Psych
Shassie, Explicit, ~10400 words
Smut, Developing Relationship, Dom/Sub, Handcuffs, Blindfolds, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Spanking, Rimming
Because if Carlton is going to be Shawn’s detective, he’s going to be a good one.
I was writing smut and it sort of turned into a relationship fic ish thing?? Woops.jpg
Oh. My. Lord…
*Fans self furiously*
Hear ye, hear ye…I’ve just added a spankin’ new post over at “…surrounded by books,” my book blog!
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We had a clawfoot tub in the old house where I lived in Orange, Texas.
It was a big enameled white beauty, perfect for bathing several kiddies.
Sadly, when my dad remodeled the house, he replaced that wonderful tub with a bath/shower mod con.
The night before the old tub went (I hope) to the salvage yard, Mom made it up with blankets and sheets, and I slept in that old tub.
And I say: wherever I go, if I find a bathroom with a clawfoot tub, I will not say no. They’re wonderful for long soaks, reading, and drinking hot chocolate on chilly nights.
(Source: , via blua)
(I’m both) Puerto Rican
Cuban-American on my dad’s side, Cajun on my mom’s side.
(Source: kevinguillermo)
iwannadrinkcoffeeinyourbedroom:
NOW. COME ON, VAMANOS. EVERYBODY, LET’S GO.
Gente: now’s your chance!
(Source: fro-do, via rex-magnus)
here’s that kiss scene that you guys were looking forward to and what leads up to it:
“I need you to help me, Carlton,” Shawn managed, panting heavily as they clambered onto the train car. He was so done with all of this running around already. Abigail didn’t believe him and was suspect of the SBPD’s head detective.
“With what, Spencer?” he demanded, his blue eyes were fierce and it felt like they pierced Shawn’s soul. He shook his head, ripping open the package despite Lassiter’s hiss of, “Careful, Shawn, that’s evidence!” and pulled everything out as the older man stopped the timer. “We’ve got less than 27 minutes. Now, tell me what you need help with again?” he demanded as he sat down and snatched the envelope from Spencer.
“Did you just call me Shawn?” he laughed, but quickly turned the subject back to what he had in his hands with a look from the detective. “Like with these photos,” replied, doing his best to not get angry at the detective. They were both stressed out, but they needed to work together to reach a “happy” ending. Or as close to one as possible.
“Whatever, what the hell are these of?” Lassiter made a face, leafing through some of the ones that the psychic had discarded. “You forgot something in the envelope,” he mentioned, pulling it out, pulling the paper apart so he could read it. “Okay, here we go: ‘A moving picture is worth a thousand words so read the story and follow the cards… P.S. Once you’re there you’ll hear a phone. You have eight rings to pick up… or the girl is dead… Shame on me that didn’t even rhyme.’” The detective rubbed the side of his head, scowling at the sheet of paper, how messy it was with all of the sticky stuff over it. “God,” he moaned, raising his head meeting the psychic’s eyes.
They sat there, caught in one another’s gaze for a few seconds. Shawn was the first one to break away. He’d already begun to come to terms with things; Lassie was unlikely to ever admit that women weren’t going to do it for him. Who was he kidding, even he couldn’t remain interested in a woman for very long. They were both so far in the closet that it wasn’t funny and it would take a miracle for something significant to happen. At least, that’s what Shawn was willing to beat on.
He mumbled to himself, tossing some of the photos, picking some of them up, gathering similar ones, shuffling them a little, then held them in his hands, careful not to drop them, flipping through them like an old fashion flipbook the sort that he made when he was bored in school.
“What are you do-” Lassiter began, his voice unsure of itself, leaning in, uncaring of Shawn’s personal space. “Oh.”
“Oh is right, detective. This crazy bastard… he’s been following us this entire time and I’m getting sick of the way he’s just toying with us, like we’re some kind of dolls.”
“Do not let him get to you, Spencer,” Lassiter ordered, grasping the younger man’s shoulders, hard. “I need you to be one-hundred-and-ten percent for me right now, and I can’t have you having a mental break down now. Not after we’ve gotten this far. Are you listening to me, Spencer?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Shawn replied, unwilling to meeting the detective’s unyielding gaze. “I’m more impressed by your concern for me than anything. What do you care that I make it through this — you hate me, don’t you?”
“Hate you, Spencer? That’s immaterial-”
“Answer me straight, detective, stop avoiding it.”
The graying, middle-aged man sighed heavily, dropping his gaze for a second, looking at Shawn’s shaking hands clutching the pictures as he found his resolve. “I don’t hate you, Spencer. You’re just… annoying, sometimes.”
“Only sometimes?” he laughed lightly, managing to look up at the other man he sat in the train car with.
Lassiter’s eyes didn’t falter from Shawn’s. “You do amaze me, Spencer,” he admitted, but not easily. “You’re a wonderful asset to the SBPD and I need you functioning at your best if you’re going to solve this case.”
“So, you do care, after all,” Shawn scoffed, grinning slightly, moving in closer, placing his own hands on Lassiter’s. “C’mon, Lassieface, let’s get out of his dingy place, huh?”
They just sat there for a little while longer. It was like the detective hadn’t even heard Shawn, but was completely stricken, almost offended.
“Of course I care-”
“Shut up, Lassie,” Shawn told him, only somewhat stern. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“I’m not going to let you go until you make it clear to me that you understand that no matter what happens, my duty is to protect you and no matter what I’ve said in the past, I really do mean it when I say that you mean a lot to me - well, by me, I mean the department,” he was quick to correct. “And I don’t take orders from psychic detectives.”
All Shawn heard from that was “make me” and the best way he knew how to make someone shut up? Well, it would also make things “clear” to Lassiter, or whatever.
“Fine,” Shawn murmured, his hands going from Lassiter’s arms to the detective’s sturdy shoulders, yanking him forward, pressing their lips together.
Oh, it was more beautiful than he’d ever imagined it would be. Lassiter automatically leaned in, one of his slender hands migrating to the back of Shawn’s neck, the other snaking downward surely before he could comprehend what he was doing. Why girls would ever dump such a wonderful kisser like this, Shawn couldn’t comprehend. Upon realizing himself, the lanky detective pulled away from the younger man sharply, eyes wide. “What did…”
“Your girlfriends must have never made it to the kissing part, huh?” he teased a few fleeting moments after they’d parted.
Be still my beating heart. I so, so look forward to reading more.
Long live Shassie!
My lovely ones: I am proud to announce the debut of “surrounded by books”—a blog about books, reading, and degrees of book passion, and I welcome y’all to come along.
You’ll find it at paginasdelcielo.tumblr.com.
Pass it along. Thank you ever, ever so.
I think I’m going to convert my St. George blog to something more to my liking.
So look for …surrounded by booksin the not-too-distant future.
[video]
“You have killed my love. You used to stir my imagination. Now you don’t even stir my curiosity. You simply produce no effect. I loved you because you were marvellous, because you had genius and intellect, because you realised the dreams of great poets and gave shape and substance to the shadows of art. You have thrown it all away. You are shallow and stupid.”
—Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
Among my many books, I have a collection of the works of Oscar Wilde. Okay, I have two: one being a largish softcover, the other a well-worn Penguin paperback which came with me to San Francisco back in ‘91.(Thank you, Scott Hobbs, for inviting me to see Morrissey, and for giving me the taste of such a sublime city. I miss you, sweetness—and the mornings reading De Profundis!)
The above quote also reminded me of the 1945 MGM movie adaptation with Hurd Hatfield, Angela Lansbury, and Donna Reed. That remains one of the smartest and most aesthetic horror movies—even now.
(Source: sockswithcreases, via fuckyeahoscarwilde)