Psych fic: All Bets Are Off
Sep. 28th, 2009 02:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
unadriftMy third fic for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
story_lottery round two, for the prompt "a second". A list of my seven prompts is here.
Psych, Shawn/Lassiter, PG, 1200 words, humor. Thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
snarkydame for the beta!
The day is not a special one. It's just another Sunday morning, business as usual. The location isn't special either. Lassiter walks by this spot at least twice every day, and unusual things have never happened here before. Lassiter is wearing his casual clothes – also as usual, just without the tie, and with the top button of his shirt open. But that doesn't have anything to do with anything.
It's completely unprompted and unprecedented, and totally uncalled for, when Spencer walks up to Lassiter, says, "Heya, Lassie," grabs his head with both hands and pulls him down to press their lips together unceremoniously, right there on Lassiter's front lawn, where the whole wide world, especially nosy Mrs Korsinsky from next door, can see.
It lasts for only a second, then Spencer backs off again, looking unnervingly self-satisfied. Lassiter didn't even have the time to decide on an appropriate reaction. Ten seconds later, he still can't think of one. He settles for an incredulous, "What the hell was that, Spencer?"
"Oh, nothing," Spencer answers, smirking. "I lost a little bet. A fair warning: never bet against a man who statistically evaluates his chances to get to work in under twenty minutes every morning, depending on the weather, the traffic situation, and the tire pressure on all tires, including the spare in the trunk. That'll teach me. Probably." He tilts his head thoughtfully. "Maybe. No, actually, it won't."
Spencer glances over his shoulder at something, and sure, there's Guster, arms propped up on the roof of his car, looking torn between amused, impressed and eew.
"So you think this is funny," Lassiter says in his dangerous voice, the one that usually comes into play when questions like, "Oh, is that so? Then why are your fingerprints all over the murder weapon?" are asked.
The smirk fades from Spencer's face. He starts to move backwards, slowly, like he's afraid that sudden movement might spook Lassiter. "Lassie--"
"You think this is funny?" Lassiter repeats and follows, equally as slowly. "Really?"
Spencer looks decidedly uneasy now. Uncertain, too. "Up until about a minute ago, it really was, yes," he says. "You're not going to do anything rash here, right? I have to warn you, I bruise easily. What would the chief say if you--"
This is the last straw. Because it wasn't fun. Far from it. That one-second moment ridiculed their professional hate-hate relationship; the only way they can work together as something that vaguely resembles a team – okay, really as adversaries with the same goal in mind and completely different ideas on how to get there. But they usually get the job done. Spencer isn't allowed to turn that upside down, to make fun of it, of him, just because Gus is delighted by the idea of making Spencer uncomfortable for once. Although-- there aren't all that many things that can make Spencer uncomfortable. Lassiter briefly wonders if he should be flattered. But, mostly, he's just pissed off.
Spencer's eyes widen as Lassiter takes two quick steps and grabs him by the neck. "You want funny? I'll give you funny," Lassiter says and moves in.
It's only fair. It's payback. And it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that, ridiculously, his heart is still racing from before.
In the beginning, it's just like the first time; a press of lips against lips, slightly misaligned, because Spencer tried to back off. Lassiter didn't let him. He has known Spencer for more than two years now, and somewhere along the line outdoing him has become Lassiter's single most important aim in life. He places his other hand on Spencer's stubbled cheek, and backs away a little, only to lean in again, aiming for the other side of Spencer's mouth. Spencer is more surprised than anything else, Lassiter can tell. His arms flail out, and he says, "Lassie--" which of course means that his lips are parted for a moment. Lassiter moves in for the kill. So to speak.
At some point, Spencer's hands stop flailing. He fists them in Lassiter's shirt instead, kissing back with a dedication and an attention to detail that shouldn't have been surprising, but it is. Possibly because Lassiter has never stopped and taken a moment to wonder what it would be like to kiss Shawn Spencer. Maybe he should have. He really should have. That is the only thought that solidifies in his mind, among the 'Jesus, this is good's and the 'Yes, more's and the 'What do you think you're doing, this is Spencer!'s.
His eyes are closed, and he tastes, and feels, and hears, and Spencer sounds like he's having trouble breathing, and, oh, so does he, actually, and maybe it's time to stop this and let go and allow the universe to flip back into a state that resembles normality.
By what seems like mutual agreement, they both draw back. Lassiter feels Spencer release his shirt and then carefully smooth it out. He blinks his eyes open and meets Shawn's gaze. It's a complicated one, a completely new one, colored with shock and wonder and speculation and glee in equal measures, and, well-- there goes normality.
Lassiter clears his throat. "That'll teach you," he says, his voice a little rougher than usual.
"No," Spencer answers and licks his lips. "No, I don't think it will."
This doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing, Lassiter decides and withstands the temptation to allow his lips to form a smile. He has no idea what it might be that Spencer can read in his expression right now, but hopefully it's nothing much at all. Except that there's a slow smile spreading on Spencer's face. A real one, not the exaggerated kind that makes him look borderline insane. So he must be seeing something.
"Shawn," Guster yells. Oh, right. Lassiter has gladly almost forgotten about him. Unsurprisingly, Guster sounds scandalized and on the verge of panicked retreat. "Shawn, I'm leaving!"
"Wait, Gus," Spencer says, keeping his eyes on Lassiter. "I'll come with."
There is a moment of weird silence during which Lassiter can't think of a single thing to say. Spencer finally breaks it. "See you, Lassie."
"Er, yes," Lassiter answers. "Of course."
Spencer glances over his shoulder twice on the jog back to the car. He almost stumbles over his own two feet each time. Guster keeps glaring at him, disbelieving, and starts shooting rapid-fire questions at Spencer as soon as the car doors are closed. Lassiter can hear the agitated hitch in his voice, though not his exact words, until he starts the car. Then the noise of the motor drowns him out.
Before they pull away, Spencer turns his head to look at Lassiter through the window. His smile is still in place. It even grows a little wider. He turns away again to talk to Guster. Then tires are screeching, and a half a minute later they're out of sight.
It's impossible to categorize what just happened. All Lassiter knows is that he's still breathless, and that his knees are a little wobbly. He adds that to the list of surprising effects Spencer can have on him. The list is already a long one, and Lassiter would bet good money that it's not finished by far.
-end-
story_lottery round two, for the prompt "a second". A list of my seven prompts is here.Psych, Shawn/Lassiter, PG, 1200 words, humor. Thank you to
snarkydame for the beta!The day is not a special one. It's just another Sunday morning, business as usual. The location isn't special either. Lassiter walks by this spot at least twice every day, and unusual things have never happened here before. Lassiter is wearing his casual clothes – also as usual, just without the tie, and with the top button of his shirt open. But that doesn't have anything to do with anything.
It's completely unprompted and unprecedented, and totally uncalled for, when Spencer walks up to Lassiter, says, "Heya, Lassie," grabs his head with both hands and pulls him down to press their lips together unceremoniously, right there on Lassiter's front lawn, where the whole wide world, especially nosy Mrs Korsinsky from next door, can see.
It lasts for only a second, then Spencer backs off again, looking unnervingly self-satisfied. Lassiter didn't even have the time to decide on an appropriate reaction. Ten seconds later, he still can't think of one. He settles for an incredulous, "What the hell was that, Spencer?"
"Oh, nothing," Spencer answers, smirking. "I lost a little bet. A fair warning: never bet against a man who statistically evaluates his chances to get to work in under twenty minutes every morning, depending on the weather, the traffic situation, and the tire pressure on all tires, including the spare in the trunk. That'll teach me. Probably." He tilts his head thoughtfully. "Maybe. No, actually, it won't."
Spencer glances over his shoulder at something, and sure, there's Guster, arms propped up on the roof of his car, looking torn between amused, impressed and eew.
"So you think this is funny," Lassiter says in his dangerous voice, the one that usually comes into play when questions like, "Oh, is that so? Then why are your fingerprints all over the murder weapon?" are asked.
The smirk fades from Spencer's face. He starts to move backwards, slowly, like he's afraid that sudden movement might spook Lassiter. "Lassie--"
"You think this is funny?" Lassiter repeats and follows, equally as slowly. "Really?"
Spencer looks decidedly uneasy now. Uncertain, too. "Up until about a minute ago, it really was, yes," he says. "You're not going to do anything rash here, right? I have to warn you, I bruise easily. What would the chief say if you--"
This is the last straw. Because it wasn't fun. Far from it. That one-second moment ridiculed their professional hate-hate relationship; the only way they can work together as something that vaguely resembles a team – okay, really as adversaries with the same goal in mind and completely different ideas on how to get there. But they usually get the job done. Spencer isn't allowed to turn that upside down, to make fun of it, of him, just because Gus is delighted by the idea of making Spencer uncomfortable for once. Although-- there aren't all that many things that can make Spencer uncomfortable. Lassiter briefly wonders if he should be flattered. But, mostly, he's just pissed off.
Spencer's eyes widen as Lassiter takes two quick steps and grabs him by the neck. "You want funny? I'll give you funny," Lassiter says and moves in.
It's only fair. It's payback. And it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that, ridiculously, his heart is still racing from before.
In the beginning, it's just like the first time; a press of lips against lips, slightly misaligned, because Spencer tried to back off. Lassiter didn't let him. He has known Spencer for more than two years now, and somewhere along the line outdoing him has become Lassiter's single most important aim in life. He places his other hand on Spencer's stubbled cheek, and backs away a little, only to lean in again, aiming for the other side of Spencer's mouth. Spencer is more surprised than anything else, Lassiter can tell. His arms flail out, and he says, "Lassie--" which of course means that his lips are parted for a moment. Lassiter moves in for the kill. So to speak.
At some point, Spencer's hands stop flailing. He fists them in Lassiter's shirt instead, kissing back with a dedication and an attention to detail that shouldn't have been surprising, but it is. Possibly because Lassiter has never stopped and taken a moment to wonder what it would be like to kiss Shawn Spencer. Maybe he should have. He really should have. That is the only thought that solidifies in his mind, among the 'Jesus, this is good's and the 'Yes, more's and the 'What do you think you're doing, this is Spencer!'s.
His eyes are closed, and he tastes, and feels, and hears, and Spencer sounds like he's having trouble breathing, and, oh, so does he, actually, and maybe it's time to stop this and let go and allow the universe to flip back into a state that resembles normality.
By what seems like mutual agreement, they both draw back. Lassiter feels Spencer release his shirt and then carefully smooth it out. He blinks his eyes open and meets Shawn's gaze. It's a complicated one, a completely new one, colored with shock and wonder and speculation and glee in equal measures, and, well-- there goes normality.
Lassiter clears his throat. "That'll teach you," he says, his voice a little rougher than usual.
"No," Spencer answers and licks his lips. "No, I don't think it will."
This doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing, Lassiter decides and withstands the temptation to allow his lips to form a smile. He has no idea what it might be that Spencer can read in his expression right now, but hopefully it's nothing much at all. Except that there's a slow smile spreading on Spencer's face. A real one, not the exaggerated kind that makes him look borderline insane. So he must be seeing something.
"Shawn," Guster yells. Oh, right. Lassiter has gladly almost forgotten about him. Unsurprisingly, Guster sounds scandalized and on the verge of panicked retreat. "Shawn, I'm leaving!"
"Wait, Gus," Spencer says, keeping his eyes on Lassiter. "I'll come with."
There is a moment of weird silence during which Lassiter can't think of a single thing to say. Spencer finally breaks it. "See you, Lassie."
"Er, yes," Lassiter answers. "Of course."
Spencer glances over his shoulder twice on the jog back to the car. He almost stumbles over his own two feet each time. Guster keeps glaring at him, disbelieving, and starts shooting rapid-fire questions at Spencer as soon as the car doors are closed. Lassiter can hear the agitated hitch in his voice, though not his exact words, until he starts the car. Then the noise of the motor drowns him out.
Before they pull away, Spencer turns his head to look at Lassiter through the window. His smile is still in place. It even grows a little wider. He turns away again to talk to Guster. Then tires are screeching, and a half a minute later they're out of sight.
It's impossible to categorize what just happened. All Lassiter knows is that he's still breathless, and that his knees are a little wobbly. He adds that to the list of surprising effects Spencer can have on him. The list is already a long one, and Lassiter would bet good money that it's not finished by far.
-end-
no subject
Date: 2009-09-28 01:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-29 05:28 pm (UTC)Thanks!
(As you might have noticed, I decided not to beat that other thing -- you know, the other, longer thing -- into shape for the story_lottery. It *will* be finished, but later.)
no subject
Date: 2009-09-28 07:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-29 05:29 pm (UTC)\o/
no subject
Date: 2009-09-28 09:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-29 05:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-28 11:02 pm (UTC)"No," Spencer answers and licks his lips. "No, I don't think it will."
*insert evil laugh here*
This was great:)
no subject
Date: 2009-09-29 05:30 pm (UTC):-)
no subject
Date: 2009-09-29 03:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-29 05:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-09 09:10 pm (UTC)I am smiling at my computer in a srsly moronic way thanks to you.
:)
no subject
Date: 2009-11-15 02:28 pm (UTC)all bets are off
Date: 2010-12-10 12:50 pm (UTC)Re: all bets are off
Date: 2010-12-15 05:16 pm (UTC)