elles_letters | Fic: "An Orchestrated Romance," Psych (Reply)

Rating: PG
Summary: Shawn and Lassie enjoy a night at the orchestra. Fluffiness ensues.
Warnings: Quick mentions of sex, but nothing graphic. My first fic...I'm so embarrassed.
Disclaimer: Psych and all related characters are the property of USA Networks and a bunch of other people in suits. Please don't sue.

“The Santa Barbara Orchestra?” Shawn studied the two tickets Lassiter had given him and then quickly up at the dark-haired detective. He was standing in the entryway of Shawn’s apartment, re-knotting with his tie, still dressed in his work suit. They’d taken three drug dealers off the streets today, which meant Lassiter was in a better mood than usual. Good enough to offer to take Shawn out for the evening. “‘Haydn’s London Symphonies?’ This is what you’re so excited to go to?”
“Yes. He’s one of my favorite composers,” Lassiter replied. “You like music. I like music. It’ll be nice.”
“Dude, I like twenty-year old pop music and television jingles.” Shawn leaned back in his seat on the couch and crossed his arms. “I’m thinking your man Haydn here did none of those.”
“No, he didn’t. But, he’s considered the father of the symphony. It’ll be a great.” Lassiter, apparently satisfied with his tie, began to fix his already perfect hair.
“Well, with credentials like that…” Shawn stared up at the ceiling, his arms folded underneath his head. “How long will this thing last?”
Lassiter’s face fell slightly. “Only a few hours.” He dropped his hands to his side. “You don’t want to go, do you?” Shawn didn’t answer him, instead feigning interest in a loose thread on the cushion. Lassiter sighed heavily and flopped down on the couch. “That’s okay. I guess we could stay in tonight.”
Shawn felt like an ass. They stayed in last night. And the night before that. Hell, they always stayed in. For the first two months they were together, Lassiter had been too nervous to be with Shawn in public. That limited them to dinner and movie nights at each other’s apartment. Now that Lassiter was more settled with the idea of them as a couple, they still spent most of their nights together eating take-out and watching TV.
“No, it’s not that. I just…you didn’t have to go to all this trouble.” Shawn shifted on the couch. “If you wanted to go out and hear music, we could just go have sex in the Shenanigans’ parking lot with the radio on.”
Lassiter grimaced slightly. He’d never been comfortable with Shawn’s blatant sexuality. “I got the tickets for free and wanted to take you. I know it’s last minute, but you didn’t plan anything else for us tonight, did you?”
Shawn hesitated. Pizza Hut and HBO weren’t plans. “No.”
“Then you’ll go?”
One look at the detective’s face and Shawn knew that he’d lost. Lassiter rarely got excited about things that didn’t involve police work. Shawn could put up with Mr. Haydn if it would keep Lassiter smiling like that.
“Yeah, I’ll go.”
Lassiter stood up and pulled Shawn up with him. He was grinning. Definitely worth it, Shawn thought.
Lassiter gave him a quick kiss. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”

Shawn did not understand why listening to a bunch of middle-aged nerds play 300-year-old music required him to leave the comfort of his Levi’s, but, Lassiter had insisted that since they were finally going to go out, they might as well dress for the occasion. And as much as it shamed him to admit it, Shawn was defenseless against Lassiter’s intimidation-seduction techniques (or “intimiduction,” as Shawn called it).
So, five idle threats, 40 or so rushed kisses and one disturbingly arousing full-body pin later, Shawn found himself shoved into the too-small suit that Lassiter had found in his closet. The fabric pulled tightly across his back and his arms felt strangled by his narrow cuffs.
It didn’t help that the symphony hall they were now seated in didn’t feel the need to turn on the air conditioning. Shawn twisted in his seat, in a futile effort to get comfortable. Pull left sleeve, straighten right leg, loosen waistband, now pull right sleeve—
“Will you stop fidgeting so much,” Lassiter said sharply. He placed his hand on Shawn’s right thigh, stilling him instantly. Warmth shot out from the spot he touched and slowly spread throughout Shawn’s body. Shawn pressed himself against the armrest that separated them in an attempt to get closer to the lanky detective. He tried not to show his disappointment when Lassiter quickly removed his hand. He decided to make one last ditch effort to convince Lassiter how their time could be better spent.
“You know,” Shawn said in a low voice, “you’re the first person to ever talk me into a suit and tie in under three minutes.” He leaned in, putting his body even more into Lassiter’s personal space. “Let’s go home and see how quickly you can talk me out of it.”
The smirk that flitted across Lassiter’s face was so fleeting that Shawn wasn’t entirely certain it actually existed.
“Later,” the detective whispered, while slowly pushing Shawn back into his seat. “Quiet. They’re starting.”
The hall’s house lights lowered and the buzz of conversation ceased. Lassiter’s quickly turned his attention away from the fidgety psychic to the stage.
A short and stocky man dressed in tails walked to the center of the stage and took a quick bow.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he spoke in a deep, rich voice, “the Santa Barbara Orchestra is proud to present a selection of Franz Josef Haydn’s London Symphonies. Our first piece is Symphony 101, also known as ‘The Clock’. Please enjoy.”
The man turned and faced the musicians. He raised his arms and in precise, smooth motions, the musicians raised their instruments and began to play. The slow sound of the violin strings filled the hall.
Two minutes into the piece and Shawn found himself stumped. How could Lassiter enjoy something so…boring? The music was slow and had no lyrics that could later he could later turn into witty banter. The slow rise and fall of the music was slowly lulling him to sleep. The only way that Shawn could stay awake and not have Lassiter be upset with him for not paying attention, was to not pay attention.
Shawn turned and studied the other man. Lassiter seemed to be enjoying himself. His eyes were slightly closed and his head moved in time with the music. Shawn didn’t get it.
Actually, there were a lot of things Lassiter enjoyed that Shawn just didn’t get: civil war reenactments, fishing, hunting. That, along with his failed marriage, made Lassiter one receding hairline away from being his father.
And therein laid Shawn’s true fear: how could two completely different people possibly keep each other interested? Shawn knew that while he found certain aspects of the detective’s personality dry, Lassiter thought he was flakey and shortsighted, jumping from thing to another. This week he was into drag racing. The week before that, it was fencing. Shawn hated routine and did all he could to avoid it. How long before Lassiter became another routine to avoid?
That was how most of Shawn’s relationships ended. The thrill of sex and flirting would only last so long before Shawn began to grow bored and begin lusting for someone new. Phone calls would begin to be ignored. Conversations would start to become forced and awkward. Even sex became a chore, done out of the guilt he felt for his increasing inattention.
Shawn didn’t want this—whatever this relationship between Lassiter and him was—to end up like all those others. He’d spent too much time and effort convincing the relationship-wary man to give him a chance. He wanted to prove that Lassiter hadn’t made a mistake in trusting him.
True, his relationship with Lassiter had already out lasted the longest of all his previous relationships. Two weeks, three days and six hours longer, if Shawn’s memory was correct (which, of course it was). Yet, he had already felt the familiar spark of lust grow weaker the longer he was with Lassiter.
Shawn's depressingly frantic thoughts had completely distracted him from the concert. So much so, that when the music came to an end, Shawn half-heartedly raised his hands to applaud. A warm, rough hand grabbed them before he could clap.
"Not yet," Lassiter breathed into Shawn’s ear, never taking his eyes off the stage. "The piece isn't over.” Lassiter lowered their hands. Sure enough, the rest of the audience sat in silence as the musicians began playing again.
Shawn looked down at his hands. Lassiter hadn’t released them after preventing him from clapping. His thumb slowly massaged Shawn’s knuckles, rubbing small circles along his skin. The detective’s attention seemed to be immersed in the musicians as they began to play the second movement of the piece.
There it was again. That warmth. That feeling that grew from wherever Lassiter happened to be touching him to engulf his whole body. That feeling that came whenever Lassiter touched him, kissed him, looked at him, smiled at him, fought with him, laughed at him. That feeling he noticed that was slowly replacing the much hotter and more intense lust, but was still no less pleasant. That feeling that Shawn never recalled having in any of his other relationships. That warmth that was making the droning sound of violins sound somewhat pleasant.
Suddenly, Shawn felt more at ease. He relaxed into his seat and let the music of the second movement of Haydn’s 101st symphony wash around him. As he clasped his favorite detective’s hand in his, he realized something. It turns out Lassiter was right. Shawn loved the orchestra.