capeandcowllogs | And I remember the time my balance was fine

WHO: Carlton Lassiter and Shawn Spencer
WHERE: Shawn's barhome
WHEN: Backdated: Monday night, or rather, Tuesday morning?, after birthday part (which people should tag into for CRRRRR it's still going)
WARNINGS: Nothing but gay and inevitable wangst
SUMMARY: Lassiter hated the party, but after he and Shawn ditched it early they eventually have a good time, but, Lassiter accidentally ruins it by making an innocent suggestion.
FORMAT: Para I suppose

He was actually happy. Very happy. He had been fairly happy for at least the past two months or so, though he would be reluctant to admit to outsiders it was thanks in part to Shawn, even if he still made him fume and rage and go to the gun rage every now and again so he wouldn't shoot the fake psychic. But he was happy.

But that night had added the word "very" to the "happy" status. After an exhausting post-party going-on, he laid in Shawn's Bed, with the other man curled up on him like a hideous feline. He broke the content silence with a hum, and squeezed Shawn to see if he was still even awake. "I had a thought . . ." he mused into the dark.

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Shawn was good. He wasn't in a huge very happy state like Lassie ~~(being on the receiving end for the first time and all)~~, but he felt good and satiated. He was clinging to Lassie like a koala bear. When Lassie spoke, Shawn groaned sleepily, "I'm wiped out tonight, tiger punch."

Lassiter gave a small chuckle, rubbing Shawn's arm like he was a good sport. Which he was. But, anyway, he said, "No. I'm done, trust me. I just thought." He paused, a little awkwardly, then resumed, "Since I was here. When I leave tomorrow, I could take some of your clothes. A couple things. For the townhouse, I have room, and you wouldn't have to rush off to dress in the mornings." Another pause, but this time more amused, "Or show up at the station in the same clothes you wore the day before." Another silence, back to awkward, because this was A Big Thing to ask. Especially on the heels of asking what he had of Shawn earlier. "How's that sound?"

Red flag, red flag, red flag. They should be green flags, because like woah they did have fun times and got along (sometimes). They did romantic schmoopy crap totally accidentally, but it still counted. And one time, Lassie was totally crying about the Joker thing. Totally, but he was ~~too heartbroken~~ respectful of Lassie's manhood to mention anything. Any ways, POINT WAS that he shouldn't be feeling a sense of panic and fear.

"Sounds cool, Lassie. I'll sleep on it," he quipped brokenly.

He never cries. Never. Even when he gets a paper cut. ~~God, shut up, he had been so worried and tired sob.~~

Lassiter was in too much of a zen mood to notice the little things Shawn would have picked up on immediately if the tables were turned: the tone of Shawn's voice, the sudden moment of body stiffening and not being so koala cuddling. The words assured him and he gave a big yawn, relaxing completely now that he had his spiel out of the way. "Sounds good," he mumbled.

Some time later, he was asleep.

Edited 2010-03-24 00:33 (UTC)

He waited anxiously for the familiar steady rise and fall of his chest and quiet snores. After ten-twenty minutes, Shawn slowly unwrapped himself from Lassie and rolled out of bed like a ninja. He tip toed on the floor. Luckily he was home, so he didn't have to scrounge the room for dirty laundry. He picked whatever off the floor, pulled it on, and slid out of the room.

Then Gaster slid past his legs and yowled loudly.

"Gaster! I'm trying to be sneaky here!" He whispered harshly.

Lassiter didn't notice Shawn slipping away. He was used to the man sliding on and off the bed to pee or bring cookies in bed or any number of things, so all he did in response was make a small noise and shift more into himself to make up for the lack of warmth.

However, the sound of Gaster yowling definitely wasn't a usual thing. (She was such a well-behaved kitty.) His eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright, trying to see through the pitch darkness. Dammit, why didn't Shawn have windows?

And, noticing Shawn wasn't there, he whispered out, "Shawn??" as if the man could just be standing in the bedroom in the dark for no reason whatsoever. Hearing no response, his heart began to pound, various paranoid thoughts filling his mind.

He slipped quietly out of bed and only managed to find and pull on his underwear because he stepped on it, and his gun was on the nightstand, so that was an easy find. He crept out the door, muzzle pointed to the ground.

Shawn yelped (very, very quietly) and did the stupid thing of dashing down the stairs and diving behind the bar. There was still the hole in his wall from the zombie plot (not the poisoned bread zombies, but the police zombies). It was covered up by various colorful fabrics that Shawn thought gave the place a certain bohemian flair. He lifted the fabrics and was met with COLD that shriveled his bits. He shivered and glanced nervously up the stairs.

What. Was he doing.

All right, he heard the feet thudding down stairs and into the bar. He was baffled, was that Shawn, why was he running, was something that could fly after him? Was there some insidous flying vampire alien zombie that suddenly wanted his boyfriend? Lassiter's thought process was clearly still clouded by sleep, but his well-trained police body responded quickly and he was rushing down the stairs, surprisingly quiet for such a large man.

He didn't hear anything, but immediately felt a cold draft on his mostly bare body. The hole in the wall. He stalked over in that direction, forefinger lighting over the trigger of his gun, left hand reaching out for a lightswitch he knew was on a wall.

In a fluid movement he had the bar counter lights on and the barrel of a gun pointed at a man crouching at the hole.

"Shawn?!" he exclaimed, immediately pulling the gun away. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"Don't shoot!" Shawn exclaimed, hands going up in defense. He felt a little awkward standing in his pajamas and getting caught trying to sneak out of his own house. This was going to be very difficult explaining with a gun pointed at his Spencer jewels. "I was sleepwalking?"

He was inexplicably furious, snapping, "I see you also managed to put on all your clothes before you did your sleepstrolling. Bullshit, Spencer, what are you even--"

And suddenly, it hit him. Like a horrid Vietnam flashback. But it was actually a flashback to a restaurant to a bathroom with an open window and a missing date.

He visibly deflated as he stared, stunned. His gun even was listless. "You were trying to sneak out on me."

Shawn immediately jumped to exclaiming, "No!" even though he was totally trying to sneak out on Lassie, out of his own house.

Shawn's denial only flared his anger up again, driving away the shock and pain. At that moment he would rather feel the rage than those BS emotions again. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he screamed. "What the hell is wrong with me that you had to--to resort to this?!"

He turned and clapped his gun down on a nearby table, afraid he'd squeeze the trigger by accident if he didn't get it out of his hand. He kept his back to Shawn, his freed hand ran over his face as he made various sounds of anger. He growled out, "Don't run from your own fucking home, Spencer. I'll be out of your hair in 4 minutes."

Without even glancing at him one more time, he turned toward the stairs that led back upstairs.

And I remember the time my balance was fine

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