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Shawn spun around in his rolly chair, legs tucked up against his chest as his hands did all the work, pulling at the desk every once in a while to regain lost momentum. He’d wobbled a few times, but would quickly right himself every time. He hummed a tune under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘Around the World’ by Daft Punk.
“Shawn, if you keep doing that, you’re going to puke.” Gus, who was sitting calmly in his own chair, reprimanded. He himself was on his computer, checking emails to see if he’d missed anything from his boss or coworkers.
“My stomach is made of steel, Gus. It’ll take a lot more than this to make me throw up.” It was true. The only times Shawn ever vomited was when someone else did it right in front of him. And even then, it was still a 50/50 chance of him reacting to it.
Gus just rolled his eyes. He knew that Shawn was telling the truth. But just watching him spin around like that was making him feel dizzy and lips tingly with nausea.
A ding from Shawn’s phone startled them both. Well, only a little bit. But that was enough to unbalance him and send him to the floor in a heap. He wasn’t deterred, however, and hopped right up and resituated his chair as if nothing happened.
A quick glance at his screen told him everything. “Ooo, finally!”
“What? What is it?”
“You remember that uh… that hug-therapy thing I put out an application for and got hired?”
“Yeah. And I still don’t get why you did that. Touching random strangers isn’t exactly something that sounds the most exciting. Kind of the opposite, actually.”
“First of all: don’t say it like that. It makes me sound like a prostitute. Nothing against them, that’s their choice of work.”
“Well, you are technically selling your body to people you don’t know.”
Shawn ignored that comment. “And B: That’s where you’re wrong, Gus. All kinds of young, touch-starved hotties who grew up unloving homes need hugs. I’d say that’s not very boring.”
“So, you’re taking advantage of someone in need.”
“Quit twisting my words around, man! You know what I meant.”
Gus clicked his tongue. “Whatever. Why’re you bringing it up, anyway?”
“I just got my first assignment! But it’s anonymous. They’re probably embarrassed about getting a professional.”
“ Now look at who’s making it sound weird.”
Shawn just waved him off. “They’ve booked a thirty minute session at their place.” With an address listed, of course. In fact, that was all that was in the small text he’d gotten. No name, not even a gender. Only a time and place. A little weird, but hey, who was he to judge? He was the one that basically signed up for this.
“I don’t like this, Shawn. What if it’s a serial killer?”
“Chill out, Gus. If it is a serial killer, then they’d have to be the dumbest one in the history of ever. The address they gave me is like, four blocks away from the station. If they pull a knife on me I can just run out and grab Lassie or Jules. Or even Buzz, if neither of them are there.”
Gus didn’t look very reassured. “Maybe that’s why they chose that spot. Because no one would suspect somewhere so close to the police.”
“You’re so clinical. You know that, right?”
“You mean cynical . Clinical wouldn’t make any sense in that context.”
“I’ve heard it both ways.”
———
Shawn sped down the road on his motorcycle (Gus refused to let him use the Blueberry). Buildings were a blur, meshing together in his peripherals. As he drove, he checked his watch. 7:13 p.m. Yeah, he was gonna make it.
It was still a little odd to him that the client gave no details other than when and where they wanted the session to take place. Shawn was no expert when it came to this, but he knew some people would at least put in a comment or two about themselves. Heck, maybe even just if they had some topics they wanted to talk about or movies they wanted to watch during their session. He seriously didn’t expect his client to want to just sit there in awkward silence as he snuggled up to them.
So, as he rode, he tried coming up with topics. 80’s movies or shows, if the topic came up. Pineapple? Maybe put that one on the back burner, as a last resort.
What if whoever it was asked why he’d chosen to be a touch-therapist?
He could make up some sob-story about how his parents never gave him enough love as a child and now he wants to give others cuddles so no one would have to feel how he’d felt.
It… actually wasn’t totally far from the truth. He did in fact sign up to work as a touch-therapist as a way to satiate his own touch-starve-ingness. Maybe he should go with that. Makes for a good sob story. But he wouldn’t admit that to Gus, or his dad, or anyone he knew personally, for that matter. All it would do was just open up a whole discussion that he definitely didn’t want to have.
Besides, Shawn didn’t just want this, he was built for this. The stockiness of Shawn’s body didn’t come easy, no sir. It took a lot to go from eating only when he was hungry, to eating regularly scheduled meals and when he was hungry. If that made sense. And it worked, too. He’d gone from being called a twink by random people at bars while he was on the road, to being… healthy. Not so much of a stick, or a walking skeleton. It was also probably how he’d gotten hired so easily, given his extensive resume.
Shawn parked his bike on the curb next to the house. It was nice, the paint was a pretty shade of green, single story but wide enough to look like it could easily house two people with space for other rooms. The yard was decently sized, and the grass wasn’t overgrown. It was all painstakingly tidy. Whoever lived here was probably the biggest neat freak ever-
Then he noticed the red Crown Vic parked in the driveway.
No way. No way . Lassie ? Lassie had called and scheduled an appointment with him? The Carlton Lassiter had scheduled an appointment to be cuddled by the fake psychic?
Well, not with him specifically . All assignments were at random, unless special requests were made by the clients. So that meant Lassiter, Carlton Lassiter , had either made a request with such specific details that made Shawn the only candidate, or he just hadn’t cared and Shawn was chosen by some weird stroke of fate.
Either way, Shawn needed the money. And he definitely wasn’t going to turn down the chance at being able to — professionally — cuddle up with Lassiter. This was his dream, since… well, since he’d been manhandled by him during the missing ring case. He just didn’t expect it to come so soon. Or like this.
With that, he shoved his helmet under his arm and walked up to the small porch. Five knocks later, and he heard the sound of footsteps along with Lassiter's voice, muffled by the door that stood between them. “-know I didn’t put a lot of information, sorry about that. Thanks for coming anyways-” The door opened, and there stood Lassiter, in all his two-piece suit glory. Seriously, why was he still wearing that? He stopped mid sentence when he saw who was at the door. “Spencer? What the hell are you doing here, I’m expecting… someone….”
Shawn ignored Lassiter and the look of realization donning his face. “You know, you could’ve just asked if you wanted to snuggle up with me. Not sure why you had to go around this way.” He put on his award winning smile that always made the ladies — and sometimes the guys — swoon.
It had… some effect on Lassiter. It at least made his cheeks go bright red. “No. No no no no no. No way-”
“Wow, I feel so cherished right now Lassie.”
Lassiter’s mouth opened and closed, searching for the right words to say. “Since when do you work for-”
“Since last week. Cases weren’t coming in and Gus and I were running out of money. I saw the ad and went ‘Hey! That’s a job I haven’t done yet!’”
“Doesn’t Guster have an actual job?”
“Yeah? What does that have to do with anything?” Sure, Gus had him claimed on his taxes. But he didn’t rely on him for everything . He used the money they earned on cases to pay for not only part of the rent on the psych office, but also to pay for the rent at his apartment. Or at least, the apartment he was currently living in.
“Well, I can’t have you as my touch-therapist, so you can kindly turn around and pretend this never happened.”
“Okay, ouch.” Lassiter went to close the door, but Shawn quickly stuck his foot in between, jamming it open.
“Spencer, get your foot out of my door!”
Shawn didn’t do that. He continued, “But! But the way I see it, you either kick me out and get assigned with a random stranger. Or , you could let me in and we cuddle for the allotted 30 minutes you’re paying for.”
The door stopped pushing against his foot and was opened once more. Shawn could see the gears turning in Lassiter’s head. On the one hand, Lassiter didn’t look like he wanted to snuggle up to his rival — harsh — but on the other he also didn’t seem too keen on meeting with a stranger. He knew how this worked. Although Shawn had the advantage of knowing the detective, Lassiter was painfully easy to read.
Finally, he gave in. “Take your shoes off, I don’t want you tracking dirt inside.”
As soon as Lassiter’s back was turned, Shawn pumped his fist.
First impression of Lassiter’s house was about the same as his impression of the outside. Extremely tidy, very minimalist. A painting of a gun sprouting roses hung up on the wall caught his eye. Shawn couldn’t help the grin. That painting was so Lassie.
“So.” Shawn averted his eyes from the decor and over to the detective himself, who was sitting awkwardly on the couch. “How… How does this work?”
“I dunno. This is my first session, too.” He didn’t feel too proud admitting that. “But! I have had many a cuddle session with other partners. So this shouldn’t be too difficult.”
“Wait. Partners? Why didn’t you just say girlfriend?”
“Well, just saying ‘girlfriends and boyfriends’ seemed kind of like a mouthful.”
Lassiter didn’t say anything to that, simply nodding thoughtfully.
“Alright. Scooch over, gimme some room.” Shawn moved to push him but was stopped by Lassiter slapping the hands away. Not harshly, but enough to let Shawn know not to do that. He was being paid to cuddle with him, nothing more nothing less.
Slowly, Shawn lowered himself into the cushion next to Lassiter. He was close enough he could feel the detective tense at the contact. This wasn’t going to work. “Okay, look Lassie. I can’t really work my magic with you if you’re gonna sit there all rigid like a stick.”
“Oh, I’m sorry .” Sarcasm dripped from Lassiter’s words.
“Just- loosen up some man! This is a two-person exchange, both parties have to participate.”
Lassiter grumbled before complying, ever so slightly relaxing his tensed up muscles and leaning just a bit into Shawn’s side.
“There you go, Lassie!”
“Don’t demean me, Spencer.”
“I wasn’t! I wasn’t.” Shawn had an idea. Gently, he raised his right arm up and over Lassiter’s shoulder to bring him closer.
Of course, he tensed up again. But after a moment he settled down once more.
“So. Did you have anything you wanted to do?”
Lassiter looked over at Shawn, confused. “What do you mean? I’m paying you to… to uhm…”
“Cuddle, you can say cuddle, Lassie.”
“Mmm yeah, that. I’m not paying you to do anything else.”
Shawn snorted. “What, you thought we were just going to sit here, doing absolutely nothing but snuggle?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
Shawn could only look at Lassiter incredulously. He was being serious . Dead serious. “Wow. Uhm, okay. Hang on, gimme a sec.”
“A- To do what ?”
“Trying to think of something to talk about. I am not going to be sitting here in silence. That’s torture.” He sat for a moment longer, searching for a topic he and Lassiter could both relate to. What would that even be ? So far, all Shawn knew about the detective was that he liked his job just a little too much to be considered normal, along with a love for firearms. Two things that he didn’t exactly feel like talking about.
Wait, actually…
“So, remember when Gus and I went down to Camp Tikihama?”
Lassiter furrowed his eyebrows. “Yeah, didn’t you have to call O’Hara because there was a serial killer? That happened yesterday, of course I remember it.”
Shawn smiled to himself. Perfect. He had something to talk about now. “Well…”
———
Light streamed through the Psych office windows as Gus walked in, carrying his case full of experimental medications. Shawn had told him they had finally had a case, and he was on his way over with the file he’d gotten from the chief.
Gus set his case down next to his desk and sat down, opening up his laptop. Might as well check his emails while he was waiting for Shawn. The fake psychic was notorious for being later than he said he would be. Unless that thing included food. Shawn would always make an exception for food.
But he found himself unable to stop looking over at his friend’s desk. The clutter was really getting to him. He hated that Shawn couldn’t just pick up after himself. There wasn’t really any point to it, anyways. It just looked messy and made stuff get lost.
He could just… organize it. Not much, only a little bit. Maybe straighten up the newspapers into a neater pile and line up the small toys Shawn kept. Nothing too serious.
So that’s exactly what Gus got up to do. But of course, he was stopped by the sight of a check of all things sitting dejectedly and slightly covered up by a newspaper from last week. One glance at what was written on the check was enough to get Gus to grab his phone and dial his friend’s number. “Shawn, why do you have a check written out to you for ‘ Services ’?! And why is it from Lassiter ?! What services did you do for Lassiter?!”