Fanfic post!
Title: Chairs Are Boring Anyway
Fandom: Psych
Pairing: Shawn/Gus (more or less)
Rating: PG (basically)
Summary: Gus can't even sit down without Shawn being insane about it.
Author's Note: Written for
sixwing because she read this and wanted to see 23 in more detail, and I was bored.
Shawn was impossible.
There were two problems with this: the first was that they were in the waiting room of a chiropractor who’d been linked to the deaths of three women in their mid-twenties, and the second was that so were several other people.
Now, these would not have been problems by themselves if not for the fact that Shawn had chosen this particular setting to stroll in from the restroom, briefly survey the waiting room and its occupants, and casually flop down on the chair that Gus was already on.
There was a moment of silence.
“Shawn, you know that there’s another chair over there, right?” Gus said, just loud enough to be heard by the woman across the room who was looking at them over the top of an outdated issue of Time with an expression bordering on hostility, so that she would know he had no part in planning this sudden departure from sanity.
“Oh I know,” Shawn replied breezily, shifting on Gus’s knee to make himself more comfortable, after which he leaned back and flung an idle arm over his partner’s shoulder. “But it’s all the way over there, see, and there was a large sweaty man sitting in it ten minutes ago, if the depression in the seat and the dark spot on the back are any indication, and besides, you’re comfy. Ooh, is that a new issue of People?”
“Get off my lap, Shawn,” said Gus. It was a resigned command made through gritted teeth, far less congenial than the tone used for pointing out nearby chairs, and was duly ignored. He briefly considered shoving Shawn onto the floor when his friend leaned forward to grab a magazine, but the moment soon passed and he was once again being used as back support for a cavalier pseudo-psychic with an undue interest in what Brad and Angelina were up to this week.
He got a momentary face-full of hair when Shawn turned to say, “Did you know J-Lo’s getting divorced again?” prompting Gus to swat the back of Shawn’s head, which culminated in a small and supremely awkward wrestling match over the magazine. “Hey, you don’t have to get all cranky about it,” Shawn admonished, introducing a disgruntled elbow to Gus’ ribs.
“Shawn, we are in a waiting room!”
“I know. I remember the drive out here. Remember when we stopped for curly fries? Good times.”
“This is not an appropriate setting for using your partner’s lap as a chair, Shawn,” Gus hissed, and it was at that point that the door opened and a slim woman in a professional-looking jacket emerged, holding a clipboard.
“Mr. Eric…Clapton?” she said to her clipboard, looking perplexed.
“That’s me!” Shawn said brightly, raising his hand. The woman looked up, baffled expression shifting to one that was downright nonplussed.
“Eric Clapton?” said Gus.
“Lots of people share names with famous musicians,” Shawn explained under his breath, unfazed. Louder, he added (with a gesture that knocked Gus in the face with the back of a hand) “This is my associate Mr. Neil Diamond.”
The woman, still confused but recovering, shook her head. “…You’re next. Sir, you’re aware that there’s another chair over there, yes?”
“Oh yeah,” said Shawn, and at this point Gus decided that enough was enough and shouldered Shawn off his lap and into a standing position. “It’s just that I have a very specific back problem, so unfortunately I’m unable to sit comfortably on most chairs. Luckily Neil here is a very kind and accommodating fellow.” He flung an arm around Gus’s shoulders, grinned convincingly, and murmured through his teeth, “Which means that I won’t be spending the next week and a half on the sofa for this…”
“Someone has to be,” Gus told the clipboard woman flatly, grabbed Shawn by the ear, and dragged him into the inner office, unconcerned smile and month-old issue of People in tow.
Fandom: Psych
Pairing: Shawn/Gus (more or less)
Rating: PG (basically)
Summary: Gus can't even sit down without Shawn being insane about it.
Author's Note: Written for
sixwing because she read this and wanted to see 23 in more detail, and I was bored.Shawn was impossible.
There were two problems with this: the first was that they were in the waiting room of a chiropractor who’d been linked to the deaths of three women in their mid-twenties, and the second was that so were several other people.
Now, these would not have been problems by themselves if not for the fact that Shawn had chosen this particular setting to stroll in from the restroom, briefly survey the waiting room and its occupants, and casually flop down on the chair that Gus was already on.
There was a moment of silence.
“Shawn, you know that there’s another chair over there, right?” Gus said, just loud enough to be heard by the woman across the room who was looking at them over the top of an outdated issue of Time with an expression bordering on hostility, so that she would know he had no part in planning this sudden departure from sanity.
“Oh I know,” Shawn replied breezily, shifting on Gus’s knee to make himself more comfortable, after which he leaned back and flung an idle arm over his partner’s shoulder. “But it’s all the way over there, see, and there was a large sweaty man sitting in it ten minutes ago, if the depression in the seat and the dark spot on the back are any indication, and besides, you’re comfy. Ooh, is that a new issue of People?”
“Get off my lap, Shawn,” said Gus. It was a resigned command made through gritted teeth, far less congenial than the tone used for pointing out nearby chairs, and was duly ignored. He briefly considered shoving Shawn onto the floor when his friend leaned forward to grab a magazine, but the moment soon passed and he was once again being used as back support for a cavalier pseudo-psychic with an undue interest in what Brad and Angelina were up to this week.
He got a momentary face-full of hair when Shawn turned to say, “Did you know J-Lo’s getting divorced again?” prompting Gus to swat the back of Shawn’s head, which culminated in a small and supremely awkward wrestling match over the magazine. “Hey, you don’t have to get all cranky about it,” Shawn admonished, introducing a disgruntled elbow to Gus’ ribs.
“Shawn, we are in a waiting room!”
“I know. I remember the drive out here. Remember when we stopped for curly fries? Good times.”
“This is not an appropriate setting for using your partner’s lap as a chair, Shawn,” Gus hissed, and it was at that point that the door opened and a slim woman in a professional-looking jacket emerged, holding a clipboard.
“Mr. Eric…Clapton?” she said to her clipboard, looking perplexed.
“That’s me!” Shawn said brightly, raising his hand. The woman looked up, baffled expression shifting to one that was downright nonplussed.
“Eric Clapton?” said Gus.
“Lots of people share names with famous musicians,” Shawn explained under his breath, unfazed. Louder, he added (with a gesture that knocked Gus in the face with the back of a hand) “This is my associate Mr. Neil Diamond.”
The woman, still confused but recovering, shook her head. “…You’re next. Sir, you’re aware that there’s another chair over there, yes?”
“Oh yeah,” said Shawn, and at this point Gus decided that enough was enough and shouldered Shawn off his lap and into a standing position. “It’s just that I have a very specific back problem, so unfortunately I’m unable to sit comfortably on most chairs. Luckily Neil here is a very kind and accommodating fellow.” He flung an arm around Gus’s shoulders, grinned convincingly, and murmured through his teeth, “Which means that I won’t be spending the next week and a half on the sofa for this…”
“Someone has to be,” Gus told the clipboard woman flatly, grabbed Shawn by the ear, and dragged him into the inner office, unconcerned smile and month-old issue of People in tow.