SLASH FIC: [PSYCH] EXHIBIT A (2/2) (R)
Title: Exhibit A
Author: Soraya
Rating: R
Genre: Slash, First Time, AU (post season 1)
Pairing: Lassiter/Spencer
Disclaimer: Not mine, USA Network own Psych etc.
Warnings: Contains descriptions of male/male sexual activity
Summary: All the evidence points in one direction
Part Two
Continued from Part One
Unfortunately, things didn't work out that way.
In Goleta, Spencer pushed him out of the way of an oncoming truck, and Carlton experienced a moment of sheer blind terror. The truck sped by; he reached behind himself in a desperate attempt to pull Spencer to safety, only his hands encountered nothing but air. In that moment, when he'd been convinced Spencer hadn't made it, all he'd been able to do was stand there gasping and scrubbing the wetness from his face with hands that refused to stop shaking. Now that everyone was safely accounted for, Carlton didn't know what to do.
Spencer was already waving Guster away, saying, "I'm fine! Jesus, Gus, let me go!" And O'Hara seemed to be winding down as well. But, for him, it was all too fresh. Too much had happened in the past few weeks: the divorce, Henry's matchmaking, the revelation of Spencer's feelings for him, and now this-Spencer risking life and limb to save him!
He realized that the situation with Spencer was far more serious than he'd originally thought. People with crushes didn't do things like that. They didn't throw themselves into oncoming traffic for a fleeting emotional attachment! No, Carlton suspected, it all added up to an even more shocking conclusion: that Shawn Spencer was in love with him.
Truthfully, he wasn't sure how he felt about that. He embraced the immediate rush of denial that it should be Spencer, of all people! But, there was a small, tiny part of him that, let's face it, was flattered, and an even smaller part of him that was relieved. He wasn't getting any younger. He knew he was difficult at the best of times, and he'd been nothing but hard on Spencer. Victoria had ended things between them saying he was impossible to be with. So, it was nice knowing that he could still attract some romantic interest, even if nothing could ever come of it.
However gratifying it was to be the object of Spencer's affections, he wasn't about to let that affect his judgement, and he certainly wasn't going to soften his stance where psychics were concerned.
***
Several days on, however, Carlton came to the conclusion that he was losing his mind.
It was the only logical explanation he could find for why he was agreeing to socialize with Spencer outside the confines of the precinct. Oh, he still snarled and was generally surly when asked. But, that was more to keep his reputation in tact, and to convince anyone who might have been listening that he was only doing it under some form of duress.
He wasn't expecting much difference from the other nights at other bars where he typically drank alone. So, he situated himself at the bar, where he sipped his scotch slowly and watched the people around him, taking in the interplay between Spencer and Guster and the other guys from the precinct, who had chosen to join them. He couldn't help noticing that Spencer gravitated toward him. He also noticed how, if he was quiet for more than a few minutes, Spencer would contrive some way to draw him back into the conversation. A question, an inappropriate touch, any excuse to keep him connected!
He kept waiting to be annoyed by it, but that never happened. If anything, he felt a little warm inside that Spencer cared enough to hover over him.
By the end of the evening, he'd actually had a good time. He was loath to admit that, even to himself. So, he just kept quiet about it. He refused to commit to joining the group on another night out, but from the way Spencer kept grinning at him he had a horrible feeling that battle was already lost.
***
On the Peters case, Spencer got shot, and Carlton had another one of those revelations, which threw all his previous conceptions right out of the window.
It was barely more than a graze. Spencer lay there in his hospital bed afterward, trying to milk it for all the attention it was worth. Naturally, O'Hara was quietly supportive; Henry was quietly dismayed; he . . ..
Well, he was not so quietly freaking out! He did a lot of threatening and yelling-at Spencer for being so reckless, at the doctors for being too slow, at Guster for no reason at all. When that failed to calm him down, he threw some posturing in there as well.
None of it made him feel any better.
Two hours on, he still hadn't been able to quell the fear he'd felt when that gun had gone off. The thought that Spencer, irritating, reckless Spencer, could be ripped out of the world, out of his world and out of his life . . ..
The fear came rushing back, making his heart pound even faster.
He sat down in the hallway outside Spencer's room and considered the ramifications.
As hard as it was to fathom, evidently Spencer's feelings weren't entirely unrequited. He struggled to admit that, even to himself. It was only the thought of life without Shawn Spencer, which finally hammered it home. Somehow, that seemed even harder to stomach than the idea that he might be in love with the man, or that he'd been using antagonism to mask his attraction to him.
He spent a long time in that hallway coming to terms with that particular revelation.
***
Admitting he was in love didn't make things easier. If anything, awareness of his feelings brought with it some unfortunate side effects.
He started behaving differently.
Unfamiliar with the rules of man-love, he wasn't entirely sure how to treat Spencer. In his uncertainty, he kept giving himself away. He started wearing cologne. He was more understanding, almost patient, so much so that even Guster was beginning to eye him with suspicion. But it wasn't until the Captain pulled him aside to commend him on the new improved Carlton Lassiter that he realized how much he'd slipped up.
He left Vick's office that afternoon feeling anxious and determined to clamp down on his errant behaviour. No sooner had he reached his desk than the cause of this insanity popped up like a badly dressed penny.
"Lassie, think fast!" Spencer then threw something at him.
Which, instinctively, he dodged, saying, "You do realize that some of us do actual police work around here." He frowned at Spencer, wishing the man would at least have the decency to wear a suit to work instead of that ridiculous ensemble. Then, he calmly walked away.
A few steps down, he realized his mistake. It had been the perfect opportunity to shout, but he'd missed it. Again. Now, people were staring at him. Worse, Spencer was one of them.
"Okay, what was that?"
"What?" he hedged, defensive.
"That!" Spencer gestured at his face, which was presumably making all sorts of guilty expressions. "Seriously, Lassie, you're starting to freak me out."
And there it was again: the concern for him under all the drama. His heart responded with a disgusting little flutter, which left his stomach quivering and his cheeks warm.
"I mean, you've been weird for weeks now," persisted Spencer. "Well, weird for you, anyway. But it's almost as though something strange happened in Lassie-land, and the rest of us didn't get the memo."
For the life of him, Carlton didn't know how to answer that one. So, he just kept quiet, hoping Spencer would mistake his silence for his usual brand of irritation. He threw in a glower, just to make it authentic.
"Oh, I see: you're in love!"
"What? How did you-" he cut himself off before he gave the game away completely.
As usual, Spencer was too fast for him. "Who is it? Anyone I know?" Spencer then proceeded to sing, "Lassie's in love, Lassie's in love," in a horribly off-key voice.
Carlton wasn't sure whether he wanted to kiss him or kill him. He thought the flirting was nice, though. Despite being a little juvenile for his tastes, some small part of him was actually enjoying the repartee. So, he decided to try flirting back a little, saying,
"What's the matter, Spencer? Afraid you're not my favourite any more?"
Spencer looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "Oh, please! I'm everyone’s favourite. That's why we're having dinner tonight."
"I'm busy!" Carlton shot back. He wasn't, he just didn't want to seem too easy.
Spencer parried with: "Monday, then," and simply walked off without giving him the chance to protest.
Carlton stared after him for a long time, shaking his head. Somehow, despite his best intentions, he'd wound up dating Spencer after all.
***
The day of their date came with little psychic fanfare.
Carlton kept it casual: first, a romantic stroll down the pier; then, dinner at the Mandarin Palace, followed by a night-cap at his place.
After several rounds of mu-shu pork and with Spencer slumped next to him on his couch, he felt at ease for the first time in weeks. The lights were down low, Johnny Mathis was crooning softly in the background, and no one was throwing anything at anyone. All in all, for a first date, things were going well.
Then, Spencer started talking.
"You know what's weird?" Spencer didn't wait for him to answer. "I never thought we would get to this point: just the two of us hanging out. No cases, no dead bodies, no 'one of us accidentally bumping into the other at a random civil war re-enactment'. Although, come to think of it, I was expecting more of a Wild West theme tonight . . .."
Because that had been one of his original ideas for the evening, Carlton decided not to comment.
"Hey, remember back when we first met?"
"Yeah?" He looked at Spencer sideways.
"You were a real jerk."
Carlton took a moment to digest that. "Okay," he conceded. Then, in the spirit of total disclosure, he added, "But, so were you."
"Never as bad as you," Spencer pointed out-rather tactlessly, in his opinion, since they were supposed to be seducing each other. Still, he was willing to overlook that until Spencer muttered, "Anyway, I had a good reason."
"And I didn't?" he countered.
Evidently, Spencer wasn't interested; he was building up to something, and Carlton had a feeling he wasn't going to like it. He chose that moment to make his move, and-
"Whoa, Lassie! What the hell?"
"What?" Carlton drew back, confused.
"What do you mean what?" Spencer had already begun pointing back and forth between them. "What's with the whole, you know . . .." Then, Spencer threw in more hand gestures followed by some spectacular flailing.
At any other time, he would have been pleased to see Spencer so clearly lost for words, but this was just crushing. "I thought you had a thing for me."
"A thing? Who even says that any more?"
And, oh, that hurt! Carlton felt the barb pierce deep in his chest. "So, you don't have . . ." he swallowed hard; his heart broke a little more. "Because, after the shooting and what your father said, I thought . . .."
Spencer kept staring at him with an abject sort of terror, which was trying to mask itself as pity but was coming off as revulsion.
Reeling, Carlton stood up and made for the liquor cabinet. In the background, he could hear Spencer bleating something or other about Henry, but it was easy enough to ignore in favour of the roaring in his ears. Several inches of bourbon later, his hands were still shaking. He couldn't understand how he'd got this so spectacularly wrong. All the evidence was there, pointing him toward this! He'd even had Henry's blessing, or he thought he had. Unless, somehow, he'd misread that as well?
"I think you should leave." The words choked their way out of his throat, not entirely of his own volition. But, as far as he was concerned, it was the first sensible thing he'd said all night.
Spencer responded with a choked up sound of his own; and it took all his strength to turn and face him-and the humiliation-head on.
"Leave," Carlton told him, deliberate this time.
For a while, it looked like Spencer was going to argue. Then, Spencer finally got up and walked out the door, leaving him alone to salvage what he could of his pride.
***
On his way into work the following day, Carlton rehearsed his plan one last time. He was going to behave normally, and he was going to be rational. He was not, under any circumstances, going to look at Spencer, talk to Spencer or even acknowledge that Spencer existed. Last night never happened as far as he was concerned, and there was no reason why they couldn't get back to their usual adversarial relationship with everything at status quo.
The plan worked until he reached his desk, where Spencer was perched waiting for him.
After he'd finished telling Spencer to: "Get the hell off my desk," he told himself it was the shirt. A riotous colour combination of pink and yellow that was a total eyesore, and which no self-respecting conservative could have let pass without comment. It was the only explanation he would allow for why he'd found it impossible to keep his cool.
Going through his case files, he did his best to carry on like this was just a day like any other. It wasn't easy, because the awkwardness he felt around Spencer was unbearable. Just seeing that carefree grin made him cringe inside, and his mind couldn't stop replaying the moment where Spencer had crushed any hope of them having a relationship. He felt like a fool. Worse, he knew he only had himself to blame. Guys like him and Spencer didn't mix; he should have known better than to think there could be anything between them.
Around lunchtime, O'Hara brought over a bagel, which she placed on his desk in front of him. It was a sad little thing with crumbled edges that practically screamed: 'Sorry your date with the man you thought was in love with you ended badly!'
He scowled at it, then scowled at O'Hara, then ate it in two large bites as if to say: 'Move along; nothing to see here; no Head Detectives were hurt last night in the quest for love!'
"I don't even want to know what you meant by that!" O'Hara shrank back.
But Carlton was barely paying attention to her any more. He was more interested in feeling sorry for himself, even though he could tell that people were watching him, trying to figure out what had happened the night before. This was why he didn't like dating people from work: you couldn't get away from it when things turned sour.
He realized that he was going to have to take surly and mean to new levels if he was going to discourage any other overtures. Wallowing on a personal level was one thing; he really didn't want anyone else's pity. Having people hate him for being a petty asshole was preferable to that.
***
At the end of the week, it wasn't clear whether his new plan had backfired or not.
He stood by his desk eyeing the folder marked 'Urgent: For Detective Lassiter', a folder which had appeared at some point during his trip to the coffee machine. In his experience, nothing good ever came covered with that much glitter. Sure enough, as he leafed through its contents, he was horrified to find several of those women's magazines, which his ex had tended to read whenever she'd found him particularly exasperating.
"Okay, who left this on my desk?" he roared, turning round and waving the folder in the air.
No one replied. One glance around the bullpen, and people scattered like ants.
Under different circumstances, he would have been thrilled at the power of his glare. However, these cowards weren't telling him anything he needed to know, and O'Hara didn't seem any more inclined to help than they were.
Frustrated, he sat back down and went through the pile, looking for clues. There were articles on relationships, advice on how to keep a man, and one very interesting piece on displacement therapy, which looked like it might hold some weight. Unfortunately, none of it gave any indication of who had left the magazines for him in the first place.
He wasn't a complete idiot. He knew people were trying to tell him something: that ever since his failed date with Spencer he'd been moping and making life miserable for everyone, and that he really needed to find a way to move on. But, that wasn't the point. The point was he was struggling with a crisis of confidence.
He just didn't get how he'd managed to misread so many clues in both his professional and personal lives. Each time he thought about it, the parallels made him wince: how he always seemed to be one step behind until the big reveal, which he could never see coming despite the evidence laid out in front of him.
It felt like failure, and too much of it revolved around Spencer. All the more reason, he told himself, to put this nonsense behind him once and for all.
***
Spending the evening at the gun range did wonders for his equilibrium, and after much soul searching, Carlton decided that it was time to get back out there.
Now that he was apparently open to other options, maybe he would find some anti-Spencer, who would interest him enough to take his mind off the real thing. Someone with a steady job, someone with principles and dignity. Someone, who wasn't a flighty, irresponsible con man. Surely there had to be people like that out there?
He snapped off his holster, re-loaded and then emptied the clip dead centre.
Yes, he definitely needed to get back into the dating scene. But, slowly and carefully. After several years of marriage, he was rusty; he could admit that. Although, obviously, he wasn't all that great at male seduction, if Spencer's terrified 'Whoa! What the hell?' reaction was anything to go by.
Another target rapidly disintegrated under a hail of bullets.
He paused for a moment, imagining his hands gliding over firm hard planes as opposed to soft smooth curves. The idea was surprisingly appealing. As much as he liked women, the fairer sex had always baffled him. He'd always been more of a man's man. There were bound to be other men, who wanted the same things he did. Men, who were looking for a partner. Men, who were like him.
His gun went into his holster, and then his earmuffs came off.
Yes, getting out there was exactly what he was going to do. He had a few ideas about whom to ask out; and aside from some qualms about dating in his forties, he couldn't deny that he was keen to get this show on the road.
***
His first date was a disaster.
The guy-and he used that term loosely-had no appreciation for the art of police work, and seemed to think that golf should be played on a miniature course laid out like Tolkien’s Middle Earth.
Carlton tried not to let that deter him, but half an hour putting in Mirkwood was enough to make anyone resentful. To make matters worse, he was convinced they were being followed.
The perpetrators weren't exactly masters of stealth. Each time he and his date, Brad, moved to a different hole, the shrubbery nearby rustled. Voices came from behind the bushes-loud, whispering snatches of conversation interspersed with what sounded like someone smacking another person. After one particularly loud bout of shushing, Carlton decided that he'd had enough.
Turning round, he pulled several branches aside and found-
"YOU TWO!" Outraged, he let go, sending the shrubbery hurtling back to hit Spencer in the face.
"Okay, ow! Ow! OW!" Spencer leapt out into the open, and literally began to make a song and dance out of his injury.
"Do you know these guys?" Brad asked after Guster, too, crept out from behind the bushes.
"No," Carlton replied.
"Yes," Spencer warbled at the same time.
Brad's scoff was anything but amused. "You know what? I'll just leave you guys to sort this out. Obviously, there's some history here, and I don't need any more drama in my life. I'm out of here."
Smarting, Carlton didn't even try to stop him; it was clear from Brad's attitude that this particular relationship was going nowhere. He watched the potential unravel with a control that was barely hanging by a thread. Then, once Brad was out of earshot, he turned his attention back to Spencer.
"This is a new low, even for you," he growled. "What are you doing here, and why the hell are you following me?"
"First of all," Spencer held up one finger, "I'll have you know that nothing is too low in the pursuit of fashionable pants! Really, Lassie, that's what you wore on your date with Bradley McDoofus back there?"
Carlton glanced down at his tartans, momentarily confused; this was the height of golfing fashion! Before he could defend his clothing choices, Spencer had another flailing episode.
"Wait a minute, was this a date?" Spencer paused mid-flail to stare at him incredulously. "You and that guy? Seriously?" He sounded shocked and amazed, as though it was inconceivable that an attractive guy like Brad might want to date him.
And, wow, that cut deep, but Carlton refused to let it show. "What's it to you?" he snarled, taking an aggressive step forward.
"Nothing," Spencer backed down at once. "I just didn't think he was your type, that's all."
"My type?" Carlton snorted derisively. "Let me guess: you think you know what that is?" He watched Spencer squirm at that, wondering what Spencer was playing at now. Had it been anyone else, he would have thought they were jealous, but he'd been wrong too many times before. Also, this was Spencer, who didn't play by any rules he could understand.
He had a feeling that it was some stupid prank, which he was better off not knowing about. So, rather than wait for an answer he wouldn't like, he decided to take a leaf out of Brad's book and leave the drama behind.
***
His second, third and fourth dates went a lot smoother, if he ignored the parts where Spencer always happened to make an appearance. Months ago, he would have read something into it. Now, he was just fed up.
At some point during his coffee meet with Tom, he decided that he was going to confront Spencer about his behaviour. Spencer was barely even trying hide any more. He could see him plain as day loitering three tables down, and the whole thing pissed him off more than he thought possible. He was halfway over there to yell at him when, seemingly out of nowhere, one of the guys waiting at the counter pulled out a knife.
Carlton reacted without thinking. In less than a minute, he had the perpetrator subdued, handcuffed and mirandized, before he started dragging the man out of the store. Unfortunately, he wasn't expecting the idiot's accomplice to try to mount a rescue right there.
An elbow slammed into his side; someone built like a linebacker collided into his shoulder. Carlton lost his footing, slipped and crashed head first onto the ground.
He woke up some time later to a splitting headache and Spencer clutching his hand.
Spencer's eyes were bright with emotion, and Carlton had the smug sense of righteous feeling that, oh, he hadn't been wrong at all. Right before he blacked out again.
***
The doctors kept him overnight for observation. In the morning, once they discharged him, he went back home where he settled in to play a waiting game. He'd gone on hundreds of stakeouts before, so this wasn't altogether different; it was just a matter of having the patience to reel in his catch.
Late in the evening, when Spencer showed up on his doorstep, Carlton knew that this was it. Not only had his patience paid off, finally he had the upper hand in this relationship.
He let Spencer in.
He then let Spencer ramble on and on, grateful that he didn't have to do any of the talking. Although, by the end of a particularly long discourse on concussion, Spencer still hadn't said anything worth hearing as far as their relationship was concerned, and Carlton was losing patience.
"That's it?" he scoffed. "You came all the way over here to tell me that I need to take better care of myself?" He wasn't about to make the first move this time. Considering how things had gone the last time they'd been in his apartment, he wanted Spencer to be the one to put himself out there.
Spencer promptly surprised him by doing just that in a spectacular stream of ranting. "You were supposed to be unattainable!" Spencer said, accusing. "You were supposed to be out of reach, like some sort of giant detective brass ring-hell, I don't know! Then, all of a sudden, there you were hitting on me, and I guess I didn't handle it as well as I could have."
Before he could even raise an eyebrow, Spencer added: "Okay, fine, so I freaked out," sounding quite agitated all of a sudden. "But, after that, I freaked out more when you started dating other guys. Which has got to stop, by the way, because I will not share you! Then, you almost get yourself killed in a fucking coffee shop of all places. Seriously, who does that, Lassie? What kind of Head Detective nearly gets himself killed because of a latte with-"
Carlton wrapped both arms around Spencer, bringing the tirade to an abrupt halt. He could feel Spencer trembling against him, and it made his heart ache seeing how distraught Spencer was. Upsetting him had never been his intention; he just needed the certainty that this was real, and that he hadn't misread the signs yet again. "Hey, it's okay," he whispered as the trembling went on. "Spencer, I'm fine. Everything's fine, I promise!" He stroked his hands up and down Spencer's back, trying to soothe him; and it was the easiest thing in the world to brush his lips against Spencer's forehead when Spencer finally stopped shaking.
He let Spencer bear him back then, accepting that Spencer needed some measure of control.
He didn't even complain when Spencer shoved him up against the wall. No, he didn't get the chance, because the impact pushed the air out of his lungs and forced his mouth open-opening him up, as it turned out, for Spencer's tongue. It stroked his lower lip gently, coaxing him to open wider. Once he did, Spencer pressed in and took his mouth with the kind of urgency that made him ache to give Spencer whatever he wanted. He heard himself moan as Spencer's tongue thrust slick, hot and rough against his; and he wasn't at all prepared for the heat of it, or for the wave of pleasure that crashed over him.
He grabbed Spencer's shoulders as his knees went weak. And all he could do was hold on while Spencer held him up against the wall and kissed him, tangling their tongues together again and again until, eventually, he had to tear his mouth away.
He let his head fall back, for a moment, and took several deep breaths, trying to regain some control. Only, Spencer kept working against him, mouthing gently down the line of his throat.
"Spencer," Carlton whimpered; he couldn't help it, not after Spencer started sucking on the skin over his pulse. He wanted Spencer to mark him there-so badly he was the one, who was trembling now. He didn't even notice his shirt had been unbuttoned until Spencer slowly drew back to stare at him with an expression of pure lust.
"Damn, would you get a load of that," Spencer growled, making him flush bright red.
No matter how often he'd thought about the two of them together, he'd never imagined Spencer would actually lick his lips at the sight of him. Flustered, he puffed his chest out a little, shivering at feel of Spencer's fingers sliding into his chest hair. Then, Spencer leant down and pressed his face into it, breathing very hard.
"You like that, huh?" Carlton whispered, heart racing.
"God, yeah," Spencer told him breathlessly. "I can't believe you've been hiding this from me all this time."
He felt Spencer press a kiss to his sternum, and a part of him wanted to protest that he hadn't been hiding anything at all. But Spencer kept nuzzling and stroking the hair on his chest; and he was finding it hard enough to think before Spencer's thumbs grazed over his nipples, circling them very slowly.
"Jesus!" Carlton shuddered, arching into them and gasping as that sweet tingling wave of pleasure spread through his entire body.
"More?" Spencer looked up, sounding a little desperate himself now.
Carlton nodded, still gasping; he wasn't capable of much more than that, not with Spencer nuzzling him again, lips brushing the sensitive skin below his ear. He cupped a hand over Spencer's nape, guiding him back down; and they both groaned out loud when Spencer tugged lightly on his nipple, closing his teeth gently around it before sucking the sting away.
"God, that's good," Carlton told him, squirming with pleasure. "That's-oh, God!" And he didn't care any more if they were moving too fast; he just sagged back against the wall and let Spencer take what he wanted, trying not to lose it with every wet, slow rasp of Spencer's tongue.
In the end, he couldn't hold on any more. He started grinding up against Spencer's stomach, working his hips harder and harder until he was shuddering uncontrollably and grunting into Spencer's neck while the slick, slow spurts from his cock soaked through his boxers.
Spencer drew back while he was still struggling to catch his breath. "Did you just-"
"No," Carlton denied at once. He was a grown man; he refused to believe that he'd just come in his pants like a teenager, even though it was patently obvious that he had. The large wet spot at the front of his pants called him a liar, as did the scent of come in the air.
Closing his eyes, he hoped Spencer wouldn't be inclined to press the topic. That was why he didn't see it coming when he was dragged off to his bedroom by a Spencer very much intent on screwing the rest of his brains out.
***
The next day at the precinct, Carlton had some trouble sitting down, and Spencer literally could not sit still. He was bouncing around, practically broadcasting that SBPD's Head Detective had had sex with its lead psychic. He was also using every annoying nickname under the sun since, apparently, he knew he could get away with it now. Frankly, he was just plain irritating.
Carlton had no idea why he found it so charming.
Around midday, Spencer announced to everyone at large that he'd had enough for the day. For his ears only, Spencer added: "I'll see you later this evening." Then, Spencer leaned over and kissed him on the cheek in full view of everyone.
The world felt like it tilted to the side, for a moment.
Spencer, quite sensibly, ran.
Image and reputation demanded an immediate response. So, Carlton leapt out of his chair, yelling, "Spencer, you get back here right now!" When that didn't happen, he gave chase.
He caught up with Spencer by the interrogation rooms.
"Okay, Lassie, look-"
"In a minute," he snapped, dragging Spencer by the scruff of his neck into the room behind him. Inside, he steered Spencer onto a chair, leant over him and growled, "Never ever do that again, unless you plan on doing it properly."
"Properly?" Spencer smirked. "So, does that mean I can-?"
"No," Carlton vetoed that at once.
"Aw, come on, Carlton! Please?"
Exasperated, he scowled at the man he loved, who was also quite possibly the bane of his existence. "I thought I told you not to call me that!"
"You're kidding, right?"
"No."
"You still won't let me call you 'Carlton'? Even after last night?"
"Especially after last night!"
"I-what?"
Laughing at the look on Spencer's face, Carlton took the time to kiss him until he was truly lost for words.
The End.
Author: Soraya
Rating: R
Genre: Slash, First Time, AU (post season 1)
Pairing: Lassiter/Spencer
Disclaimer: Not mine, USA Network own Psych etc.
Warnings: Contains descriptions of male/male sexual activity
Summary: All the evidence points in one direction
Part Two
Continued from Part One
Unfortunately, things didn't work out that way.
In Goleta, Spencer pushed him out of the way of an oncoming truck, and Carlton experienced a moment of sheer blind terror. The truck sped by; he reached behind himself in a desperate attempt to pull Spencer to safety, only his hands encountered nothing but air. In that moment, when he'd been convinced Spencer hadn't made it, all he'd been able to do was stand there gasping and scrubbing the wetness from his face with hands that refused to stop shaking. Now that everyone was safely accounted for, Carlton didn't know what to do.
Spencer was already waving Guster away, saying, "I'm fine! Jesus, Gus, let me go!" And O'Hara seemed to be winding down as well. But, for him, it was all too fresh. Too much had happened in the past few weeks: the divorce, Henry's matchmaking, the revelation of Spencer's feelings for him, and now this-Spencer risking life and limb to save him!
He realized that the situation with Spencer was far more serious than he'd originally thought. People with crushes didn't do things like that. They didn't throw themselves into oncoming traffic for a fleeting emotional attachment! No, Carlton suspected, it all added up to an even more shocking conclusion: that Shawn Spencer was in love with him.
Truthfully, he wasn't sure how he felt about that. He embraced the immediate rush of denial that it should be Spencer, of all people! But, there was a small, tiny part of him that, let's face it, was flattered, and an even smaller part of him that was relieved. He wasn't getting any younger. He knew he was difficult at the best of times, and he'd been nothing but hard on Spencer. Victoria had ended things between them saying he was impossible to be with. So, it was nice knowing that he could still attract some romantic interest, even if nothing could ever come of it.
However gratifying it was to be the object of Spencer's affections, he wasn't about to let that affect his judgement, and he certainly wasn't going to soften his stance where psychics were concerned.
***
Several days on, however, Carlton came to the conclusion that he was losing his mind.
It was the only logical explanation he could find for why he was agreeing to socialize with Spencer outside the confines of the precinct. Oh, he still snarled and was generally surly when asked. But, that was more to keep his reputation in tact, and to convince anyone who might have been listening that he was only doing it under some form of duress.
He wasn't expecting much difference from the other nights at other bars where he typically drank alone. So, he situated himself at the bar, where he sipped his scotch slowly and watched the people around him, taking in the interplay between Spencer and Guster and the other guys from the precinct, who had chosen to join them. He couldn't help noticing that Spencer gravitated toward him. He also noticed how, if he was quiet for more than a few minutes, Spencer would contrive some way to draw him back into the conversation. A question, an inappropriate touch, any excuse to keep him connected!
He kept waiting to be annoyed by it, but that never happened. If anything, he felt a little warm inside that Spencer cared enough to hover over him.
By the end of the evening, he'd actually had a good time. He was loath to admit that, even to himself. So, he just kept quiet about it. He refused to commit to joining the group on another night out, but from the way Spencer kept grinning at him he had a horrible feeling that battle was already lost.
***
On the Peters case, Spencer got shot, and Carlton had another one of those revelations, which threw all his previous conceptions right out of the window.
It was barely more than a graze. Spencer lay there in his hospital bed afterward, trying to milk it for all the attention it was worth. Naturally, O'Hara was quietly supportive; Henry was quietly dismayed; he . . ..
Well, he was not so quietly freaking out! He did a lot of threatening and yelling-at Spencer for being so reckless, at the doctors for being too slow, at Guster for no reason at all. When that failed to calm him down, he threw some posturing in there as well.
None of it made him feel any better.
Two hours on, he still hadn't been able to quell the fear he'd felt when that gun had gone off. The thought that Spencer, irritating, reckless Spencer, could be ripped out of the world, out of his world and out of his life . . ..
The fear came rushing back, making his heart pound even faster.
He sat down in the hallway outside Spencer's room and considered the ramifications.
As hard as it was to fathom, evidently Spencer's feelings weren't entirely unrequited. He struggled to admit that, even to himself. It was only the thought of life without Shawn Spencer, which finally hammered it home. Somehow, that seemed even harder to stomach than the idea that he might be in love with the man, or that he'd been using antagonism to mask his attraction to him.
He spent a long time in that hallway coming to terms with that particular revelation.
***
Admitting he was in love didn't make things easier. If anything, awareness of his feelings brought with it some unfortunate side effects.
He started behaving differently.
Unfamiliar with the rules of man-love, he wasn't entirely sure how to treat Spencer. In his uncertainty, he kept giving himself away. He started wearing cologne. He was more understanding, almost patient, so much so that even Guster was beginning to eye him with suspicion. But it wasn't until the Captain pulled him aside to commend him on the new improved Carlton Lassiter that he realized how much he'd slipped up.
He left Vick's office that afternoon feeling anxious and determined to clamp down on his errant behaviour. No sooner had he reached his desk than the cause of this insanity popped up like a badly dressed penny.
"Lassie, think fast!" Spencer then threw something at him.
Which, instinctively, he dodged, saying, "You do realize that some of us do actual police work around here." He frowned at Spencer, wishing the man would at least have the decency to wear a suit to work instead of that ridiculous ensemble. Then, he calmly walked away.
A few steps down, he realized his mistake. It had been the perfect opportunity to shout, but he'd missed it. Again. Now, people were staring at him. Worse, Spencer was one of them.
"Okay, what was that?"
"What?" he hedged, defensive.
"That!" Spencer gestured at his face, which was presumably making all sorts of guilty expressions. "Seriously, Lassie, you're starting to freak me out."
And there it was again: the concern for him under all the drama. His heart responded with a disgusting little flutter, which left his stomach quivering and his cheeks warm.
"I mean, you've been weird for weeks now," persisted Spencer. "Well, weird for you, anyway. But it's almost as though something strange happened in Lassie-land, and the rest of us didn't get the memo."
For the life of him, Carlton didn't know how to answer that one. So, he just kept quiet, hoping Spencer would mistake his silence for his usual brand of irritation. He threw in a glower, just to make it authentic.
"Oh, I see: you're in love!"
"What? How did you-" he cut himself off before he gave the game away completely.
As usual, Spencer was too fast for him. "Who is it? Anyone I know?" Spencer then proceeded to sing, "Lassie's in love, Lassie's in love," in a horribly off-key voice.
Carlton wasn't sure whether he wanted to kiss him or kill him. He thought the flirting was nice, though. Despite being a little juvenile for his tastes, some small part of him was actually enjoying the repartee. So, he decided to try flirting back a little, saying,
"What's the matter, Spencer? Afraid you're not my favourite any more?"
Spencer looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "Oh, please! I'm everyone’s favourite. That's why we're having dinner tonight."
"I'm busy!" Carlton shot back. He wasn't, he just didn't want to seem too easy.
Spencer parried with: "Monday, then," and simply walked off without giving him the chance to protest.
Carlton stared after him for a long time, shaking his head. Somehow, despite his best intentions, he'd wound up dating Spencer after all.
***
The day of their date came with little psychic fanfare.
Carlton kept it casual: first, a romantic stroll down the pier; then, dinner at the Mandarin Palace, followed by a night-cap at his place.
After several rounds of mu-shu pork and with Spencer slumped next to him on his couch, he felt at ease for the first time in weeks. The lights were down low, Johnny Mathis was crooning softly in the background, and no one was throwing anything at anyone. All in all, for a first date, things were going well.
Then, Spencer started talking.
"You know what's weird?" Spencer didn't wait for him to answer. "I never thought we would get to this point: just the two of us hanging out. No cases, no dead bodies, no 'one of us accidentally bumping into the other at a random civil war re-enactment'. Although, come to think of it, I was expecting more of a Wild West theme tonight . . .."
Because that had been one of his original ideas for the evening, Carlton decided not to comment.
"Hey, remember back when we first met?"
"Yeah?" He looked at Spencer sideways.
"You were a real jerk."
Carlton took a moment to digest that. "Okay," he conceded. Then, in the spirit of total disclosure, he added, "But, so were you."
"Never as bad as you," Spencer pointed out-rather tactlessly, in his opinion, since they were supposed to be seducing each other. Still, he was willing to overlook that until Spencer muttered, "Anyway, I had a good reason."
"And I didn't?" he countered.
Evidently, Spencer wasn't interested; he was building up to something, and Carlton had a feeling he wasn't going to like it. He chose that moment to make his move, and-
"Whoa, Lassie! What the hell?"
"What?" Carlton drew back, confused.
"What do you mean what?" Spencer had already begun pointing back and forth between them. "What's with the whole, you know . . .." Then, Spencer threw in more hand gestures followed by some spectacular flailing.
At any other time, he would have been pleased to see Spencer so clearly lost for words, but this was just crushing. "I thought you had a thing for me."
"A thing? Who even says that any more?"
And, oh, that hurt! Carlton felt the barb pierce deep in his chest. "So, you don't have . . ." he swallowed hard; his heart broke a little more. "Because, after the shooting and what your father said, I thought . . .."
Spencer kept staring at him with an abject sort of terror, which was trying to mask itself as pity but was coming off as revulsion.
Reeling, Carlton stood up and made for the liquor cabinet. In the background, he could hear Spencer bleating something or other about Henry, but it was easy enough to ignore in favour of the roaring in his ears. Several inches of bourbon later, his hands were still shaking. He couldn't understand how he'd got this so spectacularly wrong. All the evidence was there, pointing him toward this! He'd even had Henry's blessing, or he thought he had. Unless, somehow, he'd misread that as well?
"I think you should leave." The words choked their way out of his throat, not entirely of his own volition. But, as far as he was concerned, it was the first sensible thing he'd said all night.
Spencer responded with a choked up sound of his own; and it took all his strength to turn and face him-and the humiliation-head on.
"Leave," Carlton told him, deliberate this time.
For a while, it looked like Spencer was going to argue. Then, Spencer finally got up and walked out the door, leaving him alone to salvage what he could of his pride.
***
On his way into work the following day, Carlton rehearsed his plan one last time. He was going to behave normally, and he was going to be rational. He was not, under any circumstances, going to look at Spencer, talk to Spencer or even acknowledge that Spencer existed. Last night never happened as far as he was concerned, and there was no reason why they couldn't get back to their usual adversarial relationship with everything at status quo.
The plan worked until he reached his desk, where Spencer was perched waiting for him.
After he'd finished telling Spencer to: "Get the hell off my desk," he told himself it was the shirt. A riotous colour combination of pink and yellow that was a total eyesore, and which no self-respecting conservative could have let pass without comment. It was the only explanation he would allow for why he'd found it impossible to keep his cool.
Going through his case files, he did his best to carry on like this was just a day like any other. It wasn't easy, because the awkwardness he felt around Spencer was unbearable. Just seeing that carefree grin made him cringe inside, and his mind couldn't stop replaying the moment where Spencer had crushed any hope of them having a relationship. He felt like a fool. Worse, he knew he only had himself to blame. Guys like him and Spencer didn't mix; he should have known better than to think there could be anything between them.
Around lunchtime, O'Hara brought over a bagel, which she placed on his desk in front of him. It was a sad little thing with crumbled edges that practically screamed: 'Sorry your date with the man you thought was in love with you ended badly!'
He scowled at it, then scowled at O'Hara, then ate it in two large bites as if to say: 'Move along; nothing to see here; no Head Detectives were hurt last night in the quest for love!'
"I don't even want to know what you meant by that!" O'Hara shrank back.
But Carlton was barely paying attention to her any more. He was more interested in feeling sorry for himself, even though he could tell that people were watching him, trying to figure out what had happened the night before. This was why he didn't like dating people from work: you couldn't get away from it when things turned sour.
He realized that he was going to have to take surly and mean to new levels if he was going to discourage any other overtures. Wallowing on a personal level was one thing; he really didn't want anyone else's pity. Having people hate him for being a petty asshole was preferable to that.
***
At the end of the week, it wasn't clear whether his new plan had backfired or not.
He stood by his desk eyeing the folder marked 'Urgent: For Detective Lassiter', a folder which had appeared at some point during his trip to the coffee machine. In his experience, nothing good ever came covered with that much glitter. Sure enough, as he leafed through its contents, he was horrified to find several of those women's magazines, which his ex had tended to read whenever she'd found him particularly exasperating.
"Okay, who left this on my desk?" he roared, turning round and waving the folder in the air.
No one replied. One glance around the bullpen, and people scattered like ants.
Under different circumstances, he would have been thrilled at the power of his glare. However, these cowards weren't telling him anything he needed to know, and O'Hara didn't seem any more inclined to help than they were.
Frustrated, he sat back down and went through the pile, looking for clues. There were articles on relationships, advice on how to keep a man, and one very interesting piece on displacement therapy, which looked like it might hold some weight. Unfortunately, none of it gave any indication of who had left the magazines for him in the first place.
He wasn't a complete idiot. He knew people were trying to tell him something: that ever since his failed date with Spencer he'd been moping and making life miserable for everyone, and that he really needed to find a way to move on. But, that wasn't the point. The point was he was struggling with a crisis of confidence.
He just didn't get how he'd managed to misread so many clues in both his professional and personal lives. Each time he thought about it, the parallels made him wince: how he always seemed to be one step behind until the big reveal, which he could never see coming despite the evidence laid out in front of him.
It felt like failure, and too much of it revolved around Spencer. All the more reason, he told himself, to put this nonsense behind him once and for all.
***
Spending the evening at the gun range did wonders for his equilibrium, and after much soul searching, Carlton decided that it was time to get back out there.
Now that he was apparently open to other options, maybe he would find some anti-Spencer, who would interest him enough to take his mind off the real thing. Someone with a steady job, someone with principles and dignity. Someone, who wasn't a flighty, irresponsible con man. Surely there had to be people like that out there?
He snapped off his holster, re-loaded and then emptied the clip dead centre.
Yes, he definitely needed to get back into the dating scene. But, slowly and carefully. After several years of marriage, he was rusty; he could admit that. Although, obviously, he wasn't all that great at male seduction, if Spencer's terrified 'Whoa! What the hell?' reaction was anything to go by.
Another target rapidly disintegrated under a hail of bullets.
He paused for a moment, imagining his hands gliding over firm hard planes as opposed to soft smooth curves. The idea was surprisingly appealing. As much as he liked women, the fairer sex had always baffled him. He'd always been more of a man's man. There were bound to be other men, who wanted the same things he did. Men, who were looking for a partner. Men, who were like him.
His gun went into his holster, and then his earmuffs came off.
Yes, getting out there was exactly what he was going to do. He had a few ideas about whom to ask out; and aside from some qualms about dating in his forties, he couldn't deny that he was keen to get this show on the road.
***
His first date was a disaster.
The guy-and he used that term loosely-had no appreciation for the art of police work, and seemed to think that golf should be played on a miniature course laid out like Tolkien’s Middle Earth.
Carlton tried not to let that deter him, but half an hour putting in Mirkwood was enough to make anyone resentful. To make matters worse, he was convinced they were being followed.
The perpetrators weren't exactly masters of stealth. Each time he and his date, Brad, moved to a different hole, the shrubbery nearby rustled. Voices came from behind the bushes-loud, whispering snatches of conversation interspersed with what sounded like someone smacking another person. After one particularly loud bout of shushing, Carlton decided that he'd had enough.
Turning round, he pulled several branches aside and found-
"YOU TWO!" Outraged, he let go, sending the shrubbery hurtling back to hit Spencer in the face.
"Okay, ow! Ow! OW!" Spencer leapt out into the open, and literally began to make a song and dance out of his injury.
"Do you know these guys?" Brad asked after Guster, too, crept out from behind the bushes.
"No," Carlton replied.
"Yes," Spencer warbled at the same time.
Brad's scoff was anything but amused. "You know what? I'll just leave you guys to sort this out. Obviously, there's some history here, and I don't need any more drama in my life. I'm out of here."
Smarting, Carlton didn't even try to stop him; it was clear from Brad's attitude that this particular relationship was going nowhere. He watched the potential unravel with a control that was barely hanging by a thread. Then, once Brad was out of earshot, he turned his attention back to Spencer.
"This is a new low, even for you," he growled. "What are you doing here, and why the hell are you following me?"
"First of all," Spencer held up one finger, "I'll have you know that nothing is too low in the pursuit of fashionable pants! Really, Lassie, that's what you wore on your date with Bradley McDoofus back there?"
Carlton glanced down at his tartans, momentarily confused; this was the height of golfing fashion! Before he could defend his clothing choices, Spencer had another flailing episode.
"Wait a minute, was this a date?" Spencer paused mid-flail to stare at him incredulously. "You and that guy? Seriously?" He sounded shocked and amazed, as though it was inconceivable that an attractive guy like Brad might want to date him.
And, wow, that cut deep, but Carlton refused to let it show. "What's it to you?" he snarled, taking an aggressive step forward.
"Nothing," Spencer backed down at once. "I just didn't think he was your type, that's all."
"My type?" Carlton snorted derisively. "Let me guess: you think you know what that is?" He watched Spencer squirm at that, wondering what Spencer was playing at now. Had it been anyone else, he would have thought they were jealous, but he'd been wrong too many times before. Also, this was Spencer, who didn't play by any rules he could understand.
He had a feeling that it was some stupid prank, which he was better off not knowing about. So, rather than wait for an answer he wouldn't like, he decided to take a leaf out of Brad's book and leave the drama behind.
***
His second, third and fourth dates went a lot smoother, if he ignored the parts where Spencer always happened to make an appearance. Months ago, he would have read something into it. Now, he was just fed up.
At some point during his coffee meet with Tom, he decided that he was going to confront Spencer about his behaviour. Spencer was barely even trying hide any more. He could see him plain as day loitering three tables down, and the whole thing pissed him off more than he thought possible. He was halfway over there to yell at him when, seemingly out of nowhere, one of the guys waiting at the counter pulled out a knife.
Carlton reacted without thinking. In less than a minute, he had the perpetrator subdued, handcuffed and mirandized, before he started dragging the man out of the store. Unfortunately, he wasn't expecting the idiot's accomplice to try to mount a rescue right there.
An elbow slammed into his side; someone built like a linebacker collided into his shoulder. Carlton lost his footing, slipped and crashed head first onto the ground.
He woke up some time later to a splitting headache and Spencer clutching his hand.
Spencer's eyes were bright with emotion, and Carlton had the smug sense of righteous feeling that, oh, he hadn't been wrong at all. Right before he blacked out again.
***
The doctors kept him overnight for observation. In the morning, once they discharged him, he went back home where he settled in to play a waiting game. He'd gone on hundreds of stakeouts before, so this wasn't altogether different; it was just a matter of having the patience to reel in his catch.
Late in the evening, when Spencer showed up on his doorstep, Carlton knew that this was it. Not only had his patience paid off, finally he had the upper hand in this relationship.
He let Spencer in.
He then let Spencer ramble on and on, grateful that he didn't have to do any of the talking. Although, by the end of a particularly long discourse on concussion, Spencer still hadn't said anything worth hearing as far as their relationship was concerned, and Carlton was losing patience.
"That's it?" he scoffed. "You came all the way over here to tell me that I need to take better care of myself?" He wasn't about to make the first move this time. Considering how things had gone the last time they'd been in his apartment, he wanted Spencer to be the one to put himself out there.
Spencer promptly surprised him by doing just that in a spectacular stream of ranting. "You were supposed to be unattainable!" Spencer said, accusing. "You were supposed to be out of reach, like some sort of giant detective brass ring-hell, I don't know! Then, all of a sudden, there you were hitting on me, and I guess I didn't handle it as well as I could have."
Before he could even raise an eyebrow, Spencer added: "Okay, fine, so I freaked out," sounding quite agitated all of a sudden. "But, after that, I freaked out more when you started dating other guys. Which has got to stop, by the way, because I will not share you! Then, you almost get yourself killed in a fucking coffee shop of all places. Seriously, who does that, Lassie? What kind of Head Detective nearly gets himself killed because of a latte with-"
Carlton wrapped both arms around Spencer, bringing the tirade to an abrupt halt. He could feel Spencer trembling against him, and it made his heart ache seeing how distraught Spencer was. Upsetting him had never been his intention; he just needed the certainty that this was real, and that he hadn't misread the signs yet again. "Hey, it's okay," he whispered as the trembling went on. "Spencer, I'm fine. Everything's fine, I promise!" He stroked his hands up and down Spencer's back, trying to soothe him; and it was the easiest thing in the world to brush his lips against Spencer's forehead when Spencer finally stopped shaking.
He let Spencer bear him back then, accepting that Spencer needed some measure of control.
He didn't even complain when Spencer shoved him up against the wall. No, he didn't get the chance, because the impact pushed the air out of his lungs and forced his mouth open-opening him up, as it turned out, for Spencer's tongue. It stroked his lower lip gently, coaxing him to open wider. Once he did, Spencer pressed in and took his mouth with the kind of urgency that made him ache to give Spencer whatever he wanted. He heard himself moan as Spencer's tongue thrust slick, hot and rough against his; and he wasn't at all prepared for the heat of it, or for the wave of pleasure that crashed over him.
He grabbed Spencer's shoulders as his knees went weak. And all he could do was hold on while Spencer held him up against the wall and kissed him, tangling their tongues together again and again until, eventually, he had to tear his mouth away.
He let his head fall back, for a moment, and took several deep breaths, trying to regain some control. Only, Spencer kept working against him, mouthing gently down the line of his throat.
"Spencer," Carlton whimpered; he couldn't help it, not after Spencer started sucking on the skin over his pulse. He wanted Spencer to mark him there-so badly he was the one, who was trembling now. He didn't even notice his shirt had been unbuttoned until Spencer slowly drew back to stare at him with an expression of pure lust.
"Damn, would you get a load of that," Spencer growled, making him flush bright red.
No matter how often he'd thought about the two of them together, he'd never imagined Spencer would actually lick his lips at the sight of him. Flustered, he puffed his chest out a little, shivering at feel of Spencer's fingers sliding into his chest hair. Then, Spencer leant down and pressed his face into it, breathing very hard.
"You like that, huh?" Carlton whispered, heart racing.
"God, yeah," Spencer told him breathlessly. "I can't believe you've been hiding this from me all this time."
He felt Spencer press a kiss to his sternum, and a part of him wanted to protest that he hadn't been hiding anything at all. But Spencer kept nuzzling and stroking the hair on his chest; and he was finding it hard enough to think before Spencer's thumbs grazed over his nipples, circling them very slowly.
"Jesus!" Carlton shuddered, arching into them and gasping as that sweet tingling wave of pleasure spread through his entire body.
"More?" Spencer looked up, sounding a little desperate himself now.
Carlton nodded, still gasping; he wasn't capable of much more than that, not with Spencer nuzzling him again, lips brushing the sensitive skin below his ear. He cupped a hand over Spencer's nape, guiding him back down; and they both groaned out loud when Spencer tugged lightly on his nipple, closing his teeth gently around it before sucking the sting away.
"God, that's good," Carlton told him, squirming with pleasure. "That's-oh, God!" And he didn't care any more if they were moving too fast; he just sagged back against the wall and let Spencer take what he wanted, trying not to lose it with every wet, slow rasp of Spencer's tongue.
In the end, he couldn't hold on any more. He started grinding up against Spencer's stomach, working his hips harder and harder until he was shuddering uncontrollably and grunting into Spencer's neck while the slick, slow spurts from his cock soaked through his boxers.
Spencer drew back while he was still struggling to catch his breath. "Did you just-"
"No," Carlton denied at once. He was a grown man; he refused to believe that he'd just come in his pants like a teenager, even though it was patently obvious that he had. The large wet spot at the front of his pants called him a liar, as did the scent of come in the air.
Closing his eyes, he hoped Spencer wouldn't be inclined to press the topic. That was why he didn't see it coming when he was dragged off to his bedroom by a Spencer very much intent on screwing the rest of his brains out.
***
The next day at the precinct, Carlton had some trouble sitting down, and Spencer literally could not sit still. He was bouncing around, practically broadcasting that SBPD's Head Detective had had sex with its lead psychic. He was also using every annoying nickname under the sun since, apparently, he knew he could get away with it now. Frankly, he was just plain irritating.
Carlton had no idea why he found it so charming.
Around midday, Spencer announced to everyone at large that he'd had enough for the day. For his ears only, Spencer added: "I'll see you later this evening." Then, Spencer leaned over and kissed him on the cheek in full view of everyone.
The world felt like it tilted to the side, for a moment.
Spencer, quite sensibly, ran.
Image and reputation demanded an immediate response. So, Carlton leapt out of his chair, yelling, "Spencer, you get back here right now!" When that didn't happen, he gave chase.
He caught up with Spencer by the interrogation rooms.
"Okay, Lassie, look-"
"In a minute," he snapped, dragging Spencer by the scruff of his neck into the room behind him. Inside, he steered Spencer onto a chair, leant over him and growled, "Never ever do that again, unless you plan on doing it properly."
"Properly?" Spencer smirked. "So, does that mean I can-?"
"No," Carlton vetoed that at once.
"Aw, come on, Carlton! Please?"
Exasperated, he scowled at the man he loved, who was also quite possibly the bane of his existence. "I thought I told you not to call me that!"
"You're kidding, right?"
"No."
"You still won't let me call you 'Carlton'? Even after last night?"
"Especially after last night!"
"I-what?"
Laughing at the look on Spencer's face, Carlton took the time to kiss him until he was truly lost for words.
The End.