling out his phone and dialing Gus. "Hey, buddy."
"Well? Do I need to call our lawyer?"
Shawn grinned. "Not even a little. Lassie is cool; he isn't going to say anything."
"You're kidding me!" He heard Gus stand up from whatever chair he was in.
"Naw, I told you we were fine. He says we're useful to the department, so jail would be counter-productive." He didn't tell Gus his new hope of future romantic involvement with the detective.
"What does he want for his silence?" Gus asked, clearly looking for the catch.
"I have to be honest about my gift when we're alone together."
"How often do we spend time alone with Lassiter? Juliet is always there too!"
Shawn didn't bother to correct his friend, although he supposed their deal would apply to when Gus was there, simply because Gus knew the truth too. "Well, that just means that we don't have to worry about it happening much." At least Gus didn't. Shawn was planning for as much alone time with Lassie as he could manage.
"I'm still not sure he didn't kill that guy."
That was a tired accusation. "Don't be a stick in the concrete, Gus. We have a confession from Drimmer. Hell, he's sentenced and in jail now. You just don't like that I trust Lassie."
"Of course I don't! He hates you and wants you arrested. Whatever he's playing here, I don't buy it."
It was sweet how protective Gus could be when he thought Shawn's good nature was being taken advantage of. "Lassie doesn't hate me; I'm sure of that much now."
There was a confused noise and a pause. "Why, what did he say or do that makes you so sure?"
Whoops, not getting into that now. "He bought me frozen yogurt."
"…Why would he buy you frozen yogurt, Shawn? And why would that be anything other than a ploy to get your guard down? I used a Snickers to get you to come on that ferry with me; feeding you is a great way to manipulate you."
It wasn't a bad point. "Yeah, but you've known me our whole lives to be able to do that effectively; Lassie wouldn't be able to play me like you do."
"This trusting him thing is still a bad idea."
And, given that Shawn now had firm intentions to pursue the detective, he might as well tell his best friend everything like he always did. "I like Lassie, Gus."
There was a long silence in response to that. Then: "You mean in the sense of a rival or someone to prank and pick on, right?"
"No, I want to date him. And I think he might like me too." His voice felt uncharacteristically uncertain and small. He hadn't admitted it out loud yet, and it sounded like a much more fragile hope when announcing it to Gus.
"Shawn, this is…"
When his friend was clearly at a loss for words, he kept going. "Yes, I know it sounds crazy, but it feels right. And just now, with him…I'm good at reading people, Gus, and I think there's something there."
A sigh came from the other end of the call. "This is going to get complicated. You don't like complicated, Shawn."
Despite knowing Gus wouldn't see it, Shawn shrugged. "I think he's worth it."
"Look, my head is spinning now, and I have to prepare a presentation for work tomorrow. I'll see you at the office tomorrow after I finish my route, okay? We can discuss this then."
"See ya then, buddy."
After Shawn hung up, he sighed. However confident he wanted to be, doubt lingered. But then he thought of the "other things" and felt a bit more hope. When Dennis had hacked Lassiter's laptop and he suggested looking through the search history, one thing had popped up that had disturbed his friends and caught his attention in a big way.
He obviously couldn't look into it while sitting with Dennis who called it disgusting and Gus who said Lassiter needed Jesus, but he took note of the addresses and looked at the videos later. And it may or may not have led to some masturbation once he started watching.
Lassie was into BDSM. That could have been predictable; even straight-laced patriot cops had secrets, and no matter how vanilla he tried to seem, everyone knew Lassiter had a prominent dark side. What Shawn hadn't expected was the recurring scenario the detective seemed obsessed with.
The videos watched most involved men Lassiter's age submitting to younger doms, most of whom looked to be close to Shawn's age. It had blown the psychic away that Head Detective Carlton Lassiter wanted to be tied up and let someone like Shawn have their way with him.
It was important to remind himself that fantasies didn't always translate into a desire to act them out. He had a thing for exhibitionism, but he wasn't about to risk getting caught bringing a partner to orgasm on a crowded bus.
But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. It was often powerful men who had to be in control in their everyday life who most wanted to relax and let go of that control. Lassie was so tightly wound that the thought of letting everything go with someone he trusted, who made him feel safe, had to be incredible.
Of course, Lassie didn't trust anyone, certainly not enough to give that kind of control of his body and make him helpless to do anything about it. The recurring age difference in the videos, however, made Shawn feel certain that Lassie wanted to trust the psychic. Sure, maybe there was some other guy Shawn's age who had caught Lassie's eye, but the detective's extremely limited social life and circle made it highly doubtful.
Over time, Lassie's fetish had become Shawn's fetish. If he could get the detective to trust him, he'd happily fulfill those secret fantasies.
All he had to do was get close to Lassie and prove he was serious about him. Shawn might be a kid at heart, but he was definitely a man when it came to sex. It was really the only grown-up thing he liked doing.
Head filled with ideas and plots to get Lassie to first date him, then trust him enough to let Shawn have control over him, the psychic practically skipped back to their office.
(-)
That had been bad. Spencer always played with him and flirted, but it was usually easy to brush off as meaningless teasing. But with the sharing of secrets and Shawn trusting him and the sunset lighting that face…it had felt real. Which was bad.
Instead of going home, he drove to the shooting range to blow off some steam. It hadn't worked, and by the time he did get home he was wound tight enough to snap. Good thing the little pest wasn't around, because one errant flirtatious comment and Lassiter would show him exactly what kind of fire he was playing with.
He shouldn't do it, not after that close encounter was still fresh in his head, but he had to relieve the tension thrumming through him somehow. So he stripped down and got in the shower. It used to be he could only do it while watching porn; it was the only way he could bear to indulge in those fantasies. After Shawn had been shot and he finally admitted that he'd had feelings for the idiot for a while, he gave up and just fantasized about the younger man directly.
Gripping himself and stroking, he remembered how it felt to have Shawn undo his tie and use it to blindfold him. Only in his fantasy, he was already naked and wearing his own handcuffs. Closing his eyes, he could imagine the excitement of being helpless and having no idea what the psychic would do next.
Light touches ghosted over his skin, running along his sides, sliding down his spine, teasing behind his ear… "Please."
That cocky chuckle that normally pissed him off just made him harder. "Does my Lassie need something?"
"Touch me."
That body that nearly always smelled sweet like pineapple pressed into his and leaned him backwards over a table. With his hands cuffed behind his back it was uncomfortable, but that didn't matter when lips and breath played with his ear. "Where?"
"My dick, please." The request was accompanied by a shameful little whimper. It was worth it when a warm hand gripped him moments later, drawing a gasp.
"Of course, Lassie. I'll always take care of you. You don't have to worry about anything when you're mine."
That kind of dialogue was an even bigger turn-on than imagining those soft hands pulling on him, manipulating his body until his muscles stretched so tight the cuffs started biting into his wrists. Safe. Cared for. No worries, no reason to keep his guard up.
"You're the only thing I can take seriously."
Carlton exploded, a small cry escaping him as he came. He rode it out and came down to the fantasy of Shawn stroking him and whispering reassurances as he lost it, kissing his skin randomly and drawing more shudders even as he stopped spilling.
And then he was alone in his shower, needing to keep his guard up and protect himself. Shawn didn't care for him or take him seriously. He felt empty inside. Body still thrumming with endorphins, he had a miserable ache running through him. Alone. Always.
(-)
He didn't see the twerp for a few days after that, which he insisted didn't disappoint him. He was just surprised the idiot wasn't sniffing around, trying to steal his cases. So when he was working late, doing paperwork long after O'Hara had left for some date, he was surprised when Shawn slid to sit on his desk. "Heya, Lassie."
"What do you want, Spencer?" He hoped he sounded tired, not resentful. There was no reason to expect Shawn to come see him on a regular basis. And idle flirtation and teasing was normal coming from Spencer; Lassiter had no reason to feel the younger man should follow up.
"Bad day?" The psychic actually sounded somewhat sympathetic, like the idiot would listen to whatever was troubling the detective.
He kept himself from saying, "Getting better," and instead said, "What do you want, Spencer?"
"I thought I'd buy you dinner like I promised. Make it a man-date."
Lassiter knew he blushed as soon as he heard "date" come out of Spencer's mouth. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"It sounds more mature than a play-date, right? And it has none of the pressure of a romantic date. I thought after dinner we could swing by the gun range."
Mouth suddenly dry, Carlton said, "Range will already be closed by now." Because whatever Spencer said, this sounded a hell of a lot like his ideal date.
"Not if you have a spare key to one." Shawn reached into his pocket and picked a key out from his keyring to present to Lassiter. "I found the owner's tortoise that ran away, so he loves me now."
"You're joking." What the hell kind of private cases came through the Psych office?
"Not even a little. Nelson had her since he was a kid. And for such a big, slow animal, she was surprisingly hard to catch up to, and really good at hiding. He didn't have enough for our fee at the time, which is why Gus passed, but he offered after-hours use of his gun range, so I took it."
"You like to shoot guns?" That wasn't something he would have guessed about Spencer.
"Not really. I mean, I'm incredibly good at it, of course. But I actually thought it might be handy if you ever hit critical mass and needed to shoot something late at night."
What the hell? Did Spencer really just admit to taking on a tortoise hunt just in case Lassiter needed to blow off steam? "That's…wait, what do you mean you're good at it?"
That got him a grin. "You're the one who figured out my dad trained me. You think he'd be satisfied with a subpar shot? No, I was out-shooting most adults by the time I was thirteen."
That was not an arousing thing to learn. He was not fantasizing about Shawn shooting things. "So let me get this straight. You want to take me to dinner, then to shoot guns." This didn't sound like a man-date; it sounded like romance to the detective.
"Yeah, thought we'd go to McConnell's. It's a family restaurant, but they have potato skins and jalapeno poppers made with magic and heart attacks."
The name sounded familiar. And then he realized why. It was the place O'Hara had criticized him for taking a date. "They have crayons on the tables." He didn't know why he said it, maybe he was trying to make it sound un-manly?
Shawn lit up, and Lassiter felt any resistance to the idea melt away. "I know, and brown paper tablecloths! It's great: I can express myself artistically while we talk!"
The terrible date spot his partner scolded him for was the perfect place to take Shawn. It was kind of amazing. And the more he thought about it, the more this "man-date" sounded fun. Not only would it involve shooting guns, but Spencer had even said that it had "none of the pressure of a romantic date". Lassiter was terrible with romance, and Shawn would never expect it from him anyway.
"Okay," he said, feeling a smile twist the corner of his mouth.
"Yes! You should drive; I doubt you want to ride my motorcycle."
Lassiter had a feeling his night was going to be amazing.
(-)
"And so we burst into the room, guns drawn. Scared the hell out of the kids. And then he fell out of the ceiling tiles amid a burst of confetti and balloons!"
Shawn started laughing so hard and loud that a couple of families near their table looked over, disturbed. But Lassiter couldn't care less because finally, someone got the dead clown story! After scaring off he didn't know how many dates, someone finally appreciated how funny it was. He should have known it would be Shawn. The kid was weird enough, and he was turning out to be the improbably perfect date for Lassiter.
"That's a great story," Shawn said when he had calmed a little. "Why haven't I heard it before?"
An awkward question. "I have a habit of telling it on dates and scaring them off; O'Hara suggested I stop telling it altogether."
"Soooo not cool of Jules. It's hilarious. Were you trying to scare me away from our man-date?"
He might have thought it would be a good way to test how an actual romantic date would go. "Not really; I just really wanted to tell it again."
"Good, because you can't scare me off, Lassie. I'm fearless when it comes to you."
Not for the first time since they had arrived, the detective felt himself responding inappropriately to a platonic date. His heart sped up, and he wanted very badly to touch the psychic in some way. "I usually even draw a diagram."
"Yes!" Shawn pushed some crayons over to him. "Do it!"
It was too perfect. As soon as they sat down, the psychic had sweet-talked their waitress into bringing him a lot of crayons, specifically many shades of blue. He immediately started sketching pictures of Lassiter, saying none of the crayons did his eyes justice. There weren't a lot of people who could compliment his eyes without it sounding corny or rehearsed. It was pretty much his best feature, if he weighed them in compliments. And, in retrospect, Spencer probably complimented him more than everyone else in his life put together.
Two grown men coloring as they waited for their food. Lassiter knew they were drawing some looks even before Shawn's burst of laughter. "Here's how it looked," he said when he finished his diagram.
Shawn craned his neck to look, then shook his head and got up. "Scoot over for a second." He nudged his way into Lassiter's side of their booth, examining the diagram and sitting far too close.
The heat of his body, that sweet smell he constantly exuded…the detective was having to fight down arousal. Shawn was so close. It would take so little effort to just reach out and touch his skin.
Suddenly he was gone. "That's how it looked? How the hell did you write that report? Is that where the original diagram is?" The psychic was settled across from him again.
It was an almost physical ache of longing for his presence. Carlton had it bad, and this man-date was an exercise in masochism on his part.
"You okay, Lassie?"
Sure, he was just pining after a man-child who would never have any interest in him. "I'm fine, Spencer."
"You know, if we keep hanging out outside of work hours, you might try 'Shawn' on for size," the younger man said.
"Why would I do that? My name is Carlton." He said it without thinking, just the semantics of Shawn's statement bothering him.
The grin that spread across the psychic's face was beautiful. "Did you just make a joke, Lassie? Oh my God, that was a joke!" Spencer started cackling, and Lassiter heard a baby start crying.
"Shawn, calm down. You're scaring the children."
The psychic put some effort into quieting his mirth. When he could speak again, he said, "See, that didn't hurt."
The waitress brought their meals (potato skins and jalapeno poppers for Shawn and a cheeseburger for Lassiter), eyeing them carefully. The detective was pretty sure they were her most troublesome table of the night, and the kid two tables down was throwing food. At least that was age-appropriate misbehavior.
But of course, he didn't mind all that much. All the positive interactions between them were starting to go to his head and override his common sense a little. It almost felt like Spencer might like him.
That was, of course, ridiculous. Spencer was just a really social and charismatic guy. That was one reason he was able to get away with as much crap as he did. His incredible gift did most of the rest.
"So how did you know it was a dinosaur?" Lassiter asked as he picked up his burger.
The idiot got excited and started trying to speak over a mouthful of potato skins, but paused long enough to chew and swallow. "So, I got fired from the Wyoming Natural History Museum."
An odd way to start the story. "And I'm sure they probably should have done it sooner. What does that have to do with anything?"
"I'll have to show you the picture; it was totally worth it." After another big bite, quick chew, and swallow, Spencer continued. "I climbed into the mouth of the T-Rex and took a picture. The bruises didn't go away for a year, so I definitely remembered how they looked. Not many men can tell you they escaped the jaws of a dinosaur."
Lassiter was just staring at the idiot, that ridiculous story being entirely believable when it was Shawn telling it. "Escaped?"
"Well, I slipped a little and the jaws actually tightened. Hence the bruising. Mr. Mally fired me before he helped me get out."
Sighing, Carlton said, "Only you, Spencer."
Not bothering to swallow all his food first, Shawn said, "Hey, it helped solve a murder!"
Pausing to flick bits of potato off his jacket that Spencer's protest had sprayed there, he said, "I am eating dinner with a child."
With zero shame, the younger man said, "Well, you already knew that. At least I'm not throwing food." He gestured to the child who had pretty much covered the table with both his and his parents' food. Lassiter didn't think they should bring that kind of animal into a restaurant. At least service animals were well-trained and served a purpose.
"And I'm delighted you've shown that much restraint," he said, unable to keep the snark from his voice. The banter between them was automatic by now, and it wasn't like he was going to back down on it just because they were momentarily getting along.
And, sure enough, his answer seemed to delight the psychic. "Aww, Lassie. If I don't behave, how will I convince you to go on another man-date with me? I was thinking next time we would order take out and have a movie night: you pick two Clint Eastwood films, and I pick two eighty's flics."
Spencer was already planning another date? All those positive thoughts clouding his better judgement went wild, because you didn't plan to spend that much time with someone you don't find interesting. You might not even be that eager unless you were interested.
"Guster will get jealous."
"Don't worry, Gus knows. He still thinks I'm crazy for trusting you, much less spending time with you, but he knows. And I figure the being honest about my gift applies if it's you, me, and him too. Just since you're part of the inner circle now."
Damn that idiot for making him feel special. "Who else is there?"
"Well, my dad, obviously. And my mom, but she isn't usually in town."
That begged the question: "Are you going to tell your dad that I know?"
For the first time that night, Shawn looked uncomfortable. "Not until I have to. I don't want to deal with the lecture about how he knew I'd get found out and now it'll blow up in my face blah blah blah…"
He'd spent enough time with Henry Spencer to understand Shawn's desire to skip a lecture. "But it hasn't blown up in your face."
Shawn beamed, and Carlton fought down outright physical arousal at that much admiration and pleased pride being directed solely at him. "No, it hasn't. Because the clever Detective Lassiter is the one who figured me out, and he's cool enough to let me keep working."
Okay, there was no trace of mocking as he called him a "clever detective", and Carlton was so close to reaching across the table and taking Shawn's hand; anything to make a connection. In order to avoid doing something stupid, he tried to focus on his food. He didn't know what to say to that in any case.
"Should we tell Jules?"
That pierced his good mood. He was the one who had investigated and figured the psychic out. He was the one who had confronted Shawn and come to an understanding with him. O'Hara hadn't done the work. And…maybe he wanted to be special.
"Your face says 'no', so we'll go with that for now. We can change our minds later if we want to."
How did the idiot know just how to build him back up? The plural pronouns, making them a team with shared responsibilities for decisions…was that part of Shawn's abilities? It had to be; reading people was a critical skill in order to pull off all the ridiculous shit he did. "Sounds good."
Of course, if Shawn could read him well enough that he knew phrasing them as a team would make Lassiter confident again, he could probably tell that the detective was more than fond of him. Which would mean that he was exercising heretofore unheard-of levels of discretion by not saying anything. Spencer probably didn't want to talk about anything that awkward and serious. Carlton was at least confident that he hadn't alienated him, since the kid was still happy to spend time with him.
And maybe Spencer was happily oblivious. "So, a tortoise?"
"You want to hear about the greatest animal case in Psych's history? Even more harrowing than the Chihuahua Attack?"
He wasn't going to ask about the yappy dog. "Sure. Tell me a story about chasing a famously slow-moving animal."
"Well, it all started at a donut shop."
That made no sense. Carlton was pretty sure he was going to love the story. The fact that it was a crazy adventure of Shawn's was a good indicator.
(-)
So, gun range in the next chapter. I hope you enjoyed this; when I heard him describe the crayon/dead-clown-story date to Juliet, I immediately thought it sounded like a great date for Shawn.
And Shawn, despite all his Peter Pan advocacy, will actually be surprisingly mature when it comes to Lassie. He kind of has to be, if he's going to gain his trust enough to get into a relationship and handcuff the detective and make him helpless. That's part of the "man when it comes to sex" thing. But otherwise, he'll still be Shawn.