Title: Out of the Frying Pan and into the Firehouse

Rating: NC-17 for sexual situations, violence.

Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter

Warnings: Shassie. Hurt/comfort. Spoilers for "Earth, Wind, and …Wait For It" and "Lassie Did A Bad Bad Thing." Fatphobic Monologue from Breakfast Club.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: Shawn and Lassiter attempt to make one another jealous, with disastrous results.

Note: Sequel to Out of The Closet and into The Frying Pan. My fireman is named Keith in honour of Keith Maidment, a gay man who works for Toronto Fire Services. Unlike my character, the real Keith isn't single, but is legally married to a smokin' hot lawyer. Thank-you to Mr. Pugh, who betas all my stuff.

The acrid smell of smoke filled Lassiter's nostrils as he stood near the wet shell of a burned-out building on East Haley Street. Smoke hung in the air and he could detect the scent of chemicals, and the stench of melted plastic, and beneath it all, something more sinister, and vaguely sweet.

Great! Lassiter thought, sniffing his lapel suspiciously, I just had this suit cleaned. He pulled his notebook from his jacket pocket and began to jot down the particulars of the felony arson case he'd been assigned. Lassiter disliked cases that involved fire. They were filthy and there was always some fire department rep trying to tell him how to do his job.

"Are you SBPD?" a warm voice asked. Lassiter looked up to see a man in filthy yellow fire gear, dripping black water onto the sidewalk. Lassiter hoped that his suit and badge might have been enough to go on, but he over-rode his instinct to be sarcastic.

"Yes. Head Detective Carlton Lassiter." Lassiter stepped forward, careful to avoid walking through the rivulets of water trickling out from the burn site.

The fireman pulled off his protective gloves and grasped Lassiter's hand in a firm shake.

"Lieutenant Keith McLaughlin, SBFD arson investigator." He smiled, and removed his helmet, revealing chiselled features under a dark mop of thick black hair.

Typical, Lassiter thought bitterly. This is probably the sort of guy who posed in those ridiculous calendars.

Lassiter gestured toward the building. "What can you tell me?"

"We got the call around 4:30 p.m. The building was engulfed when we got here. The victim is female, found at the rear of the structure."

"And it looks like arson?" Lassiter thought Lieutenant Mclaughlin seemed to be smiling a lot for someone who'd just walked out of a burning building containing a dead woman.

"Oh it's definitely arson. There's evidence of accelerant and multiple points of origin. It's pretty sloppy, actually."

"Any leads on the vic's ID?"

"Not yet. The building was derelict. Used to be a clothing store. Our victim was found on a mattress. She's likely homeless. Any more will have to wait for the coroner. We're still putting out hot spots in there, but once it's cold I'll go through for evidence."

"Well if you find anything in the debris that might give us a lead on identity or a suspect let me know."

Keith opened his coat, reached into a shirt pocket and pulled out a small card and a pen. He rested his boot on the back of the firetruck and quickly jotted something down on the back of the card. "Here's my contact information. My home number's on the back. Call me anytime." He passed the card to Lassiter.

"Why would I need to call you at home?" The words were out of Lassiter's mouth before the reason occurred to him. He looked up and the two of them locked eyes for a second before Keith looked down at his boots and smiled.

Lassiter paused, and felt a flush of heat pass over his face. Sweet liberty, he thought, This guy is flirting with me.

"Uh, thanks." He kept his eyes glued to the card, lest Lieutenant Mclaughlin think his interest was returned. The incident with Spencer had been an anomaly, not the start of a new direction for his personal life. Not that Mclaughlin was unattractive. Despite his sweaty hair and his grimy exterior, he had nice features. It was difficult to judge a man's build in the shapeless fire gear they wore, but he seemed fit. Not that it made a difference, he assured himself. Mclaughlin was just a fellow public servant who would help him solve his homicide case. He'd never had that sexual obsession with firefighters that some people seemed to. Although he had found Steve McQueen attractive in The Towering Inferno.

Feeling slightly dazed, Lassiter walked toward his car. He paused and glanced back at Lieutenant Mclaughlin, who was still standing there, watching him leave. Lassiter noticed a blonde in a black trenchcoat glaring at them with a sour look on her face.

Well this is just perfect, Lassiter griped. One blowjob and suddenly I'm setting off gaydar all over town and getting dirty looks from the citizenry.

Shawn and Gus were dressed head-to-toe in green camouflage, goggles, helmets and protective padding. They each held a paintball gun in their hands that vaguely resembled an M-16. Yellow armbands wrapped their biceps, declaring their allegiance to Team Wolverine.

"I'm surprised you didn't invite Lassiter to this," Gus said. "I'd have thought he'd be all over this sort of thing."

"No, It's just you and me, buddy," Shawn said, slapping Gus on the back. "We're like Childs and MacReady at the end of The Thing. Only without the paranoia and impending death." The truth was, Lassiter hadn't been 'all over' much of anything since their encounter at the Psych office. In fact, he seemed more distant that ever. To Shawn, who was used to setting the pace of his relationships, the disinterest was alarming.

The two men crept out into the woods, crouched low, keeping a wary eye out for the red armbands of Team Viper. They took cover in a bunker of decaying moss-covered wood. Shawn peered through the cut out window at the dense foliage of the forest, alert for any suspicious movement.

Gus looked anxiously over Shawn's shoulder. Being caught in a bunker by the opposing team and overshot into humiliated pain-covered misery was his third greatest paintball-related fear, after being accidentally blinded, and developing deep vein thrombosis as a result of a hard hit from a pellet.

"So are you going to see Lassiter again?" Gus felt that keeping abreast of Shawn's relationship—and he used the term very loosely—was the only way to know if he needed to suddenly move to another city, search for a new job, and perhaps live under an assumed name, like Xavier Quinn.

"Of course we'll see each other again," Shawn said, his words doing nothing to hide his uncertainty. "Just not right now. Today is about you and me, bonding as men. And making people taste my pain." Shawn led the way out of the bunker and along the crest of a gulley, with Gus following close behind.

"I take it from your tone that things aren't working out?" Gus asked. As much as he didn't want to hear the gritty details, it was clear that Shawn was hurting. And talking it out was what best friends did.

Shawn sighed. "No, it's not." He took a few shots at a tree whose limbs had swayed unexpectedly and frightened a squirrel up into the higher branches where it trilled a loud chastisement at him. "And could you please try to sound surprised? Just a little?"

"Let's see," Gus said, "things not working out between you and Lassiter? I'd put that at a two on the surprise-o-meter, somewhere between Ricky Martin's coming out announcement and discovering that Nicole Richie's novel sucked."

"Well I was surprised, so I guess that makes me an idiot." Shawn had expected that once Lassiter had crossed the line into actually doing something sexual that a romantic relationship would naturally ensue. It was how things had worked with some of the women he'd dated. Of course, now that he thought about it, none of those relationships had lasted either.

They stalked further into the game zone, and Gus's keen eye spotted a red-banded Viper trying to climb to a sniper platform erected between some pines. Noiselessly, Gus pointed him out to Shawn who took aim, hitting him twice in the torso. They bumped fists and moved on, certain they were now entering Viper territory.

"So, what's the problem, exactly?" Gus asked, as they shuffled along with their backs to a steep rock face. He hoped the answer didn't include images that would haunt him.

"He didn't call." Shawn's voice carried more hurt and disappointment than Gus was used to hearing when he discussed his love life. It suddenly occurred to him that Shawn might actually like Lassiter.

"Did you call him?" Gus asked, hoping that Shawn wasn't filling Lassiter's voicemail with increasingly desperate messages.

"Of course not. I don't want to sound needy and clingy." Shawn snapped his head around a corner in the rock face then led a quick dash across a grassy field. "The whole situation kind of weirds me out," he said once they'd taken cover behind a stand of evergreens.

"You mean like the fact that he a dude?" Gus asked. "That would weird me out."

"No. That's not it. I'm good with that. I think." Shawn paused, remembering their evening at the Psych office. Having his bisexuality become more than theoretical hadn't been entirely easy. He'd remained at the office for three hours after Lassiter left, sprawled on the loveseat in the dark and thinking. Though not without its awkwardness, the sex had been intense. And his interest in the detective hadn't waned. He still harboured fantasies, some of which, like his desire to make his lunch or watch episodes of Kojack together, were of a romantic rather than sexual nature.

"It's the dynamics that are messing with my head. It's like that classic Disney love story of the Fox and the Hound. Fox chases hound. But he's not chasing." Shawn shook his head. "I don't get it. I'm his friend, I'm fun, and I'm fine."

"First off," Gus said, "don't ever quote the Pussycat Dolls at me again."

"Okay," Shawn agreed. "Point taken."

"Second, The Fox and The Hound wasn't a love story. You must be thinking of Lady and the Tramp. Possibly the Aristocats. Definitely not Fox and the Hound."

"Was Lady and The Tramp the one with dogs eating spaghetti?"

"Yes."

"Ah…yes, then you're right. Still, there must be some male couples in the Disneyverse. What about Bambi and Thumper? Or Captain Hook and Smee?"

"Bambi and Thumper were just good friends." Gus paused. "But I'll give you Hook and Smee."

"Thanks buddy."

"Thirdly," Gus continued, "you're not Lassiter's friend. You jumped right from enemies into casual sex, and then back to enemies again."

"We're not enemies," Shawn laughed. "We're colleagues, teammates, Pal-O-Mines. Sure I tease him and he insults me, but that's our way. At worst we're… frenemies."

Seeing movement ahead they moved up behind a fallen tree whose bare roots stretched out eerily into the air. Shawn lay flat, but Gus crouched, concerned that the decaying leaves could contain dangerous spiders, insects or toxic mold.

"But enough about me," Shawn said. "What's up with you and Jules?"

"Hard to say," Gus admitted. "I've laid the groundwork, and we've gone to some events together." He peered through the dead root system trying to spot the Vipers he knew were out there. "I'm not sure if she likes me as more than a friend, and I'd hate to make an assumption and spoil our working relationship." He looked at Shawn and although the helmet obscured his face, Shawn could feel the glare in his words. "Some of us actually think about that sort of thing."

"Oh, please!" Shawn scoffed. "Of course Jules likes you as more than a friend. You're hotter than The Old Spice Guy." He paused, "Although he does have a horse, and right now you kinda resemble Boba Fett."

"Don't be hating on the Fett." Gus held up two fingers and then pointed forward, to where two players with red armbands were encamped behind a low wooden bunker. Shawn nodded his understanding.

"What I'd really like is if Jules and Lassiter would just—" Shawn stood up to peer over the tree and immediately took two shots to the sternum, red paint spreading out across his chest like the Nickelodeon logo.

"Great! I'm dead!" Shawn threw up his hands in frustration. "I suck at this sport. There goes my dream of being a professional paintballer." He pointed a finger at Gus. "This is your fault."

"How is your getting killed my fault?' Gus asked, peering around the log and returning fire to the hedgerow that housed Shawn's assailants. "I gave you the signal. Two Vipers, dead ahead."

Shawn mimicked Gus' hand signal. "I thought that was the signal that the two of us should go forward," Shawn hissed through his helmet." Plus, you distracted me with all this relationship angst." Shawn sat and slammed a gloved fist into the dirt in frustration.

"I think it was your blatant disregard for cover that got you killed." Gus's frown wasn't visible, but his tone communicated it clearly enough. "I can't believe you got killed so quickly. What happened to our plan of re-enacting the end scene from Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid? Now I have to finish this game all by myself. And I was going to let you be Redford."

"Aw, buddy," Shawn said. "I wouldn't make you finish the game alone."

"You can't keep playing, Shawn. Those are the rules. Wiping is cheating."

"I'm not going to wipe," Shawn said. He raised his gun and shot Gus twice in the chest.

"Ow!" Gus howled. He punched Shawn hard on the shoulder. "You can't shoot your own men, Shawn."

"Sure I can. It's friendly fire."

"And you've disregarded the minimum shooting range. " He rubbed his chest. "If I have a stroke because of you I'm suing you for medical expenses and rehab."

"Fair enough." Shawn slapped Gus on the back. "Let's go to the clubhouse."

"Technically," Gus said, "we're supposed to hang out in the dead zone and wait for the next game to begin."

"Nah," Shawn said. "I've lost my lust for paint. Besides, hanging out in the dead zone sounds like a euphemism for something sexual involving Martin Sheen and Christopher Walken." He stood and began to retrace his steps and Gus followed behind.

"You know," Gus said finally, "I think there's a lesson to be learned here."

"Is it don't stand up?" Shawn asked.

"No," Gus responded. "Well, yes, that too. But I was thinking the lesson is that any one of us could take a pellet to the chest in the big paintball game of life. I need to make my move before my chance slips away. Carpe Diem."

"Carpy deem. Sounds good. Especially if that carp is battered and fried. You're buying."

"It means 'seize the day.' I need to tell Juliet how I feel. I suggest you follow my example."

"The direct approach might work for you, buddy, but I think I need something more subtle. A method that has gotten people together throughout the centuries."

"Having your parents arrange your marriage?"

"No. I'm going to make Lassie jealous." Gus could hear the smile in his friend's voice.

"Fine," Gus said, "but we'll see who ends up with their detective and who ends up with a heavily armed frenemy."