head_psychic

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Because kissing under the mistletoe is an ancient and festive tradition... and it's important to share love at this time of year.

Two ways to play:

Request kisses.
If there's someone you'd like a kiss from, repost the picture above in a comment. Please be considerate--tag the muse's in-character contact post, or an old meme post, something like that. Don't tag a prompt response, a fic, or an RP thread. You may also post the picture to your journal, and mark the entry locked to whomever you want the kiss from.

Offer kisses.
If you're feeling particularly bold or adventurous, post the picture in your journal, note that it's open to all, and let people ask for kisses from you. Give them at least a sentence or two in response, though--none of this "*kiss*" nonsense, that's no fun.

Nice, season-ish meta kisses? Come on! (If only for the sake of shutting Shawn up, because he's been humming "Deck the halls" in my head all. Day. Long.)

Current Mood: flirty

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

det-lassiter.livejournal.com

Turnabout is fair! Now it's Shawn's turn to lay one on Lassy! *g*

From:

head-psychic.livejournal.com

"No."

"But-"

"I'm not doing it."

Shawn pointed above his head, his whole face turning into one big pout. "But!"

"Spencer..." Lassiter growled, annoyance creeping into his voice. "This is a crime scene."

"It's tradition! You're breaking tradition, Lassy-face! Can you hear it snap like dry wood? Crrrrrcckkchhhh..." Shawn put his hands together and started to wring thin air. "Crrrrrchkchhchhchh, oh my God, you are squeezing the life out of it! It is bleeding rosiny tears! It... sticks!"

Lassiter roughly grabbed the flailing hands and pushed them down. "Will you cut that crap! I know exactly what you're trying to do." The detective leaned in close, squinting at Shawn before he realized that this invasion of personal space wasn't exactly against the psychic's plans. He straightened up again. "And it's not going to work."

"You are such a coward. What's the dealio, Lassy? 'tis the season!"

"Spencer..."

"What, you didn't brush your teeth this morning? Got herpes? Halitosis?"

"You're not getting to me with your- whoa!" Lassiter stumbled backwards when suddenly he had an armful of Spencer to handle.

"He's here! He's here! He wants to tell me how he died, I can see it, but he is so angry! Look how he decorated this house! He is so into the christmas spirit and you squish and squash it and play the Grinchball's final on his soul's behalf! Quick, Lassy, we have to kiss to make up for it!"

"What the- let go of- I'm not kissing you!" All of a sudden the panic kicked in. What if one of the forensic guys walked in, or O'Hara, wanting to inspect the same room right now?

"Shh!" Shawn placed a finger on his mouth and the face of the younger man was much too close for his liking. "Trust the christmas spirit, Lassy."

Lassiter cursed and grabbed Spencer's shoulders in order to push him away but at the same time Shawn leaned forward and brought his mouth close to the detective's, quickly enclosing around his lower lip and brushing over it when he pulled away, practically stealing it right off. Swift, short, more a hint than a real kiss if it hadn't been for the slight tug and warm sensation in the unheated room.

Lassiter stood, dumbfounded, staring at the younger man.

Shawn smirked at him, triumphantly, impertinently, though his cheeks might have flushed briefly. "Check the wallpaper. The woodchips are filled with evil," he informed him, before hurrying outside.