Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

Lassiter Learns How to Bend	By : MsTeragram Category: M through R > Psych Views: 2237 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Psych, and I do not make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Outside on Douglas
Street, Shawn slowly circled the house, looking for a good vantage point. He
found one on the roof of a neighbour's detached garage, which gave a view
directly into the room where Lassiter was eating dinner with two other men,
both in their late thirties or early forties. Shawn quickly scanned the
contents of the room. Based on the pictures on the wall, the dark haired man,
who looked like a young J. Jonah Jameson, was a cop. He and Lassiter were doing
most of the talking. The other guy looked like an accountant, a hypothesis
supported by the antique adding machine on the top shelf of the bookcase at the
end of the room.
They were also completely
gay, and based on their body language, a couple.
Curiouser and
curiouser, Shawn said to himself. He zipped up his hoodie and
settled in to watch, wishing he could see well enough to read their lips. To
kill time he entertained himself by making up what he imagined they were
saying. He wasn't as far off as he thought.

Lassiter helped clear the
table while Russell took out the garbage. As they loaded the dishwasher, Eric
leaned over and spoke in a low voice.
"Listen, don't take
what Russ said too much to heart. He gets a little militant about the
gay/straight divide. He's been gay since day one. His parents used to find his
G.I. Joes under the bed with all their clothes off."
"And you haven't?
Always been gay, I mean?" Lassiter looked at Eric. He had a feeling this
conversation was about to undercut the relief he was feeling.
"I'm bisexual. I
lived with a woman for six years before Russell and I got together," Eric
said. "I wasn't in the closet all that time. I was in love."
Lassiter closed his eyes
and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I just don't know how you make that
kind of adjustment. I've always been straight. I've always felt straight. And
now it's like there's been some kind of switch flicked in my head." And
other parts, Lassiter could have added, but didn't.
"Not being
completely straight doesn't mean you're suddenly completely gay," Eric
said. "Figure out where you're at on the spectrum and be okay with it.
Although if you come out as bi be prepared to have the 'bisexuals don't exist'
argument with Russ. I've been having that conversation with him for fifteen
years. And please, stop looking like you just boarded the last bus to
gaytown."
"Uh, thanks. I'll
try to seem more enthusiastic about my possible homosexuality," Lassiter
said dryly.
"But if things work
out between you and Spence, or whoever" Eric said. "I want an invite
to the wedding."

Lassiter walked past the
Twin Peaks Tavern on Castro Street. Again. A large arrow sign made of light
bulbs pointed to the door, which he had failed to enter on his last two passes.
Third time's the charm, he thought, and forced himself to grasp the handle and
enter the bar.
It was certainly ornate.
Corinthian columns and Roman arches framed a mirror behind the bar. Leaded
glass lampshades hung from the ceiling and leaded lamps graced some of the
tables. He ordered a scotch and paid in cash. He didn't want a record of this
excursion to appear on his credit card bill later on. It might make it feel
real. He took his drink and little square napkin to a table by the window where
he would have a good view of the bar and the street. Most of the men inside
were slightly older than he was, sitting in groups of two and three. He sipped
his scotch, looked out the window, and began to relax. It was just a bar, like
other bars. Best of all, he wasn't finding anybody attractive. He looked
experimentally at a few of the guys loitering on the sidewalk. They were in
good physical condition. They were nicely dressed. But they weren't turning him
on. Russ was right, he reassured himself.
I don't fit in here. This was all a ridiculous over-reaction. He
almost laughed with relief and at himself for having driven over six hours for
this.
He hadn't noticed the
door open, so he was particularly startled when a body slid into a chair next
to him and leaned into his personal space. He instinctively went for the spot
in his jacket where his gun usually was, but quickly realized that the new
arrival was Shawn Spencer.
"So..." Spencer
looked around the bar casually before turning to meet Lassiter's eyes full on.
"Exactly how gay are you, Lassie? Neil Patrick Harris gay? Or handbag full
of rainbows gay? I'm guessing somewhere just east of heteroflexible. Am I
close?"
"What the hell are
you doing here, Spencer?"
"Isn't it obvious?
I'm following you." He smiled as if this was a fabulous present he had
just given Lassiter. "You must really be preoccupied, Lassie. I've been on
your ass, so to speak, since we left Santa Barbara."
"I thought I'd made
it clear that I wanted you to leave me alone." He put as much menace into
the line as he could.
"That's kind of what
prompted me to follow you, actually," Spencer said. "It was way out
of character for you. You actually hurt my arm. I have a bruise and everything."
He raised his elbow to display it.
"I'm not going to
talk to you about this Spencer. Go away."
"How long have you
been making these little trips? Clark Kenting it up at work all week and then
changing into your alter ego on the weekend. Do you have a drag name? Is it
Heidi Candy?"
"It's things like
this that reinforce what a crock this psychic act of yours is. You've got it
all wrong, as usual."
"I'm just kidding,
Lassie. Anyone could tell it's your first time in a gay bar. You're tense,
you're sweating, your body language is all crossed arms and legs—very
defensive. And you're gripping your glass as if you're holding the safety
handle on a grenade. That guy at the end of the bar has been eyefucking you
since I entered, but you haven't even noticed."
"I'm not interested
in being eyefucked," Lassiter said. "Or anything else."
"Level with me,
Detective." Spencer asked. " Is this work? Are you here on a case, or
is this some kind of gaycation?"
Lassiter was tempted to
take the excuse Spencer had offered, and pretend he was following a lead, or
consulting with SFPD. But he could see that plan leading into some complicated
Three's Company style charade, where Spencer insisted on helping him trail a
non-existent suspect.
"I'm taking a vacation,"
Lassiter emphasised the syllable, "and visiting a friend from the academy.
I didn't expect to be tailed simply because I happened to take a few days off.
Now if you don't mind, I'd like to finish my drink without the third
degree."
"Your friend, the
gay cop, and his husband the accountant," Spencer began.
"How do—"
"And your
drink," he continued, "that you just happen to be having in the
gayest part of the gayest city in the country."
"Is it? I hadn't
noticed." Lassiter sipped his scotch, looking for a way to change the
subject.
"Okay, you just like
gay bars. Here's a tip: any woman over six feet tall in this part of town is
probably a dude. But seriously, Lassie, Twin Peaks? How old do you think you
are? We should go to Lucky 13."
"I hear it's a
dive."
"But they have free
popcorn. And a photo booth. How cool is that?"
"There is nothing
about this evening that I want to preserve in film, Spencer."
"Then let's go to
your hotel, 'cause Gus went home and I haven't got a ride back. Also I haven't
got any money, and you're the only person I know in San Francisco."
Lassiter considered for a
moment. He wasn't near drunk enough to think that inviting Spencer back to his
hotel was a good plan. At least, he wasn't drunk enough yet.

The Lucky 13 was a long
low-lit building with red and black walls and matching tables dotted with
candles in glass jars. The majority of the patrons seemed to be straight. The
clientele was heavy on tattoos, black t-shirts, studded belts, and dyed hair. They
look like criminals, Lassiter thought. No wonder
Spencer likes the place.
Spencer went to the long
bar and ordered a Hoegardeen and a Glenfiddich, then led the way off into the
dark. Lassiter followed him, noting that his claim to not have any money wasn't
entirely accurate, and joined him at a table in the back.
They sat there in the
dark, sipping their drinks and not looking at each other.
"Is this about
Drimmer?" Spencer asked suddenly.
"What makes you
think that?" Damn that O'Hara! How much has she told him?
"You haven't been
yourself since he tried to kill us. I'm pretty sure it's not the near-death
experience; you let that sort of thing roll right off. So I think it's the fact
that he implied we were lightening one another's loafers. Am I right?"
"Now that you
mention it," Lassiter said sarcastically, "I am kind of bothered by
the idea that all my co-workers would have believed I killed my gay lover in a
murder-suicide." He shifted to a more serious tone. "I thought they
actually knew me."
"Why do you care so
much about what people do or don't think?"
"This is my career
I'm talking about Spencer, not just some temp job I'm doing for kicks. I don't
expect you to get it."
"Oh I get it. I've
been getting it my whole life. What I don't get is your caring about whether or
not people believe a dirty cop's fantasies about your sex life."
"I care about what
my co-workers think of me. I care about getting promoted. I'm the youngest head
detective in the history of the force. I could be Chief someday."
"Do Police Chiefs
still get a two-way wrist radio, or do you just call Dick Tracy on his cell
now?"
"I know that what I
do is a colossal joke to you Spencer, but it's my life."
Spencer looked him
straight in the eyes.
"I don't think what
you do is a joke, Lassie. You saved my life. I think you're great." He put
his arm along the edge of Lassiter's chair and leaned in closer to his ear.
"And while Drimmer may have been a murdering psycho and a very bad
dresser, he was only half wrong about us."
Lassiter turned his head
toward Spencer in surprise. Their lips were almost grazing and Spencer waited
there, daring Lassiter to meet him the rest of the way. In the two seconds it
took for Lassiter to respond his brain held an argument with itself.
Goddamn it,
Carlton, Back away from the lips. This is insane. You're in a public place.
Anyone could see you.
Nobody here
knows you or cares what you're doing. This is a very dark corner.
But this is
Spencer. And he can't keep his mouth shut to save his life. He'd probably text
Guster the news before the two of you left the bar.
But ignoring it
hasn't made it go away. Maybe this is real or maybe it's not. Either way, I
have to know for sure.
Their lips met
tentatively, as if each expected the other to pull away in alarm. When neither
of them did, Shawn got bolder, his hand moved up to cup the back of Lassiter's
head, and his fingers combed through the detective's short hair. His tongue
nudged forward and cautiously explored Lassiter's mouth. Lassiter moaned
slightly and responded in kind. Shawn tasted like beer and his stubble felt
like sandpaper, but it wasn't a turn-off. On the contrary, blood was rushing
through his head and lower extremities. There had been an element of the
forbidden in his relationship with Detective Lucinda Barry. She'd been his
co-worker and his partner and dating her was strictly against the books.
Kissing Shawn crossed all kinds of boundaries, yet this was the horniest he'd
been in years. Am I developing some kind of fetish? He
wondered. Am I only attracted to people I'm not supposed to
want?
Finally they pulled away
and Lassiter began to laugh.
"Something funny,
Lassie?" Shawn looked at him with a slight tilt to his head. He was
slightly breathless.
"I just realized
that a friend of mine owes me $50." Lassiter took a slug of his scotch and
leaned back in his chair.
"You know what we
should do?" Shawn looked at him with shiny excited eyes.
"No. What?"
Shawn grabbed his beer,
stood up, and walked over to lean against the empty pool table.
"We should play
pool. I bet you handle a stick like a pro." He ran his hand over the red
felt in the spotlight of the table and smiled at Lassiter.
Lassiter pushed his chair
back and stood up. He felt slightly unsteady on his feet, but it had nothing to
do with the scotch.
"Actually, I am an
excellent pool player. I will ignore your cheesy double entendre."
They played three games,
with Shawn winning each one by a greater margin. Lassiter wanted to blame the
booze, but wasn't that drunk. Spencer's last shot was spectacular as each ball
dropped one after the other into the pockets as if they'd been choreographed.
"I've got an
idea," Lassiter said. He began to remove his tie. Shawn looked around and
smiled nervously.
"Does it involve
throttling me and dumping my body under the pool table?"
Lassiter approached Shawn
with the tie held tautly in his hands. He was thinking of when Shawn had
blindfolded him in the Psych office, looking for the clues his other senses had
picked up. Lassiter didn't close his eyes for anyone, but he'd done that for
Shawn.
"What's the matter?
Don't you trust me any more?" He walked up to Shawn, getting into his
personal space and enjoying the sense that for once it was him who was off
kilter. He grabbed Shawn by the shoulders and spun him around to face the pool
table.
"You didn't see this
in a movie, did you, Lassie?" Shawn asked nervously.
"Shut up, Spencer.
You'll need all your senses for this." He wrapped the tie around Spencer's
eyes, blindfolding him and tied it gently but firmly at the back of his head.
"Now let's see you make that shot again."
"Interesting. What
do I win if I can?" Shawn asked, leaving back against Lassiter's body,
reminding him briefly of the Cruickshanks case, but with less panic and more
anticipation.
"I'll drive you back
to Santa Barbara tomorrow." He spoke low against Shawn's neck, willing
himself not to kiss him while he was blindfolded and disoriented.
Shawn smiled and groped
his hand over the pool table to get his bearings. Lassiter stepped back.
"I call shotgun. Of
course, knowing you, that may entail holding an actual shotgun." He felt
the cue ball, lined up the stick and took the shot. Lassiter watched in
astonishment as the balls repeated their intricate dance, each dropping firmly
into the pockets.
"Do I still astound
you, detective?" Shawn asked as he pulled off the blindfold.
"More all the
time," Lassiter said.

At 2:00 a.m. Lassiter
entered the lobby of the Hilton and attempted to move as discreetly as possible
directly to the elevators. Shawn was trailing behind him, not particularly
caring about being unobtrusive.
"Have you ever
realized how much this place looks like a gigantic Whitmans Sampler box?"
Shawn asked loudly. Lassiter was about to press the button for the elevators
when Shawn checked his hand. "Hold up a minute, Lassie. There's a package
for you at the front desk."
"How do you
know?"
"Psychic, remember?
Also, I'm the one who left it."
Lassiter returned
carrying Shawn's small black backpack.
"Very funny,
Spencer. Don't you take a lot for granted."
They entered Lassiter's
room and he bolted the door and put the safety lock across. This is one evening
he didn't want interrupted. He momentarily considered bracing a chair under the
handle as well but thought it might convey the wrong message to Spencer. Like,
I'm about to do something terrible to you. The fact was, he wasn't
entirely sure what they were about to do, only that it was going to be very
sexual.
Shawn stepped forward and
embraced Lassiter in a ferocious lip lock. The two men stumbled in the
direction of the bed. Lassiter pulled Shawn's hoodie off and dropped it to the
floor. He ran his hands up the back of his t-shirt, pressing him against his
chest. He could feel their hearts pounding.
Shawn fell backwards onto
the bed and lay there, looking up at him with dilated pupils and a flushed
face. Lassiter had a dozen questions running through his head, but he wasn't
about to ask any of them. Somehow the idea of talking at this point seemed
counterintuitive. If he said anything, maybe Spencer would suddenly realize
what was about to happen (was happening now) and come to his senses.
Lassiter pulled off his
tie and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, tossing them both onto a nearby
chair. Shawn sat forward and grabbed Lassiter by the waistband of his pants and
pulled him within reach. He quickly undid his belt and pants. They dropped to
his ankles, exposing blue boxers upon which a large wet patch revealed his
anticipation.
Lassiter placed his hand
on Shawn's chest and pushed him back on to the bed. Tonight wasn't about being
serviced. That's what gay-while-drunk straight guys did. If he was going to
know for certain what was going on between him and Spencer he was going to have
to take a more active role.
Getting the message,
Shawn quickly began to undress. He kicked off his shoes and socks, and then
pulled his t-shirt up and off, tossing it across the room. Lassiter pushed off
his shoes and socks, stepped out of his pants and climbed onto the bed. He
grabbed Shawn's jeans and forced them open with a firm twist and tug. Shawn
lifted his hips slightly and Lassiter pulled the jeans down and off, dragging
the boxers with them. He dropped them to the floor and turned his attention to
Shawn's naked body and straining erection.
Shawn leaned forward
grabbed Lassiter by the shoulders, pulling him down on top of him with a groan
of impatience. Their lips locked in a kiss that was simultaneously promising
and demanding. Lassiter's hands roamed over Shawn's body, exploring his chest,
hips and thighs. He was as muscled and firm as Lassiter had imagined, yet he
hadn't expected his skin would be so soft. The combination was intoxicating. He
smelled faintly of a musky cologne and he could have sworn his hair had a hint
of pineapple scent.
Shawn sank one hand into
Lassiter's hair, holding him in the kiss and planted another hand on his ass,
grinding his cock up against him.
"You still have
wa—y too many clothes on," Shawn said, tugging playfully at
Lassiter's boxers. Lassiter stood, and removed the underwear, feeling more
vulnerable than he could remember having felt before. His brain began running
down some checklist it had decided upon without his conscious reflection.
Yep. Naked with
Spencer. Raging hard on. Not freaking out. Not interested in stopping. That
answers that, then.
Shawn's hair was in
disarray, his eyes shone with anticipation and lust, and his erection lay firm
against his stomach. Lassiter knelt on the bed, and moved up until their eyes
were at a level. He began to kiss Shawn's neck, then kissed across his
collarbone and down his chest, grazing and teasing the nipples with his tongue,
drawing a gasp from Shawn's lips. Lassiter slowly worked his way down, planting
kisses along the taught stomach muscles next to where Shawn's erect penis
leaked and twitched in desperate anticipation. He paused, then grasped Shawn's
erection in his hand, squeezing it firmly. Shawn groaned and pushed his hips
forward.
Well, this is
it, Lassiter thought. Last chance to back out. But
I'm not backing out, am I? Okay then. Relax. Just like shooting a gun for the
first time. Doing it isn't as intimidating as thinking about doing it.
He leaned in and wrapped
his lips around Shawn's cock, enveloping it in his mouth. Slowly he slid down,
bringing his lips to meet his fist. This drew a gasp from Shawn, who arched up
off the bed before falling back again. Using his fist in tandem with his mouth,
Lassiter began to glide up and down the shaft, pausing to wipe his tongue over
the underside of the head. He used his hand to control the depth and prevent
himself from gagging. Lassiter prided himself on giving his best effort to
every endeavour, and this was no exception. He wanted to be good.
If we're going
to do this properly, he said to himself, analyse
it all later. Just be in the moment right now. He
gave himself up to the feeling, thinking only about the musky scent of Shawn's
public hair and the feel and taste of Shawn in his mouth.
Shawn began breathing in
ragged panting breaths and tossed his head from side to side as if trying to
escape from the sensations. As his breathing increased and his moans got louder
Lassiter knew Shawn was close. He tightened his grip and quickened his pace.
"Oh my fucking God,
Lassie!" Shawn groaned between clenched teeth as his orgasm overcame him.
He thrust forward and his grip tightened in Lassiter's hair, as if to prevent
him from escaping. But Lassiter had no intention of going anywhere. He clamped
his mouth around Shawn's cock and swallowed in quick gulps, then remained
motionless until Shawn pulled back of his own accord.
"That
was...just...amazing!" Shawn said between gasps.
"Thanks,"
Lassiter said, sitting up and stretching his neck back to remove the tension.
"Excuse me a moment," he stood up. "I'm going to grab a
drink."
"Okay, but I warn
you, if you're thinking of bolting out the window, your room is on the 18th
floor."
Lassiter returned from
the bathroom sipping from a glass of water. He offered the glass to Shawn, who
accepted it eagerly, parched from the heavy breathing.
Shawn grabbed Lassiter's
wrist. "Now can I please return the favour?" He pulled Lassiter onto
the bed and pinned him to the comforter.
"Only if you really
want to," he mumbled uncertainly.
"Oh I want to,
Lassie." Shawn buried his face in Lassiter's neck. He gasped as Shawn
began to suck and bite. Lassiter knew this was going to leave a seriously dark
hickey, but it was so arousing that he felt powerless to protest. He groaned again
as he felt Shawn's hand wrap around his hardened cock and began to slowly pump
it. Shawn came up for air and began to kiss, nibble and suck his way across
Lassiter's chest, teasing his nipples into erect points and then pulling on
them gently with his teeth. Finally he shifted down to his waist and looked up
at Lassiter with an eager and lascivious smile.
None of Lassiter's
fantasies (if he were to admit to having had any fantasies like this) had
prepared him for how it felt to know that Shawn Spencer was about to give him
head. Lassiter was used to being the pursuer. In the back of his mind, sex had
always seemed like something women did as a favour for him. Having a partner
express this level of interest was a new experience.
Well,
Lassiter thought, if there's one thing Spencer does well, it's
show enthusiasm.
And, he
added a few seconds later, also give blowjobs.
Spencer's mouth was hot
and slick and his pointed little tongue was extremely active. Lassiter closed
his eyes and grasped the blankets, trying to hold off on the orgasm that was
quickly building in his balls. He was sweating now and gasping for air as Shawn
was taking him smoothly into the back of his throat.
How often does
he do this? Lassiter wondered briefly before he felt himself pass
the point of logical thought. Just then Shawn moaned, and the heavy vibrations
pushed Lassiter over the edge. "Shawn," he managed to growl roughly
as he lost all control and arched forward, burying his cock in Shawn's throat
as he came. When his mind cleared again he lay still, enjoying the pleasurable
glow that had spread throughout his body, sapping him of energy.
Best head of my
life, he thought wistfully. What the hell
am I going to do now?

Lassiter and Shawn lay
together in the glow of the television, watching Danno and McGarrett taking
down arms smugglers on an episode of Hawaii Five-O.
"Danno and McGarrett
are totally a couple," Shawn said.
"What are you basing
that on?" Lassiter asked.
"He looks at Danno
longer than he looks at Kono or Chin Ho." Shawn nestled into the crook of
Lassiter's arm, and began playing with the hair on the detective's chest.
"You know, the way I look at you more than I look at McNab or
O'Hara."
Lassiter was slightly alarmed by the feelings he was
having. Part of him had hoped that once the sex had happened the power of this
obsession would end and he would return to normal. At least to what was normal
for him to feel around Spencer. But this wasn't an 'out of your system'
feeling. This was more aptly described as affection. He wasn't even going to
think about the other words he might use here. Of course you
feel this way, he chided himself. Your brain is
swimming in oxytocin and vasopressin. They simulate emotional attachment after
sex. They will wear off. By tomorrow you'll be back to slamming him into walls
erection-free. Of course that didn't mean there was anything
wrong with enjoying the sensations of the moment. It had been a long time since
he'd enjoyed post-sex cuddling and even longer since he'd fallen asleep with
someone in his arms. Lucinda hadn't liked to stay over. She said the chance
they would be caught outweighed the benefits. Lassiter hadn't agreed; he liked
the benefits.
- 2
- 3
- 4
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Lassiter Learns How to Bend