A/N: Well, this is the last chapter for The Diary of Jane, thanks for all the support, reads and reviews! I just gotta ask the question: should I post another Shassie story? Reviews are welcome!!!!

characters (c) USA

As two of McGraw’s former bodyguards took him away (Gus had informed them of Barry’s murder) along with SBPD patrol, Lassiter refocused his priorities and turned to Shawn. “Didn’t get any brake fluid in you?” “Nope, you stopped him just in time, Lassie-face.” The fake psychic remarked, still thinking about McGraw’s revelation. “You heard the part about there being more victims?” Carlton nodded and replied, “It might take a while but he’ll be charged with every single disappearance, provided that Ms. Jane aids in the investigation.”

Seizing the few seconds of privacy, the detective pulled Shawn and kissed him momentarily. “Like I said before, if you want to date a serial killer, do it on someone else’s shift.” He murmured before leaving the cabin. “I didn’t know that you were a serial killer, Lassie! You’re like Dexter, only you have a license to kill!” Shawn added mirthfully, further aggravating Lassiter’s mood.

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“Well, this is it. I still can’t believe that Craig did all that.” Jane sighed; she hated good-byes. Both Shawn and Gus were with her until John picked her up from the police station. “Well, now you have a chance to get a new manager. I nominate myself to that position.” Shawn replied, trying to smooth-talk his way into Jane’s pants…again. “Nah, you were a pretty awesome psychic.” The pop star giggled. “What about me? I’m much more responsible than Shawn.” Gus butted in playfully. “You’re good at…what you do.”

“Cold,” Shawn mocked, noting how utterly destroyed the sales rep became when Jane couldn’t remember him. A car horn signaled the threesome that it was time to part ways. The pop star placed a kiss on both Shawn’s and Gus’s face before taking off. “Stop by Santa Barbara anytime soon!” Gus bid farewell as the car disappeared into the streets.

“If I were you, Shawn, I’d wipe that kiss off your face before Lassie throws a jealousy fit.” The pharm rep smirked; payback was going to be a bitch. “I don’t think so; Lassie’s not the jealous type.” Shawn retorted. “He will be once he gets a good look at your track records.” Gus warned, causing his friend to tense up. “You wouldn’t.” “Then you’d prefer your dad knowing about…” The mere mention of Henry taking over made Shawn squirm as he argued, “Gus, come on, don’t be such a spoil-sport! You just can’t admit that Jane liked me better!”

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That night, Shawn sat down on a bar and ordered his first drink for the night. “Must you always start this early?” Lassiter’s voice reprimanded as his hand once again covered the fake psychic’s drink. “Must you always be this much of a buzz kill?” The two then moved to a more secluded table of the joint where Shawn was impatient to ask a very important question. “So…you, uh, (crap, mouth, don’t fail me now) want to go through with this?” “We’re adults; well, at least one of us is.” Lassiter spat back, annoyed at how childish Spencer could be on these sorts of matters.

“Then I’m putting down some ground rules here.” Shawn stated. Carlton looked at him rather interested and allowed him to speak. “First, don’t get possessive, real turn-off. Second, no interrupting me during psychic sessions or Xbox time; if you break this one, I give you no nookie.” The second rule made Lassiter face-palm himself but nonetheless continued listening. “Third, would it kill you to call me Shawn?” “I think it would.” Lassiter snapped back, ready put in some suggestions of his own. “And the fourth rule?” Shawn gave the man a coy smile and said, “I’ll think about it once we actually get wasted out of our minds and give each other the best night we’ve ever had.” Lassiter then raised his bottle and said, “I’ll drink to that.” The fake psychic raised his and toasted, “To whatever this is.”

[A/N: I will admit right here…I’m not very good at smut XD]

Three hours later, neither was sober enough to drive so Lassiter called in a taxi. Shawn was hands-y to say the least, putting his hands around Lassie and in his pants so the ride was a particularly embarrassing one. Once they were at Psych, the pseudo-psychic wrestled with finding the right key for a few seconds before the straight-faced detective picked out the right one.

“This place is a downright dump, Spencer.” Lassiter slurred as he closed the door. “We (urp!) work better that way; lets the dearly departed run free.” Shawn replied before wrapping his arms around the detective’s neck. The sheer proximity flustered them both as they went in for a searing lip-lock. The fake psychic could feel through the detective’s work shirt and heard a heartbeat that could clock in at nearly 75 miles per hour. Ha! Mine’s going faster that his. He made quick work of the tie, suit and jacket, leaving Lassie with an unbuttoned dress shirt.

Lassiter rested on top of Shawn for a moment, catching his breath. Unlike Shawn (who probably went straight to sex), Lassiter enjoyed a bit of foreplay as he slipped his hand underneath the other’s shirt and slowly lifted the garment off. The simple act of touch by those roughened hands sent Shawn into a blinding tizzy of internal reactions, even more so with bare skin. “Dear God, why the hell did your wife dump you?” he asked with a husky voice, barely able to articulate complete sentences.

“Don’t talk.” Lassiter scolded before he grabbed Shawn’s leg and dipped his head onto the younger man’s abdomen. He savored the area for a second, arousing a loud groan from the now submissive Shawn. The fake psychic knew exactly was Lassie was doing; giving him a preview of what’s to come if he behaved himself. If that were the case, Shawn hoped Lassiter liked grown-up-choir-boys.