Work Text:
Lassiter’s morning jog lasted exactly 35.4 minutes on a good day and 38 on a bad one. That left Shawn over half an hour to get out of the bathroom before Lassiter got back. Over half an hour, and still…
“Spencer.” Lassiter pounded his fist against the bathroom door. He tried the knob, even though he knew Shawn always locked him out during his morning ‘ritual’. Shawn had told him seeing the work in progress would ruin the mystique. “Spencer!” he snapped, pounding again on the door. “Shawn, I have work!”
“One miiinuuute…” Shawn called at him.
Lassiter rolled his eyes and stalked over to the bedside table. He dug around until he found the unbent paperclip he kept specifically for this occasion and pushed it into the small hole on the doorknob. He heard the lock pop open on the other side and threw open the door before Shawn had a chance to push the lock in again. Shawn ‘eeked’ in false surprise and wrapped the towel around his waist a little more firmly closed.
“Perv!” Shawn accused, “Breaking in on a half dressed man, I have half a mind to report you!”
“You have half a mind?” Lassiter asked, “You don’t think that’s a little generous?”
Shawn scowled at him. Lassiter ignored it.
“Anyway, I didn’t break in here to spy, I broke in here to take a shower, assuming you didn’t use all the hot water, again.” Lassiter paused, considering Shawn. Shawn, dripping wet with only a towel to shield him. The bathroom was small, and Lassiter was in between him and the door. He’d waited long enough. Shawn wasn’t getting out of it this time. “Although,” said Lassiter, “Now that you mention it...” He stepped forward, crowding into Shawn’s space. Shawn drew back, shaking his head adamantly.
“No. Nope. No.” said Shawn, “I told you, not until the swelling goes down.”
“It’s been six days.”
“Yes, but it’s still a little pink around the edges and I want it to be perfect the first time you see it. That was the deal.”
Fuck the deal. Lassiter tilted his head at Shawn giving him a small, loving smile. He wasn’t an expert at manipulating his way into getting what he wanted, but he’d been the victim of Shawn’s charms enough times to have picked up a few tricks. “Spencer.” he said softly, running a hand down Shawn’s arm. “Shawn. Come on. It’ll be fine, just let me see.”
“No way.” Shawn answered.
“Shawn…” Lassiter said again, trying to affect a pout.
“No.”
Fine, if that’s how Shawn wanted to play it. It had been the first thing Lassiter had learned about interrogation: When one tactic fails, try another. Besides, it was almost always best to go with what you know.
“Spencer!” he snapped, “Drop the towel, now.”
Shawn’s shoulders jumped. His cheeks flushed a little, and not entirely from surprise. Lassiter held himself back from smirking. Predictable Shawn, so vulnerable to Lassiter’s alpha male act. God, Lassiter loved that about him.
Shawn bit his lip, pretending to consider Lassiter’s order. “Well, if you’re sure…”
“Now.” Lassiter growled.
Shawn nodded. “If you insist.” He let go of the towel and it fell to the floor. He rotated slowly, turning to face the mirror so his back was to Lassiter. The lettering on his right cheek came into view.
Lassiter felt a familiar, white rage spread from the back of his neck and down to his fingertips. His hands twitched. He was going to kill Shawn. No. No, he reminded himself, he was not allowed to kill Shawn. He loved Shawn. Besides, if he killed him he wouldn't get to play with him anymore. He would just strangle him a little. Maybe toss him against a wall or two and then throw him in the back of his car and drive him to the nearest laser removal clinic. Yes. This was a plan. This was an excellent plan.
"What's the matter, Lassie?" Shawn asked, staring at Lassiter’s reflection, his eyes wide in a mockery of innocence. "Don't you like it?"
Kill. Lassiter unclenched his jaw just enough to hiss out the words, "For a good time radio officer 7714."
Shawn burst into laughter. The sound of it twisted Lassiter's stomach into an angry not. Seeing Shawn's grin in the mirror was a little like having a cheese grater run across his face. Funny? This was funny? Shawn thought this was a joke? Fuck it - he didn't love Spencer that much.
"I'm going to kill you." said Lassiter, plain and matter-of-fact.
Shawn only laughed harder. Lassiter gripped him by the shoulders and shoved him forward, pinning him against the bathroom counter. Maybe he'd drown Shawn in the sink. He bit Shawn on the shoulder to show him he was serious – not because Shawn smelled like patchouli and orange bath wash – and he wrapped his arms over Shawn’s, holding them down against his sides. He nudged his hips forward so the full length of his body was pressing against Shawn’s back. Just to keep him in place, of course. So he could kill him. Which he would. Any minute now.
Lassiter sighed deeply. “Kill you.” he said again, a little less than convincingly. He sighed, “I knew you were an idiot…”
“Hey!”
“…but this is beyond idiocy. This is moronic. How am I supposed to look at that?” Lassiter felt the anger forming a lump in his throat. “It isn’t enough that you mock me every day at work, you have to bring it to our bed too? That number is who I fucking am Shawn and you…”
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Shawn said, cutting Lassiter off. “Easy, easy baby. Relax. It's just marker.” Shawn reached back and Lassiter felt his hand slide between them. Shawn held up his thumb. It was stained with black ink. “See? Only messing with you,” He chuckled. “You should see the look on your face…”
Lassiter glanced up at himself in the mirror. “I look like my boyfriend is the world’s biggest dickhead.” he grumbled, “Seems appropriate to me.”
“Hey!” Shawn exclaimed indignantly. “Unless of course you meant that literally, in which case, thank you.”
Lassiter let go of Shawn and grabbed a washcloth off the towel rack. He ran hot water over it and soaped it up before bending Shawn over the counter so his chest and forehead were pressed against the cold surface. He assessed the damage - the F’s of ‘officer’ were already blurred from Shawn’s thumb. He brought the washcloth down against Shawn’s ass with a resounding smack. He scrubbed Shawn hard and unceremoniously, watching the inky black water drip down Shawn’s leg. Shawn must have used a felt marker because the words came up easily. He rubbed ‘For’ and ‘good’ into oblivion and then made neat work of the rest, leaving a bright red patch of skin where they used to be. He ran the washcloth over his badge numbers, but they weren’t coming up. He pressed a little harder, but they didn’t so much as smudge.
Oh.
They weren’t coming up.
Oh.
Oh.
“Fuck.” Lassiter whispered.
Shawn turned his head and rested it against the countertop. “That what you wanted Lassie?” he asked.
“Fuck.” Lassiter repeated.
He ran his fingers over the neat black numbers. They were warm and smooth, just the same as Shawn’s skin. Of course they were. They were the same. His numbers, Shawn’s skin. The same. And they weren’t coming up. Ever.
Lassiter was on his knees with his lips against Shawn before he even registered moving. He suctioned his mouth around the full curve of flesh and ran his tongue over the ink. Flavorless, except for the hints of soap and bathwater. Hot and sweet and Shawn. He pulled back and looked again at his numbers. They were unaffected, except for the sheen of his saliva covering them. The skin beneath them was flushed and pink.
“Shawn…”
“Yeah?” Shawn answered. Lassiter recognized the edge of arousal in his voice.
“Shawn, I…” Lassiter’s words trailed off. He leaned forward and pressed his face against Shawn and swallowed helplessly. There was nothing he could say, nothing that would even come close to being enough. He bit into Shawn, leaving the sunk impression of crescent teeth above and below the tattoo, framing it. Framing what was his. His numbers on Shawn’s ass - which made it his ass. His Shawn. His. “Mine.” he said.
“Of course.” said Shawn.
Of course. Lassiter ran his hands over Shawn’s legs. ‘Of course’, like it was nothing. Or like it was obvious. Or like it was true.
Lassiter had been wrong – he wasn’t going to kill Shawn, Shawn was going to kill him. Too much, it was just too much.
Shawn was moving, turning to face him. Lassiter looked up at him, his green teasing eyes, his broad chest, his ridiculous permanent scruff. Shawn’s need was showing, half hard and too damned close to resist. Lassiter leaned forward, wetting his lips with his tongue. Shawn stopped him with a hand on his cheek.
“Nu-uh.” said Shawn, “Not until I see yours.”
“Hmm?” Lassiter furrowed his brow as he tried to make sense of what… oh, right. “Sure.” Lassiter said, “Of course.”
He stood and quickly pulled his sweatshirt over his head. The bandage on his left arm was already loose from sweat after Lassiter’s jog, he easily peeled it off. Shawn’s eyes went round.
“Oh.” Shawn gasped, “Oh, I love you.”
Lassiter smiled, “Are you talking to me or the pineapple?”
Shawn grinned widely at him, “What’s the difference?” Shawn reached out and tentatively stroked the pineapple’s fond. He looked so pleased that Lassiter half considered getting a matching tattoo for his other shoulder.
“So tell me Shawn, why a pineapple? I mean, I know you like them, but out of everything you could have asked for?”
Shawn blinked, “Isn’t it obvious?”
Lassiter shook his head.
“Because Lassie, pineapples are just like you.”
“How so?”
“They’re my favorite fruit!” Shawn proclaimed proudly.
Oh yeah. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but some day, some day Lassiter was definitely going to kill him.