FIC: "Right Place, Wrong Time" by Regann - PG-13/R - Shawn/Lassiter (6/??)
Title: Right Place, Wrong Time (6/??)
Author: Regann
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter
Rating: PG-13/R
Disclaimer: I don't own anything; I just play with them.
Notes: This is a long multipart fic that I had to be insane to even start. But I love the boys so much, I just had to! Oh, and this is dedicated to pookaseraph.
Summary: 17-year-old Shawn has a fake ID burning a hole in his pocket, a college party to crash, and a mission to stop being the only virgin in his senior class. Unfortunately, there's this big-earred, good-doing grad student by the name of Carlton who catches him in the act. The unfair nature of cosmic humor being what it is, thus begins something that'll come back to haunt them both ten years later -- when an adult Shawn Spencer decides to give psychic investigation a try.
Past Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5
Right Place, Wrong Time (Part 6)
The department's 4th of July picnic had always been one of its most popular events and this year was no exception, Carlton noted, as he swept his eyes across the park, cops and their families as far as the eye could see.
Younger kids played tag across the green expanse that the cops had claimed while a small group of the preteen boys played with sparklers -- a little too enthusiastically for Carlton's comfort. The wives, under the spreading shade of a huge, collapsible tent, were busy organizing the mess of potluck dishes that had been prepared for the occasion while a small contingent of officers -- Captain Connors, included -- were in charge of the all-important grilling of the hamburgers and hot dogs.
Carlton wasn't much involved in the ruckus but was content to stand on the sidelines and observe, amused by the antics around him. It was a bright, sunny afternoon under a blue, cloudless sky and he was thankful to have the day off. Ever since his ride along had started, he'd been working at a grueling pace, spending as many hours as possible at the PD in observation, learning, helping where he could. Both Fenich and Connors encouraged him to discuss cases with them to flex his logic skills; he enjoyed it as just as he did the physical rigor of fitness training that Dobbs coached him in and the superfluous target practice that Kane would supervise for him, that let him get his hands on a gun and his eye on the target for a few hours a week.
But for all the reward he got from it, the work was hard on a body and a mind and Carlton was glad for the three-day weekend. Even Fenich, who pushed him harder than anyone, had remarked that he'd begun to look a little haggard, which Carlton took as a hint to slow down, at least for a little while.
Luckily, the 4th of July holiday was going to let him do just that. After the festivities today, he'd still have Sunday, Monday and Tuesday to relax before he was expected back at the precinct.
"Need a beer, Carlton?" Fenich asked as he came up behind Carlton, two bottles in hand.
Carlton tore his eyes away from the horizon and acknowledged his mentor's presence with a nod. He checked the bottle he held and realized the last few swallows had gone hot and flat. He laid the bottle at his feet with a silent promise to toss it later. "Don't mind if I do, sir," he said, accepting the new beer, still refreshingly cold to the touch.
"Enjoying yourself?" Fenich asked next as he settled at Carlton's side to watch the same little kids run along the grass.
"Sure am," he admitted. "Nice change of pace."
"We all need it," Fenich agreed. "And it's nice to get everyone out here together."
"I know I need it and I'm not even doing the work," Carlton told him.
"Close enough at the moment," Fenich said in return, taking a swig of his beer. "I can't wait to get you through the academy and on the force. You're going to make one hell of an officer."
"Thank you, sir."
"No need for that, it's just the truth," the older man told him in a very no-nonsense tone. "The last thing I'd want on the force was another idiot, no matter how much I respected his daddy."
Carlton nodded, pleased with the compliment. But, as usual, references to his father made him uncomfortable and he changed the topic. "You're not part of the grilling brigade?" He used his beer bottle to point toward the grills.
"No," Fenich said with a chuckle. "Connors has got it covered and it's been known to get fierce. I'd rather just eat and let them do the bitching over charcoal and lighter fluid versus woodchips or whatever the hell it is."
Carlton laughed, too. "I don't blame you."
They fell into a companionable conversational pattern, mostly just a few words here and there as they soaked up the relaxing, friendly ambience of the picnic. Carlton continued to let his eyes wander over the park, always looking, cataloguing, biting back inappropriate laughter when one of those boys finally managed to singe himself on the sparklers he'd been playing with all afternoon.
He glanced guiltily over toward his mentor only to see Fenich grinning, too. "I kept telling him to stop," he explained. "If you can't learn, you've gotta feel."
Carlton shook the laughter away and finished his second beer. He noticed that Fenich had as well. "Want me to make a beer run, sir?"
Fenich handed him the empty bottle. "Don't mind if you do, Carlton."
The tent where the potluck dishes were laid out was also the refreshments command center, so Carlton quickly headed over, dropping the empty bottles in the first garbage can he passed. Fenich's wife, Lorraine, was the one managing the volunteers behind the tables, but she paused long enough to ask a pretty, blonde-haired girl to hand over to two cold beers.
"Thanks," Carlton said, even as he quickly escaped. Mrs. Fenich had been trying to find him "a nice girl" all summer and the last thing he needed was the lengthy introduction with the cute blonde that Lorraine had most likely had planned.
It was on his way back to Fenich that Carlton cast out another one of those long, surveying looks across the park -- just seeing, investigating. But something made him look a little farther toward the north side of the park, to the line of deciduous trees that separated the parking lot and the park proper. There he saw a flash of wild brown hair, skinny shoulders and arms: a teenager leaning against the trunk of one of the trees.
His back was to Carlton and couldn't see more than a slice of him -- the hair, the arms, the black T-shirt but something about the kid's shape, the way he was flailing his arms, reminded him of Shawn and he almost stopped breathing at the sudden reminder.
He'd done a spectacular job of keeping his mind away from Shawn since he's started at the SBPD; if Carlton was honest, it was probably part of the reason he'd pushed himself so much, had strove to keep as busy as possible. And if his fantasies sometimes wandered over the pale flesh of a certain someone, it wasn't his fault that he couldn't control what his mind and body conspired to do when he was mostly asleep.
Carlton blinked when his staring eyes blurred and, once they were clear, the kid was out of view, gone like maybe he'd never been there. He shook himself and cursed his suddenly racing pulse, tightly reining in his reactions as he scrambled back over to Fenich's side.
"Took you long enough," Fenich observed with a sly smile. "See something you like and get distracted?"
Carlton did a double take and almost demanded how Fenich knew until he realized the cop was probably referring to the pretty blonde that Lorraine had nudged in his direction. "Thought I saw someone I knew from school in the parking lot," Carlton lied, desperately trying to project nonchalance. "I was wrong, though."
Fenich took his beer from Carlton, looking a little disappointed, but not inclined to discuss the matter any further. They fell back into their comfortable silence, Carlton's attention on the tent, waiting for the sign that it was time to eat. The fact that such an object of observation kept his eyes away from the direction of the parking lot was an added bonus.
"It looks like they've finished the grilling without incident this year," Fenich noticed, nudging Carlton with his elbow. "I can hardly believe it."
"Does that mean it's about time to eat?" he asked.
"Yeah, soon," Fenich told him. The officer's eyes skittered away from the food, down along the sides of the park until they landed on something he'd obviously been looking for. He raised his arm and called out, "Hey, Shawn! Come here!"
Carlton didn't think it was possible for a man's heart to stop and for him to continue breathing, albeit shallowly, but that moment proved to him otherwise. He glanced at Fenich with horrified eyes before he bit the bullet and followed the officer's gaze outward across the park, until they landed on a pair of teenagers coming their way -- one a black kid he'd never seen before and the other the scrawny, wild-haired kid he'd seen earlier, the one who couldn't be anyone else other than Shawn, his Shawn.
He could tell the moment that Shawn realized who he was, standing there with Fenich: the kid's feet faltered and his friend had to grab him by the arm to keep from tumbling. He quickly brushed aside his friend's help, though, and thrust his hands down into his pockets, shooting Carlton a long, strange look just before the pair reached them.
"Shawn!" Fenich said again when the teenagers were in range. "What happened to your dad?"
"Whaddya mean?" Shawn asked as he and his friend stopped moving forward, leaving more than arm's length between them.
Fenich pointed toward the grills. "There wasn't any bloodshed over the burgers. That's gotta mean he's not around."
"Oh, oh yeah," Shawn grinned. "Him and mom decided to drive up the coast on some vacation thing for the weekend."
"Yeah, I think he mentioned that, actually..." Fenich trailed off, noticing the cautious, tentative way that Carlton and Shawn were eyeing each other. "Since I got you over, how 'bout I introduce you to a friend of mine? Shawn, this is Carlton. Carlton, this is Shawn."
As Carlton had come to expect, there was more boldness in Shawn. "Howdy, Carlton," he drawled.
"Shawn," he nodded, voice heavy and throat threatening to close. He tried not to but he found his gaze wandering up and down Shawn, noting similarities, differences from the one who lived in his memory. They were frightening close, right down to the invitational tilt of the head and the possibly illegal glint in his blue-gray eyes and Carlton had to fight against the urge to step back.
"And I'm Gus," Shawn's friend said to no one in particular, shooting Shawn a strange look as he elbowed him in the side.
Shawn let out a little oomph! of breath at the contact. "Oh, yeah, Detective, Carlton, this is my friend, Burton."
"I've seen you a time or two before, with Shawn," Fenich said. "Nice to meet you."
"You, too, sir," Gus said. "And you, Carlton."
"Likewise."
Fenich turned back to Shawn. "Carlton's an observer with us for the summer," he told him. "He's planning on following in the family tradition and going to academy, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir," Carlton answered.
"I've known him since he was about your age," Fenich told Shawn. "He knew then that he wanted to be a cop."
As much as Carlton liked Fenich, he wasn't the most subtle guy around and Shawn winced under the insinuation. Carlton remembered what Shawn had said about being a cop, about not wanting to be one because his father wanted him to, and he almost winced in sympathy.
"How interesting! Maybe Carlton can tell me all about it one day!" Shawn said brightly, all false enthusiasm. He glanced over his shoulder, as if looking for an escape route. "Well, well, lookee there, grub's done!" Shawn gave them a little wave. "Don't know about you two but me and Gus are starving. Catch ya later!"
Without giving his friend a chance to reply in any way, Shawn started pushing him in the direction of the tent where the throngs of people were starting to gather.
"I think he's right," Fenich said. "Ready to eat?"
"In a minute, sir," Carlton said, slowly, hoping that the craziness he was feeling wasn't evident in his voice. "You go ahead."
Fenich slapped him on the back affectionately and then headed off in the same direction that Shawn and his friend had went, finally leaving Carlton alone. He finally took a breath -- deep, ragged -- and tried to sort through all the weirdness gurgling inside him.
As impossible as it seemed -- and it seemed damn near impossible -- Shawn was there. Not just there in Santa Barbara or in the neighborhood or at the park but there at the picnic, the son of a cop --- probably one of the cops that Carlton had met since he'd started, any one of the guys who'd been so nice to him since his ride along began.
And probably the son of a cop who'd want to put a bullet between his eyes if he knew that he'd slept with his 17-year-old son.
Between that realization and the terrible thrill that thrummed through him from just seeing Shawn again, one thing bubbled up from the chaotic litany of his thoughts:
He was in deep, deep shit.
**
"Shawn, Shawn, Shawn!" Gus protested as Shawn pushed him along. "I thought we were going to eat!"
"No," Shawn explained, still pushing, his target the trees near the parking lot. It was the only place around that offered a measure of privacy. "That was my clever way of skipping out of a very awkward situation."
"I noticed. And why was it so awkward?" Gus wanted to know, finally digging in his heels so Shawn couldn't push him any further. "And stop pushing me!"
"Well, then, come on," he urged, darting ahead of Gus. His friend sighed but followed, ducking under the line of trees so that they were obscured from the rest of the picnic.
"Okay, Shawn, what's got you weird -- well, weirder than usual anyway?" Gus finally asked as soon as Shawn stopped walking, leaning back against the tree dramatically.
Shawn wasn't sure where to start to explain all the things buzzing in his head, so he got out the most salient point first. "It's him!"
"Who's him?"
"He's the guy!"
"Who?"
"Carlton!"
"You mean that guy with your dad's friend?"
"Yeah!"
"He's what?"
"The guy!"
"What guy?"
Shawn sighed. "I'm not doing this with you again, Gus. The guy, the one I met that weekend, the guy I..." Shawn waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "...with."
"Oh. Oh.." Gus's eyes widened. "Really?"
"Really!"
Gus craned around the tree and looked over the gathering crowds. Shawn followed suit and their eyes both fell on Carlton at about the same time. He was sitting at one of the picnic tables with Detective Fenich and his family, his profile toward the two of them.
"He's not really your type, is he?" Gus asked dubiously.
"Of course, he's my type," Shawn said quickly. He thought for a moment, then asked. "What do you mean?"
"Well, he's just..." Gus trailed off. "I have no idea. He's a guy."
"You just can't appreciate his appeal, Gus," Shawn told him. "You're much too straight."
"Thank god."
"Well, I like him."
"We've established that," Gus reminded him. He looked from Carlton to Shawn. "That explains the weirdness, at least."
"Yes," Shawn agreed. "I doubt that he was expecting to see me here."
"Or again."
"That, too."
Gus gave Shawn a steady, questioning look. "Don't do it, Shawn."
Shawn feigned innocence. "Don't what?"
His friend shook his head. "You know what. Don't starting messing around with him again."
He shot Gus a disbelieving look. "Gus!"
"No, Shawn!" Gus was serious and earnest, two things that it difficult for Shawn to argue against; it made him feel like the bad friend he usually was. "Just because he's here and you can get to him, just because you like him, does not make this a good idea. You're 17, he's 25! He's a cop! He's a cop with your dad!"
"But Gus, it's like fate, again!" Shawn protested. "Out of all the police stations, in all of California, he had to walk into my dad's."
"Shawn, we talked about this! We agreed!"
"Yes, we did, but that was when I didn't ever think I'd see him again."
Gus sighed and looked around the trees again, easily finding Carlton with his eyes. "He didn't look too thrilled with you."
"That's because he was a little spooked by the whole 'only 17' thing," Shawn said. "But that won't be a problem."
"Why? Are you magically not 17 anymore?"
"Gus, don't be a silly goose!" Shawn told him. "Tell me you're not underestimating my skills."
"I'm underestimating your sanity," Gus admitted. "But that's not new."
Shawn rolled his eyes. "Let's just go eat."
Gus seemed relieved to have the conversation finished and Shawn could understand. He knew that Gus was right in his objections but he really didn't want to hear it. After all, it wasn't like he'd ever let Gus's good sense stop him before now.
He did think that it was something like fate again that he'd run into Carlton that day; he had almost skipped over the annual event since his parents weren't around but Gus had persuaded him to keep his promise to his dad that he'd go and "represent the Spencer family." Then he'd almost split after the few hours, figuring that saying hey to Connors and Monroe had been enough representing but something had distracted him from leaving and then Fenich had called him over and then -- Carlton.
Shawn stuck with Gus and far away from Carlton for the rest of the picnic, but he thought he felt eyes following him from time to time. He ignored it, though, and concentrated on a plan of attack which mostly involved various ways to catch Carlton alone so they could talk -- or something else.
He couldn't quite believe it but Shawn was nervous, a state of agitation he rarely reached unless his dad was somehow involved. But he was nervous as he waited for his chance to talk to Carlton, his palms sweaty and his insides as jittery as he'd been the night he'd first worked up the courage to proposition Carlton in the first place.
As evening began to creep over the sky and the party was starting to disband, Shawn had decided on a plan of attack. He just had to convince Gus to leave without him. It took some wheedling to do it but he was finally successful, though Gus only agreed to leave him alone if he promised to call as soon as he got home. That and more promised to his worrywart friend, Shawn waved him goodbye as Gus left, shooting Shawn one long, meaningful frown before he disappeared into the night.
Shawn cut it close but he managed to slide into position with about a minute to spare. He waited until he heard the engine start and Carlton put the car in gear before he popped up from the backseat.
"So, Carlton, want to tell me all about the joys of being a cop?"
"Jesus!"
It was lucky that he'd hadn't pulled out of the parking lot yet because Carlton jumped and yanked the steering wheel to the left, causing the car to swerve. Shawn had to hold on to the back of the driver's seat to keep from getting tossed around.
"Shawn, actually," he managed to tease even while scrambling to stay in his seat.
Carlton hit the breaks and the car came to a sudden stop, Shawn still clinging to Carlton's seat. "What the hell are you doing in my car?" he demanded.
"Hoping to get you alone," Shawn said, grinning. "Looks like it worked, too."
"Shawn..."
"So, how've ya been?" Shawn asked conversationally. "You liking the cop scene as much as you thought you would?"
Carlton leaned back against his seat and closed his eyes. Shawn resisted the urge to touch him. "Fine," he said at least. "And yes."
"Good to see you're still such a talker," Shawn groused.
Carlton glanced up into the rearview mirror and Shawn looked up to see his blue eyes watching him. "What do you want, Shawn?"
"A lot of things," he said with flirty lilt in his voice. "But at that moment, I'd settle for you dropping the weirdness, it's freaking me out."
Carlton rolled his eyes. "The last time I saw you, you were running for what seemed to be your life."
"Luckily, I beat that clock and my dad didn't kill me," Shawn explained. "At least not over that."
"This is a long way from Anaheim," Carlton accused, finally twisting around to face him. They were almost nose-to-nose and Carlton quickly drew back, putting space between them.
"Carlton," Shawn said slowly. "It was a fake ID. As in, not real. My dad's a cop, I know better than to put my real address on the thing!"
Something Shawn said seemed to spook Carlton; his expression closed and his eyes hardened. "You really shouldn't be here."
"Why?"
"Why do you think?"
"Because this conversation would be better in a place with some kind of flat surface?" Shawn asked. "Although, I've heard backseat car sex is kinda fun, too."
"Shawn..." Carlton shook his head. "That's exactly why you shouldn't be here. We can't -- I can't have anything to do with you."
"And why is that?"
"Oh, maybe, because you're 17!" Carlton snapped.
"Pffft!" was Shawn's intelligent reply. "Age ain't nothing but a number, Carly."
"Or, in my case, a jail sentence," Carlton returned.
Shawn was about to say something else witty and flippant but then he noticed the tension in Carlton. "Dude, you're really all spazzy about this?"
"What do you think?" Carlton asked, anger in his voice. "Shawn, do you realize you made me a criminal by lying to me about your age?"
Shawn wasn't sure how to respond because Carlton was obviously upset about that fact and it was the one fact he couldn't change. It wasn't his fault he was still a few months away from being totally legal. "It's not like I'm going to run over to the station and have you arrested," he finally said.
Carlton sighed and turned back around. "I know that. But it doesn't change anything."
"It changes everything!" Shawn decided that this was not a conversation they needed to be having with the seats between them, so he clambered over the offending upholstery, grunting with the effort as he shimmied from the backseat to the front. He fell into the passenger seat with a thud.
Carlton was watching him, confused, wary and Shawn steeled himself for more yelling, even as he continued to talk. "It's not like I'm here against my will."
"That doesn't make it any less a crime!"
"Peeling an orange in your hotel room is also against the law, but it doesn't stop people from sending fruit baskets," Shawn told him. He was turned so that his whole body faced the driver's seat, one leg tucked beneath him.
Carlton was distracted in spite of himself. "How do you know that?"
"Doesn't matter," Shawn said, leaning in closer to him. "Point is, you're not a criminal; you're just letting that Catholic guilt thing work overtime."
He narrowed his eyes. "How did you know I was Catholic?"
Shawn rolled his. "Bible in your bedroom, rosary in your nightstand drawer, and..." -- he steadied himself with one hand on Carlton's shoulder and slid a finger from the other hand under the collar of his T-shirt from where he pulled a thin, silver chain -- "...saint's medal. I'm guessing Michael, patron saints of cops."
"Be that as it may," Carlton finally said, looking distinctly uncomfortable with Shawn's encroachment into his personal space. "This isn't just about guilt."
Shawn was having unhappy flashbacks to the nobler -- and more frustrating -- moments of his first night with Carlton and determined it was time to try something more direct. He closed the distance between them even more, swinging one leg over Carlton's, both arms going around his neck. While he couldn't quite straddle him, it was close enough inside the close quarters of the car's front seat.
"You are absolutely the last nice guy I crawl in bed with," he declared before pressing every inch of his body he could against Carlton's, his mouth sealing over his to stifle any protest.
Even more quickly than the first time, Carlton's hesitance flamed into acquiescence, like a match to powder. Shawn just held on for the ride as Carlton leaned into him, pushing him down into the passenger seat until he was on his back, Carlton pressing down into him. Shawn wasn't quite sure how they managed it but was thankful for the unexpected roominess of the front seat as he was able to hook one leg around Carlton.
"You're insane," Carlton managed to say between kisses, his hands already busy under the hem of Shawn's T-shirt. "I'm insane."
"Sounds like a match to me," Shawn grinned, sliding his leg against Carlton's, wriggling under him for a more pleasurable position. When his breath caught in his throat and Carlton honest-to-god growled against his mouth, he figured he'd found the right one.
"I'm going to hell," Carlton whispered against the skin of his throat, breath hot and teeth sharp as he left a trail from his ear to his collarbone.
Shawn's eyes were closed, hands greedy, hips moving. "Yeah," he agreed. "But what a way to go."
To Be Continued...
Author: Regann
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter
Rating: PG-13/R
Disclaimer: I don't own anything; I just play with them.
Notes: This is a long multipart fic that I had to be insane to even start. But I love the boys so much, I just had to! Oh, and this is dedicated to pookaseraph.
Summary: 17-year-old Shawn has a fake ID burning a hole in his pocket, a college party to crash, and a mission to stop being the only virgin in his senior class. Unfortunately, there's this big-earred, good-doing grad student by the name of Carlton who catches him in the act. The unfair nature of cosmic humor being what it is, thus begins something that'll come back to haunt them both ten years later -- when an adult Shawn Spencer decides to give psychic investigation a try.
Past Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5
Right Place, Wrong Time (Part 6)
The department's 4th of July picnic had always been one of its most popular events and this year was no exception, Carlton noted, as he swept his eyes across the park, cops and their families as far as the eye could see.
Younger kids played tag across the green expanse that the cops had claimed while a small group of the preteen boys played with sparklers -- a little too enthusiastically for Carlton's comfort. The wives, under the spreading shade of a huge, collapsible tent, were busy organizing the mess of potluck dishes that had been prepared for the occasion while a small contingent of officers -- Captain Connors, included -- were in charge of the all-important grilling of the hamburgers and hot dogs.
Carlton wasn't much involved in the ruckus but was content to stand on the sidelines and observe, amused by the antics around him. It was a bright, sunny afternoon under a blue, cloudless sky and he was thankful to have the day off. Ever since his ride along had started, he'd been working at a grueling pace, spending as many hours as possible at the PD in observation, learning, helping where he could. Both Fenich and Connors encouraged him to discuss cases with them to flex his logic skills; he enjoyed it as just as he did the physical rigor of fitness training that Dobbs coached him in and the superfluous target practice that Kane would supervise for him, that let him get his hands on a gun and his eye on the target for a few hours a week.
But for all the reward he got from it, the work was hard on a body and a mind and Carlton was glad for the three-day weekend. Even Fenich, who pushed him harder than anyone, had remarked that he'd begun to look a little haggard, which Carlton took as a hint to slow down, at least for a little while.
Luckily, the 4th of July holiday was going to let him do just that. After the festivities today, he'd still have Sunday, Monday and Tuesday to relax before he was expected back at the precinct.
"Need a beer, Carlton?" Fenich asked as he came up behind Carlton, two bottles in hand.
Carlton tore his eyes away from the horizon and acknowledged his mentor's presence with a nod. He checked the bottle he held and realized the last few swallows had gone hot and flat. He laid the bottle at his feet with a silent promise to toss it later. "Don't mind if I do, sir," he said, accepting the new beer, still refreshingly cold to the touch.
"Enjoying yourself?" Fenich asked next as he settled at Carlton's side to watch the same little kids run along the grass.
"Sure am," he admitted. "Nice change of pace."
"We all need it," Fenich agreed. "And it's nice to get everyone out here together."
"I know I need it and I'm not even doing the work," Carlton told him.
"Close enough at the moment," Fenich said in return, taking a swig of his beer. "I can't wait to get you through the academy and on the force. You're going to make one hell of an officer."
"Thank you, sir."
"No need for that, it's just the truth," the older man told him in a very no-nonsense tone. "The last thing I'd want on the force was another idiot, no matter how much I respected his daddy."
Carlton nodded, pleased with the compliment. But, as usual, references to his father made him uncomfortable and he changed the topic. "You're not part of the grilling brigade?" He used his beer bottle to point toward the grills.
"No," Fenich said with a chuckle. "Connors has got it covered and it's been known to get fierce. I'd rather just eat and let them do the bitching over charcoal and lighter fluid versus woodchips or whatever the hell it is."
Carlton laughed, too. "I don't blame you."
They fell into a companionable conversational pattern, mostly just a few words here and there as they soaked up the relaxing, friendly ambience of the picnic. Carlton continued to let his eyes wander over the park, always looking, cataloguing, biting back inappropriate laughter when one of those boys finally managed to singe himself on the sparklers he'd been playing with all afternoon.
He glanced guiltily over toward his mentor only to see Fenich grinning, too. "I kept telling him to stop," he explained. "If you can't learn, you've gotta feel."
Carlton shook the laughter away and finished his second beer. He noticed that Fenich had as well. "Want me to make a beer run, sir?"
Fenich handed him the empty bottle. "Don't mind if you do, Carlton."
The tent where the potluck dishes were laid out was also the refreshments command center, so Carlton quickly headed over, dropping the empty bottles in the first garbage can he passed. Fenich's wife, Lorraine, was the one managing the volunteers behind the tables, but she paused long enough to ask a pretty, blonde-haired girl to hand over to two cold beers.
"Thanks," Carlton said, even as he quickly escaped. Mrs. Fenich had been trying to find him "a nice girl" all summer and the last thing he needed was the lengthy introduction with the cute blonde that Lorraine had most likely had planned.
It was on his way back to Fenich that Carlton cast out another one of those long, surveying looks across the park -- just seeing, investigating. But something made him look a little farther toward the north side of the park, to the line of deciduous trees that separated the parking lot and the park proper. There he saw a flash of wild brown hair, skinny shoulders and arms: a teenager leaning against the trunk of one of the trees.
His back was to Carlton and couldn't see more than a slice of him -- the hair, the arms, the black T-shirt but something about the kid's shape, the way he was flailing his arms, reminded him of Shawn and he almost stopped breathing at the sudden reminder.
He'd done a spectacular job of keeping his mind away from Shawn since he's started at the SBPD; if Carlton was honest, it was probably part of the reason he'd pushed himself so much, had strove to keep as busy as possible. And if his fantasies sometimes wandered over the pale flesh of a certain someone, it wasn't his fault that he couldn't control what his mind and body conspired to do when he was mostly asleep.
Carlton blinked when his staring eyes blurred and, once they were clear, the kid was out of view, gone like maybe he'd never been there. He shook himself and cursed his suddenly racing pulse, tightly reining in his reactions as he scrambled back over to Fenich's side.
"Took you long enough," Fenich observed with a sly smile. "See something you like and get distracted?"
Carlton did a double take and almost demanded how Fenich knew until he realized the cop was probably referring to the pretty blonde that Lorraine had nudged in his direction. "Thought I saw someone I knew from school in the parking lot," Carlton lied, desperately trying to project nonchalance. "I was wrong, though."
Fenich took his beer from Carlton, looking a little disappointed, but not inclined to discuss the matter any further. They fell back into their comfortable silence, Carlton's attention on the tent, waiting for the sign that it was time to eat. The fact that such an object of observation kept his eyes away from the direction of the parking lot was an added bonus.
"It looks like they've finished the grilling without incident this year," Fenich noticed, nudging Carlton with his elbow. "I can hardly believe it."
"Does that mean it's about time to eat?" he asked.
"Yeah, soon," Fenich told him. The officer's eyes skittered away from the food, down along the sides of the park until they landed on something he'd obviously been looking for. He raised his arm and called out, "Hey, Shawn! Come here!"
Carlton didn't think it was possible for a man's heart to stop and for him to continue breathing, albeit shallowly, but that moment proved to him otherwise. He glanced at Fenich with horrified eyes before he bit the bullet and followed the officer's gaze outward across the park, until they landed on a pair of teenagers coming their way -- one a black kid he'd never seen before and the other the scrawny, wild-haired kid he'd seen earlier, the one who couldn't be anyone else other than Shawn, his Shawn.
He could tell the moment that Shawn realized who he was, standing there with Fenich: the kid's feet faltered and his friend had to grab him by the arm to keep from tumbling. He quickly brushed aside his friend's help, though, and thrust his hands down into his pockets, shooting Carlton a long, strange look just before the pair reached them.
"Shawn!" Fenich said again when the teenagers were in range. "What happened to your dad?"
"Whaddya mean?" Shawn asked as he and his friend stopped moving forward, leaving more than arm's length between them.
Fenich pointed toward the grills. "There wasn't any bloodshed over the burgers. That's gotta mean he's not around."
"Oh, oh yeah," Shawn grinned. "Him and mom decided to drive up the coast on some vacation thing for the weekend."
"Yeah, I think he mentioned that, actually..." Fenich trailed off, noticing the cautious, tentative way that Carlton and Shawn were eyeing each other. "Since I got you over, how 'bout I introduce you to a friend of mine? Shawn, this is Carlton. Carlton, this is Shawn."
As Carlton had come to expect, there was more boldness in Shawn. "Howdy, Carlton," he drawled.
"Shawn," he nodded, voice heavy and throat threatening to close. He tried not to but he found his gaze wandering up and down Shawn, noting similarities, differences from the one who lived in his memory. They were frightening close, right down to the invitational tilt of the head and the possibly illegal glint in his blue-gray eyes and Carlton had to fight against the urge to step back.
"And I'm Gus," Shawn's friend said to no one in particular, shooting Shawn a strange look as he elbowed him in the side.
Shawn let out a little oomph! of breath at the contact. "Oh, yeah, Detective, Carlton, this is my friend, Burton."
"I've seen you a time or two before, with Shawn," Fenich said. "Nice to meet you."
"You, too, sir," Gus said. "And you, Carlton."
"Likewise."
Fenich turned back to Shawn. "Carlton's an observer with us for the summer," he told him. "He's planning on following in the family tradition and going to academy, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir," Carlton answered.
"I've known him since he was about your age," Fenich told Shawn. "He knew then that he wanted to be a cop."
As much as Carlton liked Fenich, he wasn't the most subtle guy around and Shawn winced under the insinuation. Carlton remembered what Shawn had said about being a cop, about not wanting to be one because his father wanted him to, and he almost winced in sympathy.
"How interesting! Maybe Carlton can tell me all about it one day!" Shawn said brightly, all false enthusiasm. He glanced over his shoulder, as if looking for an escape route. "Well, well, lookee there, grub's done!" Shawn gave them a little wave. "Don't know about you two but me and Gus are starving. Catch ya later!"
Without giving his friend a chance to reply in any way, Shawn started pushing him in the direction of the tent where the throngs of people were starting to gather.
"I think he's right," Fenich said. "Ready to eat?"
"In a minute, sir," Carlton said, slowly, hoping that the craziness he was feeling wasn't evident in his voice. "You go ahead."
Fenich slapped him on the back affectionately and then headed off in the same direction that Shawn and his friend had went, finally leaving Carlton alone. He finally took a breath -- deep, ragged -- and tried to sort through all the weirdness gurgling inside him.
As impossible as it seemed -- and it seemed damn near impossible -- Shawn was there. Not just there in Santa Barbara or in the neighborhood or at the park but there at the picnic, the son of a cop --- probably one of the cops that Carlton had met since he'd started, any one of the guys who'd been so nice to him since his ride along began.
And probably the son of a cop who'd want to put a bullet between his eyes if he knew that he'd slept with his 17-year-old son.
Between that realization and the terrible thrill that thrummed through him from just seeing Shawn again, one thing bubbled up from the chaotic litany of his thoughts:
He was in deep, deep shit.
**
"Shawn, Shawn, Shawn!" Gus protested as Shawn pushed him along. "I thought we were going to eat!"
"No," Shawn explained, still pushing, his target the trees near the parking lot. It was the only place around that offered a measure of privacy. "That was my clever way of skipping out of a very awkward situation."
"I noticed. And why was it so awkward?" Gus wanted to know, finally digging in his heels so Shawn couldn't push him any further. "And stop pushing me!"
"Well, then, come on," he urged, darting ahead of Gus. His friend sighed but followed, ducking under the line of trees so that they were obscured from the rest of the picnic.
"Okay, Shawn, what's got you weird -- well, weirder than usual anyway?" Gus finally asked as soon as Shawn stopped walking, leaning back against the tree dramatically.
Shawn wasn't sure where to start to explain all the things buzzing in his head, so he got out the most salient point first. "It's him!"
"Who's him?"
"He's the guy!"
"Who?"
"Carlton!"
"You mean that guy with your dad's friend?"
"Yeah!"
"He's what?"
"The guy!"
"What guy?"
Shawn sighed. "I'm not doing this with you again, Gus. The guy, the one I met that weekend, the guy I..." Shawn waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "...with."
"Oh. Oh.." Gus's eyes widened. "Really?"
"Really!"
Gus craned around the tree and looked over the gathering crowds. Shawn followed suit and their eyes both fell on Carlton at about the same time. He was sitting at one of the picnic tables with Detective Fenich and his family, his profile toward the two of them.
"He's not really your type, is he?" Gus asked dubiously.
"Of course, he's my type," Shawn said quickly. He thought for a moment, then asked. "What do you mean?"
"Well, he's just..." Gus trailed off. "I have no idea. He's a guy."
"You just can't appreciate his appeal, Gus," Shawn told him. "You're much too straight."
"Thank god."
"Well, I like him."
"We've established that," Gus reminded him. He looked from Carlton to Shawn. "That explains the weirdness, at least."
"Yes," Shawn agreed. "I doubt that he was expecting to see me here."
"Or again."
"That, too."
Gus gave Shawn a steady, questioning look. "Don't do it, Shawn."
Shawn feigned innocence. "Don't what?"
His friend shook his head. "You know what. Don't starting messing around with him again."
He shot Gus a disbelieving look. "Gus!"
"No, Shawn!" Gus was serious and earnest, two things that it difficult for Shawn to argue against; it made him feel like the bad friend he usually was. "Just because he's here and you can get to him, just because you like him, does not make this a good idea. You're 17, he's 25! He's a cop! He's a cop with your dad!"
"But Gus, it's like fate, again!" Shawn protested. "Out of all the police stations, in all of California, he had to walk into my dad's."
"Shawn, we talked about this! We agreed!"
"Yes, we did, but that was when I didn't ever think I'd see him again."
Gus sighed and looked around the trees again, easily finding Carlton with his eyes. "He didn't look too thrilled with you."
"That's because he was a little spooked by the whole 'only 17' thing," Shawn said. "But that won't be a problem."
"Why? Are you magically not 17 anymore?"
"Gus, don't be a silly goose!" Shawn told him. "Tell me you're not underestimating my skills."
"I'm underestimating your sanity," Gus admitted. "But that's not new."
Shawn rolled his eyes. "Let's just go eat."
Gus seemed relieved to have the conversation finished and Shawn could understand. He knew that Gus was right in his objections but he really didn't want to hear it. After all, it wasn't like he'd ever let Gus's good sense stop him before now.
He did think that it was something like fate again that he'd run into Carlton that day; he had almost skipped over the annual event since his parents weren't around but Gus had persuaded him to keep his promise to his dad that he'd go and "represent the Spencer family." Then he'd almost split after the few hours, figuring that saying hey to Connors and Monroe had been enough representing but something had distracted him from leaving and then Fenich had called him over and then -- Carlton.
Shawn stuck with Gus and far away from Carlton for the rest of the picnic, but he thought he felt eyes following him from time to time. He ignored it, though, and concentrated on a plan of attack which mostly involved various ways to catch Carlton alone so they could talk -- or something else.
He couldn't quite believe it but Shawn was nervous, a state of agitation he rarely reached unless his dad was somehow involved. But he was nervous as he waited for his chance to talk to Carlton, his palms sweaty and his insides as jittery as he'd been the night he'd first worked up the courage to proposition Carlton in the first place.
As evening began to creep over the sky and the party was starting to disband, Shawn had decided on a plan of attack. He just had to convince Gus to leave without him. It took some wheedling to do it but he was finally successful, though Gus only agreed to leave him alone if he promised to call as soon as he got home. That and more promised to his worrywart friend, Shawn waved him goodbye as Gus left, shooting Shawn one long, meaningful frown before he disappeared into the night.
Shawn cut it close but he managed to slide into position with about a minute to spare. He waited until he heard the engine start and Carlton put the car in gear before he popped up from the backseat.
"So, Carlton, want to tell me all about the joys of being a cop?"
"Jesus!"
It was lucky that he'd hadn't pulled out of the parking lot yet because Carlton jumped and yanked the steering wheel to the left, causing the car to swerve. Shawn had to hold on to the back of the driver's seat to keep from getting tossed around.
"Shawn, actually," he managed to tease even while scrambling to stay in his seat.
Carlton hit the breaks and the car came to a sudden stop, Shawn still clinging to Carlton's seat. "What the hell are you doing in my car?" he demanded.
"Hoping to get you alone," Shawn said, grinning. "Looks like it worked, too."
"Shawn..."
"So, how've ya been?" Shawn asked conversationally. "You liking the cop scene as much as you thought you would?"
Carlton leaned back against his seat and closed his eyes. Shawn resisted the urge to touch him. "Fine," he said at least. "And yes."
"Good to see you're still such a talker," Shawn groused.
Carlton glanced up into the rearview mirror and Shawn looked up to see his blue eyes watching him. "What do you want, Shawn?"
"A lot of things," he said with flirty lilt in his voice. "But at that moment, I'd settle for you dropping the weirdness, it's freaking me out."
Carlton rolled his eyes. "The last time I saw you, you were running for what seemed to be your life."
"Luckily, I beat that clock and my dad didn't kill me," Shawn explained. "At least not over that."
"This is a long way from Anaheim," Carlton accused, finally twisting around to face him. They were almost nose-to-nose and Carlton quickly drew back, putting space between them.
"Carlton," Shawn said slowly. "It was a fake ID. As in, not real. My dad's a cop, I know better than to put my real address on the thing!"
Something Shawn said seemed to spook Carlton; his expression closed and his eyes hardened. "You really shouldn't be here."
"Why?"
"Why do you think?"
"Because this conversation would be better in a place with some kind of flat surface?" Shawn asked. "Although, I've heard backseat car sex is kinda fun, too."
"Shawn..." Carlton shook his head. "That's exactly why you shouldn't be here. We can't -- I can't have anything to do with you."
"And why is that?"
"Oh, maybe, because you're 17!" Carlton snapped.
"Pffft!" was Shawn's intelligent reply. "Age ain't nothing but a number, Carly."
"Or, in my case, a jail sentence," Carlton returned.
Shawn was about to say something else witty and flippant but then he noticed the tension in Carlton. "Dude, you're really all spazzy about this?"
"What do you think?" Carlton asked, anger in his voice. "Shawn, do you realize you made me a criminal by lying to me about your age?"
Shawn wasn't sure how to respond because Carlton was obviously upset about that fact and it was the one fact he couldn't change. It wasn't his fault he was still a few months away from being totally legal. "It's not like I'm going to run over to the station and have you arrested," he finally said.
Carlton sighed and turned back around. "I know that. But it doesn't change anything."
"It changes everything!" Shawn decided that this was not a conversation they needed to be having with the seats between them, so he clambered over the offending upholstery, grunting with the effort as he shimmied from the backseat to the front. He fell into the passenger seat with a thud.
Carlton was watching him, confused, wary and Shawn steeled himself for more yelling, even as he continued to talk. "It's not like I'm here against my will."
"That doesn't make it any less a crime!"
"Peeling an orange in your hotel room is also against the law, but it doesn't stop people from sending fruit baskets," Shawn told him. He was turned so that his whole body faced the driver's seat, one leg tucked beneath him.
Carlton was distracted in spite of himself. "How do you know that?"
"Doesn't matter," Shawn said, leaning in closer to him. "Point is, you're not a criminal; you're just letting that Catholic guilt thing work overtime."
He narrowed his eyes. "How did you know I was Catholic?"
Shawn rolled his. "Bible in your bedroom, rosary in your nightstand drawer, and..." -- he steadied himself with one hand on Carlton's shoulder and slid a finger from the other hand under the collar of his T-shirt from where he pulled a thin, silver chain -- "...saint's medal. I'm guessing Michael, patron saints of cops."
"Be that as it may," Carlton finally said, looking distinctly uncomfortable with Shawn's encroachment into his personal space. "This isn't just about guilt."
Shawn was having unhappy flashbacks to the nobler -- and more frustrating -- moments of his first night with Carlton and determined it was time to try something more direct. He closed the distance between them even more, swinging one leg over Carlton's, both arms going around his neck. While he couldn't quite straddle him, it was close enough inside the close quarters of the car's front seat.
"You are absolutely the last nice guy I crawl in bed with," he declared before pressing every inch of his body he could against Carlton's, his mouth sealing over his to stifle any protest.
Even more quickly than the first time, Carlton's hesitance flamed into acquiescence, like a match to powder. Shawn just held on for the ride as Carlton leaned into him, pushing him down into the passenger seat until he was on his back, Carlton pressing down into him. Shawn wasn't quite sure how they managed it but was thankful for the unexpected roominess of the front seat as he was able to hook one leg around Carlton.
"You're insane," Carlton managed to say between kisses, his hands already busy under the hem of Shawn's T-shirt. "I'm insane."
"Sounds like a match to me," Shawn grinned, sliding his leg against Carlton's, wriggling under him for a more pleasurable position. When his breath caught in his throat and Carlton honest-to-god growled against his mouth, he figured he'd found the right one.
"I'm going to hell," Carlton whispered against the skin of his throat, breath hot and teeth sharp as he left a trail from his ear to his collarbone.
Shawn's eyes were closed, hands greedy, hips moving. "Yeah," he agreed. "But what a way to go."
To Be Continued...