Author's Notes: I'm new to writing PsychFics, but after tonights episode I though, 'Damn, you know Shawn would want to give ol' Lassi a birthday present.' And thus this ficlet was born.
Summary: Shawn never got to give Lassiter his gift, and no birthday should go uncelebrated when a certain psychic is around.
“You know, I just don’t think that moving is the answer.”
Carlton Lassiter turned abruptly away from his over-stuffed suitcase and glared at Shawn.
“How the hell did you get in here, Spencer?”
Shawn shrugged, “One of your biker buddies let me in, he wanted me to tell you that you’re out of toilet paper.”
“Apparently,” Shawn said, looking around the bedroom he was in. “You know what? You should fire your decorator; she is just not doing her job.”
The place was… bare. The walls were bright, and yet they lacked character, personalization. Shawn hadn’t really expected there to be tons of knickknacks like in his apartment, but he at thought there would at least be a few pictures, and maybe the odd bauble picked up on vacation or during a case.
Lassiter sighed in frustration and turned back to his suitcase, trying to stuff it closed, “What do you want, Spencer?”
“Come on Lassie, do you need to ask?” the whine in Shawn’s voice made the detective cringe. “I didn’t get to give you your present!”
Shawn snapped his fingers, pointing at Lassiter and stepping farther into the room. “That is exactly the thought that went through my head when Jules told me about this shindig. So I consulted the spirits, and they have given me guidance.”
“Well, first they said I should buy you a luffa,” Shawn inhaled deeply, shaking his head and sighing, “But I thought to myself, ‘He may need a luffa sponge, but I don’t dare enter Bed,
Shawn picked up a stress ball from the dresser near Lassiter’s doorway, tossing it from hand to hand idly, enjoying the sound of his own voice. “So I thought I should give you something original, something no one in their right mind would give you.”
“And what is that?” His back was still turned to the ‘psychic’, but he heard movement and then he was aware of Shawn very close behind him.
The words were a whisper in his ear, so close that the slight exhale of breath that accompanied them warmed his skin. His back straightened, his posture became stiff. Shawn’s hands settled on his waist, gripping him gently but firmly and turning him around. Then Shawn Spencer was kissing him, his hands still on the detective’s hips, their lips barely touching.
Shawn pulled away, smirking that annoying, self assured, adorable smirk, and
“A kiss,” he parroted his mind oddly blank.
“Yes, Lassy, a kiss,” Shawn’s expression was soft, but his voice was almost mocking, and his hands were still on
He was having problems thinking, because Spencer was still right next to him, and his hands were still holding his waist.
“Do it,” Shawn said, pleading. “Please…Just… do it.”
The two stumbled aimlessly through the bedroom, their backs and legs bumping into assorted pieces of furniture and making them change course.
The pain from falling cleared his head, but he didn’t know what to say. Shawn was on top of him, looking smug.
“Would it completely ruin the mood if I told you that the bikers tagged your car?”
“Happy Birthday Lassy,” Shawn said from next to him, grinning.
“Go to hell Spencer,”