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rispacooper Nov. 13th, 2008 12:29 pm)
rispacooper Nov. 13th, 2008 12:29 pm)Rebel Yell, Part Two (because I babble)
For: Psych
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter
Summary: What do you do when pursued by an amorous Shawn Spencer? Next in the Slutty Boys ‘Verse. This is like…fluff. Fluffy smut. Not pr0n. I’m not really sure how I started out with angst porn and ended up here, but okay…
Rating: Adults Only
Warnings: Fluffy smexin. Slash. Mild language. References to eggplant sandwiches.
His chest is tight, his throat locked. For a moment, all that races through his mind is that that bathroom had been filthy. In a place like that, he thinks, and tries to shake the thought away, as though it had never occurred to Spencer to try to take it anywhere else.
“Or not…” Spencer goes on after what Carlton realizes must have been a minute or two of silence. Spencer scratches behind his ear and moves his gaze up to the top of the tent when Carlton finally looks back at him, blinking. “Henry’s on your side of this, as much as he can bring himself to think and talk about it. Which isn’t much. I wouldn’t count on any invitations to go fishing for a while.”
“Henry?” The wince is automatic, but surprisingly, it makes Spencer look at him again. He’s even smiling a little as he swings his leg back and forth. “Wait a minute…” It’s not like he and Spencer are…
They’ve already messed around. It’s been a while since Carlton’s few college experimentations, but there is no denying that they have definitely fooled around. Gone further than fooling around, if he’s being honest. Wanted to do more than fool around. Dreamed about doing more than fooling around.
His face is burning. He is not imagining Spencer telling his father about that. That’s a nightmare for later. He’ll just have to start wearing a vest under his suits for the next few weeks, on the off chance Henry Spencer wants to kill him. And while that’s almost a welcome distraction right now, it’s not like Carlton is going to fire back at such a well-respected officer, though it could be fun, he supposes, a game of life or death and…
Carlton shuts his eyes for a moment and nearly cries. He’s going as insane as Spencer.
A few moments ago he had been peacefully recreating a scene from one of the bloodiest battles in history, minding his own business and reasonably content with all the imaginary carnage, even if he wasn’t sleeping steadily anymore and whenever he closed his eyes he saw a hundred little Spencers laughing at him for thinking his attention meant anything, and now he’s got the real Spencer in front of him, laughing at him not getting that his attention did mean something, and Henry Spencer probably out to kill or at least maim him.
“Hold on a minute, Spencer.” He puts up a hand and he knows he will never, ever understand Shawn Spencer because his fierce words make Spencer bounce in place.
“Don’t you think it’s time you called me Shawn again?”
“No,” Carlton answers shortly, no matter how hopefully Spencer’s voice had risen, or the way his eyes kept darting over to him in a look that would have uncertain from anyone else. People who suck cock in public bathrooms aren’t allowed to be shy. That’s a rule Carlton can get behind…a rule he can understand.
“I don’t know what you think this is, Sh—Spencer, but…” As soon as he knows what he’s saying, he’ll finish that sentence.
It’s hot in his tent. His skin feels like it’s on fire. Carlton pulls at his collar and pops free another few buttons, only shuddering a little when that gets Spencer’s attention. He’s starting to wonder if this is what the criminals Spencer catches feel like as he circles around their guilt. He ought to know what’s going on, except that all he can seem to focus on is that he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask Henry Spencer’s permission to date his son. He didn’t do that, well he did, he had, with Victoria and her father, but this was entirely different. “We’re not dating, Spencer.”
“Not yet, you won’t ask me,” Spencer snaps back instantly, as though he’s been waiting for Carlton to work out the obvious. “And frankly, Lass, I’m getting tired of waiting. Here I am, approaching spinsterhood…”
“Spinsterhoo…?”
“…All because you won’t work up the courage to ask me to go see the animated adventures of a martial-arts loving panda with you.” Spencer hops off the table and Carlton feels as though he can move again. He reaches around Spencer and grabs another piece of salami off his sandwich. He barely chews it before swallowing. Then he jabs his finger in Spencer’s direction. They aren’t quite close enough to touch, but they could be.
“You could ask me,” Carlton points out roughly and can’t even be surprised. “You don’t seem to have any problems inviting O’Hara to go anywhere.” Or Hornstock. But Carlton shuts his mouth hard before that name can slip out.
“Jules?” Spencer actually looks surprised. Then embarrassed. His face flushes a little to a nice, guilty pink and he spends a moment scratching behind his ear. “That’s a different kind of situation, Lassi,” he answers at last and widens his eyes when Carlton snorts and crosses his arms. “No, see, I was going to marry her…no…That isn’t really what a person ought to say out loud, isn’t it? Hmm.”
Spencer is frowning enough that Carlton spares a minute to wonder if Spencer other…dates…targets…suckers…whatever…were won over by this kind of talk, or if Spencer was just this irritating with him. He frowns right back at him and Spencer swallows and sucks in a breath.
Embarrassment evidently gone, Spencer launches into a speech about childhood and dreams and Guster’s cheerleader fantasy that doesn’t make much sense, not that Carlton had expected it to. He had thought Spencer had shown the slightest bit of maturity back in that field by actually telling the truth, but he had obviously been mistaken.
“Was going to. Was. Total past tense,” Spencer finally winds up, beaming again, hopefully, shyly, whatever. Carlton looks down.
“It’s none of my business, Spencer.” His sword belt has gotten twisted, probably during the fall. Spencer’s eyes are on him while he fixes it and when he raises his head, Spencer has moved in closer. Carlton’s legs hit the chair as he considers backing up.
“I swear.” Spencer actually crosses his heart as he says the words, then frowns when Carlton rolls his eyes. “Jules is like…” Spencer takes a moment to think…of a good lie probably. Then his face brightens. “The girl next door. The dream girl.”
Carlton actually feels his stomach clench, acid burning in the back of his throat.
“Not. Helping.” All the acid churning through him is nothing to the cold thrill of fear when he realizes he said that out loud. Spencer of course, immediately perks right up.
“But you, Lass, you’re like…” Carlton lowers his brows and works his jaw, his eyes on Spencer while Spencer searches for the right words. That he appears to be thinking deeply on the issue just proves he isn’t, that he has already thought about it in the recesses of his insane but undeniably gifted mind.
“…The cranky college kid up the street who is too busy and mature to have time for our crazy high school antics, but who I still catch a glimpse of sometimes through his bedroom window as he’s getting dressed and who I’m convinced is leaving his bedroom blinds open on purpose to screw with my teenage hormones.”
Carlton fakes a smile, then lifts his head when he realizes a second after Spencer is done talking that he didn’t have to. He blinks since his eyes feel dry, and swallows. His throat feels dry too. “What was that, Spencer? Ah…” Spencer has moved so that their boots are bumping, and the thought brings even more heat to Carlton’s face. Fortunately, Spencer is staring at the sandwich on the table.
“Believe me, if I’d thought I would have had a chance…”
“You would have screwed that up too?” The harsh words get stuck in Carlton’s throat when Spencer lifts his head and gives him his usual I’m-a-psychic-and-I-know-what-you’re-thinking look and then makes a “tsk tsk” sound. He still doesn’t know if Spencer being playful is Spencer being real, so he frowns and coughs before he speaks.
“What’s your point, Spencer?” Cutting through the bull is the best response. Spencer scowls for a moment and steps back into the table.
“You know, Lass, this is a very serious conversation for people who haven’t even had a first date yet.” He really shouldn’t be surprised that Spencer whines or that after his statement he reaches back to pick up a piece of salami. He looks thoughtful as he chews it, and doesn’t seem to notice that he got a bit of mustard on his cheek. Carlton glares at it—at him.
“Seriously, Spencer, what is with your dating obsession?” It’s just more of Spencer’s insanity, acting as though they haven’t known each other, or at least worked together, for over a year now. As though Spencer hadn’t hesitated to ask out everyone who wasn’t Carlton within a ten block radius. As though he’d asked anything before appearing in that bathroom.
Except he had, Carlton realizes again, and shivers.
Spencer stops chewing and licks most of the mustard from his cheek before gesturing at his uniform.
“An old-fashioned guy like you, Carlton? I thought you’d get it.” Spencer holds out a hand and uses his other one to count off on his fingers. “Without a first date we don’t get a first kiss. And it’s shortly after our first kiss that we finally get really freaky.” He finishes with a small flourish toward his head, as if to say to that this is all inevitable and in some psychic vision. Only after that Spencer is motionless, or appears that way, breathing shallowly.
Freaky? Carlton mentally repeats the word as he sucks in some air. He’s having some trouble difficulty too all of the sudden. He can hear himself breathing, the noise mingling with the slight rasp of Spencer’s breath, his heart in his ears, and the sounds of soul funk being played with snare drums, pipes, and trumpets.
“Is that…Flashlight?” Spencer blinks once or twice and then winces at the sound of a trumpet solo. “Civil War soldiers were big on George Clinton?”
“They also do weddings and bar mitzvahs,” Carlton explains over the distant sound of the men cheering what was clearly some kind of request.
“Of course they do.”
“Freaky?” Carlton wonders out loud. Spencer looks up, the bad music apparently forgotten. His slow grin is like the strip club all over again, but without the haze of scotch.
“Oh yeah,” Spencer promises, nodding for emphasis then closing his eyes. He puts up his hands and then lets them fall until they are resting on Carlton’s chest. It’s the vision scene he’s enacted a hundred times before and just like before his hands instantly wander. Carlton inhales sharply.
“We’ve just finished dinner—date number two—and you’re dropping me off at the office, because you’re such a gentlemen, Lassi, and you’re helping with the door, because I’ve got my arms full of the pineapple you brought me instead of flowers and some doggie bags because neither of us had much of an appetite…for food…” With his eyes closed, Spencer still arches his eyebrows and tries a leer. Carlton tries to snort, for effect, but his ears are straining for the next bit and he’s frozen, letting Spencer roll right on, spouting nonsense, groping him, just like always.
“Then while I’m leaning against the open door fiddling with my keys, you lean in, and before you know it you’ve got me pinned against the wall…and then the floor…and we don’t really make it all the way inside, but my neighbors are pretty discreet, so you don’t have to worry about my reputation.”
It’s not just his face. His whole body is on fire, and Spencer must feel it through his clothes, because he opens his eyes. Carlton stares back at him, tries to swallow but his throat is too dry.
“Are you saying…?” He can’t say that out loud, not while he’s wearing the uniform.
Spencer doesn’t seem to have the same problem. He shrugs again as though it doesn’t really matter.
“I didn’t really expect you to fuck me on the floor, Lassi, but I’m hardly complaining. The rug burns are so worth it.”
He feels like he has done the open mouth, shut mouth routine about six times already during this insane conversation. Spencer looks absolutely certain. It has to be a bluff.
Spencer’s not psychic. That’s the truth because psychics don’t exist.
True, Spencer is right about a lot of things. But Carlton doesn’t do impetuous things like take fake psychics on a date or to f… to make love on floors.
Yes, there had been sex in a strip club bathroom, but that had only been once…and…Spencer had somehow tricked him. Or at least, not really given him much a choice, just unzipped him and gone to town with that sweet, lying mouth of his. He had only pulled Spencer to his feet and jacked him off because he’d wanted to shut him up. Because he couldn’t just leave Spencer like that. Because Spencer’s skin was hot and his hands hadn’t let go once while Carlton had held him.
Clearing his throat isn’t any good with his mouth this dry.
If he was going to think about…about something like that happening…right here and now instead of at home in the shower, or on the couch during the Late Show, then it would all take place after dinner, inside, with the door closed and the windows closed. And there would be a bed, a big, wide bed with clean white sheets so he could grab Spencer’s wrists and work his legs apart without having to worry about a sore back in the morning. He’d turn Spencer into that whimpering, obedient mess he’d been the first time, fuck him until he couldn’t manage any psychic babble or pop culture references or anything else but his name.
His mouth is wet again. His body hot, his heart pounding, his dick hard.
Carlton licks his lips and leans in. Spencer’s eyes go wide again, though he isn’t trying to play innocent. His fingers curl at Carlton’s sides and Carlton jabs a finger into his chest and then pokes him again until his ass hits the table.
“I don’t play games.” What he’d meant to say outside suddenly comes back to him. Shawn blinks, obviously confused, and Carlton smiles at him, a good, slow smile that makes Spencer frown. He waits for three beats of his rapidly-approaching-an-arrhythmia heart and then leans in more. Spencer’s breath catches. “And if and when I ever fuck you, Spencer, it will be on my terms, not yours.”
At least, that’s what Carlton means to say. What he actually hears leave his mouth is, “When I fuck you, Spencer, it will be on my terms, not yours.”
His eye might be round with surprise, but Carlton still isn’t moving away. Spencer’s eyes slide down to his uniform and then back up, something suspiciously like a smirk curving his mouth.
Carlton’s hands are clutching something soft. He has a feeling that if he looks down he’ll see his hands wrinkling Spencer’s shirt. But Spencer wets his lips and the temptation is obvious. Carlton grunts and moves forward. If Spencer wants to provoke him then he’ll show him a first kiss.
He tightens his fingers in Spencer’s shirt and yanks him close.
“Wait wait wait!” Spencer whispers, his hands going up and Carlton freezes, a new sick feeling replacing the heat in his chest. This was another game. Of course it was. He drops his head and moves but Spencer puts his hands at his shoulders to hold him still.
“Lassi,” he says, almost seriously. Carlton scowls as he turns, already stepping away. Spencer just rolls his eyes. “I refuse to have our first kiss involve the face wig,” he announces, still close to serious. Carlton gets a moment to wonder once again what in the hell Spencer is talking about and then there’s just the lightening-quick sensation of pain as Spencer tears off his fake beard.
“Ow! What the hell, Spencer?” For a second he can’t see for the tears in his eyes, and then he doesn’t need to. Shawn Spencer’s mouth is under his, his stubble scratching his cheeks before Carlton turns into the kiss. Spencer makes the same whimpers as before when Carlton touches him, the same but they sound new, muffled against his mouth, as needy as Spencer’s grasping fingers pulling his head down. The sounds echo between them, and Carlton swears, tries to, and ends up just grabbing Spencer and crushing him to the table.
Spencer only parts his lips and lets him, leaning back, his hands clutching at the decorations on Carlton’s shoulders to stay up.
Spencer’s mouth is…Spencer’s mouth. Just like he imagined. Worse than he imagined. Quick and restless, but gentle, soft. He can’t breathe but he can’t stop. Carlton moves his hands, spreads them over Shawn’s stomach, brings them down to his hips.
Shawn’s legs are open and Carlton steps between them without hesitating, not really sure when Spencer had ended up sitting on the table again, not really caring either. He gets Shawn’s suspenders out of the way in a second flat and Spencer makes a surprised noise in his throat, but he moves his arms one at a time, bringing his hands back to Carlton the moment he can.
Carlton had slicked his hair down that morning to wear his hat. Spencer just drags his fingers back and forth through it until it’s a mess. He uses his short fingernails to scratch at the back of his neck, and lets out ridiculously hungry sounds with each lick of Carlton’s tongue across his. “Lassi Lassi Lassi,” he repeats in the bare second their mouths are apart and Carlton can hear himself answering, not even certain he’s using words. The noises make his face hot, seem loud around them, but his body tenses and Spencer’s only pounds against him, insistent.
His chest is going to burst and still Carlton is kissing Shawn, panting against his opened mouth, pushing forward again. His hands are locked tight on any part of Spencer he can reach, grasping, pulling cloth away until he finds skin.
Spencer is warm, tan like he’ll never be. His chest has a surprising amount of hair, not that he wants to imagine Spencer waxing.
“Carlton,” Spencer says easily, maybe smiling, but breathing too hard to play it completely cool. Carlton puts his mouth on that patch of skin at Spencer’s neck that has been driving him crazy and sucks hard. He’s leaving bruises but Spencer must like them, he shudders with each one, makes more noise, and Carlton decides heatedly that he’s going to leave Spencer covered in hickeys. He’ll have hickeys on every inch of him and when he looks in the mirror he’ll forget every smart ass thing he’d been going to say and just think about Carlton. That’s what he’d wanted in that closet, in that field, in that damn bathroom, what he wants at home in his bed.
Another noise slips out of him, rough into Spencer’s neck, and Carlton angles his head up, sucking at the scruff under Spencer’s chin. Spencer falls back and Carlton immediately arches over him, rests on top of him, pulling Spencer’s wrinkled white shirt out of the way until he can feel his bare skin with his palms.
Every time Spencer moves, every time he wriggles and tries to take over, Carlton pushes him back down, as rough as Spencer in that closet, enjoying Spencer’s shocked, aroused puffs of air against his face, the amused little wriggles that Spencer does on purpose after that, arching up to meet his hands and mouth. He doesn’t even mind when Spencer gasps out his name in his Little Girl Voice, because when Carlton stops, Spencer’s voice gets low again, and his grip on Carlton’s shoulders grows desperate.
Spencer’s skin is soft. Carlton licks the taste of sun tan lotion from Spencer’s throat, and pulls back. He has to hold himself up, his chest anyway, his crotch is still right between Spencer’s legs. Oh he’d thought about that, what he’d felt for a second in that goddamn storage closet. Spencer’s face hot and pink, his erection twitching and wet, rubbing against his cock as he moves.
“Lass…Lassi.” Spencer doesn’t even sound surprised as he stretches out beneath him. His white shirt is up to his neck, reminding Carlton that he’s also still in uniform. He is still in uniform.
“I don’t do things like this, Spencer,” Carlton growls against Spencer’s ear, breathing hard when Spencer shudders all over. His fingers splay out over the warmth of Spencer’s stomach on their own, start circling lower, and he didn’t do things like this ever before. Not even when people had asked him to.
Spencer doesn’t ask, not out loud. He closes his eyes and shifts his hips up and Carlton is groaning and falling back on top of him. He grips his hips tightly, bruising him again, and grunts into his shoulder. His mouth slides open again, teeth, tongue, he doesn’t care, Spencer just pants and says his name.
“That’s it,” Carlton hears himself speaking even while he’s still kissing Spencer’s throat, his collarbone, darting up for a moment to lick the last of the mustard from Spencer’s cheek. His stubble makes it like licking sandpaper, but Carlton does it again before dropping his head back down. Spencer’s shirt is in his way for a moment, and then his lips are around a nipple and Spencer is yelping his name. There’s a pounding beneath him, a heartbeat, like the heavy music of that club.
“Carlton,” Spencer says again, as easy as before, and Carlton yanks at the buttons on the fly of Spencer’s trousers, plastic, but then Spencer’s costume—uniform—had been last minute. They pop free with barely any effort and Carlton sneers at them, at the startled look on Spencer’s face when he glances up.
“Now?” Spencer seems shocked for a moment and then his eyes light up. “Lassi…” But Carlton is shaking his head, enjoying the confusion on Spencer’s face.
“I told you,” he warns once, his cock jerking at the frown on Spencer’s face. Because Spencer doesn’t know everything after all, and that’s the biggest turn on there is.
“But you…” Spencer starts, then stops, and Carlton really, really doesn’t want to hear about Hornstock right now, however Spencer knows.
“Unless you’re calling out my name, Spencer, I don’t want to hear it,” he bites out, then pauses to enjoy the strangled noise Spencer makes, the way the dick pressed against him reacts.
“Carlton Carlton Carlton,” Spencer responds breathlessly a moment later, and then shuts his eyes and screeches it out again, just barely keeping voice down when Carlton slides his pants down. Spencer had not gone with accuracy and worn boxers. Carlton peels those out of his way too. They’re damp, not quite sticky, and Spencer’s dick twitches for him the moment it’s freed. “Sweet Dole Pineapple Chunks. Carlton!”
It’s been a long time since Carlton’s done…anything like this…and he’d never really thought he was any good at it, if anyone could ever be bad at it, which didn’t seem possible. He’d stop, consider something else, but the second his lips touch Spencer’s dick, Spencer shouts his name to the high heavens, loud enough to wake the dead and make the band pause in mid-“Ring of Fire”.
Spencer’s entire body goes still at the first cautious flick of Carlton’s tongue, enough to make Carlton’s face get even hotter and make him think about pulling back. But Spencer’s hands reappear at his shoulders, holding him there, urging his head down.
Carlton dares a glance upward. Spencer’s exposed skin is flushed and sweaty, his chest moving quickly up and down as he struggles to catch his breath. He’s half-off the table for one moment, his mouth softly open and his eyes round, the look alone enough to make Carlton blush hotly, reminding him all over again that this was a bad idea, that he ought to stop, that he’d never be like Spencer at all this. This isn’t easy, and it shouldn’t be easy, to be this intimate with someone else. Spencer ought to learn that.
A rough, shocked noise bursts out of Spencer again when Carlton doesn’t stop, when he moves his tongue again, just like he had licked the mustard from Spencer’s face, and then Spencer collapses back onto the table, his hands flailing for a moment before settling back on Carlton’s shoulders.
“Lassi, if you stop, I will kill you,” Spencer promises him, and Carlton frowns, putting his palms on the table to better hold himself up while he lets his tongue trace the length of Spencer’s cock. It’s not bad, not small, a good mouthful. He stops his exploration to suck once or twice along the thick, pulsing vein, like Spencer had done to him, just grunting when Spencer’s fingers immediately slide up to his hair and tug it in all directions.
The sensation streaks sharply right down his spine, and Carlton grunts, putting his mouth back around Spencer’s cock and tightening his lips.
“Maybe I’ll just get Henry to kill you,” Spencer is still talking in hitching little bursts, quiet and then loud every other word, then just loud when Carlton takes a hand from the table to touch him.
His hip is slick, wet with sweat, the skin shivering under his fingertips. Spencer angles his lower body up and Carlton pushes back without thinking, warning, hard. The heavy, shocked noise escapes Spencer’s throat again, the same feverish whining he’d heard from against the door of that bathroom stall, close to pleading.
“God, Lassi,” Spencer sounds close to begging again, and Carlton likes that, hot again at Spencer begging, comparing him to God. His body is tense, arched painfully over Spencer but he’s knows he’s not going to stop. Not now. Not with Shawn like this.
He flicks his tongue again, pressing at the head of his cock, salty like he remembers and grins when Spencer yanks on his hair. It hurts a little, just like he likes it, and for a second he’s glad Spencer knows things, psychically or otherwise.
Rewarding, ready for more, Carlton ducks his head, taking in as much of Spencer’s cock as he can, swallowing around the tightening in his throat for a moment, then pulling slowly back.
“Or…maybe I’ll just m…marry you.”
Simple enough to do again, and again, just as slow, letting Spencer’s hips twitch and roll and his breath come faster. The slightest motion upward and Carlton can shove him back down, keep it how he wants it.
“Lassi…Carlton…” Spencer whines, twitching up again like he wants Carlton to shove him back, his fingers curling at his scalp, not quite scratching. He’s babbling again a moment later, letting Carlton slowly work his dick. “I didn’t…I don’t want you to think that… Oh, sweet mystery of life at last I’ve found you!”
“General?” The sound of Peterson saying his name and coughing outside the tent entrance takes a second to sink in and then Carlton freezes, glaring when Spencer raises his head to look at him. Spencer’s eyes look wide and dark, no longer blue at all, and there’s a spot at his neck, just above his collarbone, that’s already red with a bruise. Carlton stares at it, distracted, and pulls his mouth away to lick at his lips.
He’d take a moment wondering when Peterson got the discretion to not just walk in, but Shawn is shaking his head and scowling at him. He can almost believe Spencer would kill him if he stopped now, and without thinking Carlton wraps his other hand around the bottom of Spencer’s dick and resumes his blowjob. He makes his grip firm, and spends a moment stroking Spencer while his tongue curls around the tip of his cock.
Spencer falls back with a groan and a grunt and then twists hard on the hair he’s still holding. It’s so good Carlton nearly thrusts against the table, and settles for sucking hard right when Spencer opens his mouth.
“The…General…is…uh….busy!” Spencer’s voice rises to a subdued shriek, then drops to a low mutter. “Come back later, when I’m not dying.”
“What?” Peterson evidently isn’t discreet enough, and Carlton would be blushing if he could make himself care about anything else but the taste of Spencer’s cock and the way Spencer is already shaking, the way he’s going to make Spencer lose it right here, right now, with someone else listening. He can’t stop his hand from spreading wide on Spencer’s hip to feel it, to hold him steady when his lips meet his fist and he knows Spencer can’t feel anything but how tight and hot and wet it is.
“The uh…Lassi…uh…General Cartwright is still…Piña colada! Is still going over the message from Lee…”
“Lincoln,” Carlton tears away to correct him, and then slides his mouth back down and swallows.
“Lincoln!” Spencer whimpers at the door, pushing Carlton’s head down and then yanking it back up. “Oh God yes Lincoln.” He didn’t realize Spencer could hit that pitch. “Come back in a few minutes. The…um…the…affairs of state must take pre…precedence over the…um…affairs of state.”
That sounds familiar somehow, but Peterson just coughs again.
Spencer is really trembling now, shuddering with each dip of Carlton’s head, gasping out unevenly when Carlton’s fist squeezes him just right.
That Peterson has to know is at the back of Carlton’s mind, but Spencer feels hot and violent under his hands, feels weak in his mouth, sounds crazy even to the sergeant at the door.
“Lassi,” he pants as quietly as he can, probably frowning, probably surprised, and Carlton shifts, presses in to bring Spencer off, right there, his mind just as crazy as Spencer’s, feverish with the need to make Spencer come, to shut his stupid mouth, to make him stop saying ridiculous things to Peterson. Just his name, that’s what he wants and he flicks his tongue, sucks hard, squeezes Spencer’s dick like he wants every drop.
“Thought you might want a song,” someone else is still talking, just louder than the cry Spencer makes when Carlton pushes him over the edge. The yell burns along Carlton’s skin, down his body right to his cock, and he grunts as he tries to swallow the flood of semen. It burns inside too, sweet like victory at the blurred rush of words out of Spencer’s mouth, at hearing his name again, and the moremoremore right before, Spencer’s body shaking and exhausted underneath him.
He is…he could fuck Spencer right now.
Carlton blinks at the realization, too aroused to blush, to do more than look up at the door of the tent and realize that Peterson’s silhouette is gone and that there is come on his cheek from when he finally pulled away. It only takes a second after that to remember that he had just obviously had sex in his tent, in his uniform, with another man, and that the Sergeant had clearly understood that. Christ. He’d swear out loud, but his mouth feels heavy, his lips sort of buzzing. He’d forgotten about that feeling.
Carlton traces his lips with his tongue, the act making his cock twitch. He’s still pressed right against Spencer, and Spencer sighs.
Now that he can think, his back is seriously starting to ache, from his position or from the fall earlier, or both. He straightens with a wince and then Spencer moves at last. For a moment, he’d honestly looked dead except for the rise and fall of his chest.
He blinks too, as he lifts his head at little, his mouth still open like he hadn’t even once thought of trying to keep it shut. Carlton narrows his eyes, waiting, but Spencer just blinks at him again and lowers his head.
“I…” Don’t do things like this, Carlton starts to say, then stops, focusing on his sandwich, which has been crushed by either Spencer’s ass or his hands. Spencer’s meatball sub is of course, just fine at the other end of the table.
“There was a Mel Brooks Marathon on AMC yesterday,” Spencer remarks breathlessly, probably just to confuse him. Carlton shakes his head, then looks away as Spencer makes an effort to actually sit up.
And it does take him some effort. Carlton doesn’t stop his mouth from curving up, enjoying the stunned expression that’s lingering on Spencer’s face. It lasts until Spencer meets his eyes.
“You just gave me a blowjob with one your officers standing nearby,” he comments as though that means something and his knowing smirk returns no matter how out of breath he is.
Carlton stops, feels his dick pulse and jerk when Spencer directs that same knowing look at his lap, and scoots off the table.
“Spencer…” Sergeant Peterson is going to be back at any moment. Carlton puts a hand up, takes a step back, and has to sit down in the chair to keep from falling. He’s got Spencer straddling his legs a second later. If he didn’t know any better, he’d start to think that Spencer has been waiting for any chance to sit in his lap.
Spencer seems heavier now, slower; his usual quick hands stay at Carlton’s hips as he settles himself and the chair digs into the ground.
“Spencer,” he tries, as low as he can, and Spencer angles his head and rests his lips over his mouth, his breath hot.
“Carlton,” Spencer answers him seriously, bringing a hand to his coat, tugging at his loose collar. “Are these the pee-buttons?”
“I…What?” He knows he’s frowning, but gives up trying to figure out Spencer’s meaning when Spencer abandons his coat and moves his hand to the front of his trousers. His shifts his body up, his breath warm against Carlton’s cheek, and the chair creaks.
He doesn’t think it can hold both of them, and knows he’s right when Spencer has to slide his legs back to the ground. It’s a relief for half a second and then Spencer smiles down at him and Carlton realizes that he’s seen that smile before, on the stripper that Spencer had sent over to him.
There is still music playing from the regiment band outside, something familiar and yet wrong without electric guitar, but Spencer seems to recognize it. Carlton is halfway convinced he’s crazy for thinking Spencer would even know how to give him a lap dance when Spencer slides back into his lap, and rests his hands on his face, near his mouth.
His mouth is open, but Spencer’s smirk at seeing that fades as he runs his thumb over his bottom lip, which is still buzzing. Spencer’s thumb is dry, and Carlton licks his lip when it’s gone.
Spencer is still practically naked below his shirt, or close enough, his pants rumpled and his fly down.
“Spencer…” Carlton tries again, glancing at the door only to have Spencer “tsk” him again as he urges his head back. He angles his mouth close again, not really kissing him, and grins at Carlton’s scowl right before he sticks out his tongue and licks across Carlton’s cheek.
“Suspenders too?” he wonders as his hand moves under the bottom of Carlton’s coat and finds his undershirt, the suspenders. Spencer unhooks them without looking and though they aren’t elastic they snap back. Carlton sits up straighter, staring into Spencer’s face while the other man frowns lightly and tries to figure out the large inside button on Carlton’s trousers.
When he gets that, he ought to smile, because the weather was too warm for the traditional long underwear, and to be historically correct, Carlton hadn’t worn his usual underwear. He hadn’t worn any underwear.
Spencer’s eyebrows jerk up for a moment, but then he lifts his other hand to the back of Carlton’s head, holding himself up with his arm at Carlton’s shoulder, gripping the chair.
“Nothing to say, Spencer?” Carlton has to say something when it’s obvious that he’s not even wearing boxers, clearing his throat just to speak then stopping when Spencer’s other hand curls around his dick and Spencer ducks his head without a word. His fingers find their way back into Carlton’s hair, cupping the back of his head, and Spencer buries his face into his uniform.
The sound of Spencer breathing hard is all Carlton can hear, his skin warm where they’re touching. Carlton frowns, tries to look, but all he can see is Spencer’s silly hair. Then Spencer runs his fingers across the crown of his cock and slides his fingers down the shaft, loose and teasing, making Carlton’s breath hiss from between his teeth. He does it again, until Carlton can feel the damp heat of his palm wrapped around him. Then Spencer tightens his hold.
Carlton hisses again, fighting to keep quiet, grabbing onto Spencer’s hips and thrusting as much as he can with Spencer’s weight on him. His body is tense, aching, hot beneath his heavy uniform, and Spencer is panting against his neck, his mouth open over his pulse.
He doesn’t know what new game this is, and doesn’t really care. Spencer isn’t asking for anything.
“Lassi,” Spencer says finally, still quiet in a way that is definitely freaky, considering that he’s stroking Carlton quickly, hard, and Carlton can’t stop clenching and unclenching his hands, from pulling Spencer to him. He shuts his eyes, then opens them. “I didn’t expect that,” Spencer adds, after another pause, and Carlton rolls his eyes and gasps for breath.
“So you don’t know everything.” He does his best to shrug and Spencer’s other hand tugs at his hair, as much like lightening as anything else Spencer does.
“I know enough.” Carlton can feel him smiling again, enjoying the weak grunt Carlton can’t keep back. Spencer’s grip is firm, knowing, not as good as his mouth, but fast. He pulls at his hair again, distracting, and licks at his neck.
“Carlton,” he whispers, and whatever Spencer thinks this is, Carlton doesn’t say a word when Spencer moves up to bite at his earlobe. His stubble is as rough as before, and when he takes his thumb and presses into the head of his cock again Carlton leans back and pushes up against Spencer’s legs, between his legs, into the heat of his lap. He says something, turning his head to find Spencer’s ear, and Spencer answers him, shaking out a laugh, then groaning and arching up.
He draws his tongue along Carlton’s cheek again, and Carlton catches him this time, sliding his hands up to Spencer’s head, holding him steady as he pants into his mouth, capturing his tongue. He thrust up again, rocking them both, and shuts his eyes tight, imagining.
He is going to fuck Shawn Spencer.
The thought spears through him brighter and hotter than any amount of hair pulling, sweet and sharp like Spencer’s mouth under his. Carlton gasps, grabbing onto Spencer tight, coming fast while Spencer strokes him and breathes heavily under his ear.
The chair creaks again before he goes still and Spencer slowly takes his hand away.
Something tickles at the back of Carlton’s head, Spencer’s fingers in his hair maybe, before Spencer pulls back and gets stiffly to his feet. Carlton’s eyebrows come together as he watches that, his scowl only getting worse when he sees the mess he made on Spencer’s uniform.
He has no idea what Spencer is thinking, or why for a second he feels like he ought to get up and pull Spencer back down onto his lap. Maybe because for a moment he looks young, like the crazy teenager who lived down his street growing up that his mother had always said was going to hell, because he had always seemed shy, but then somehow had always come home in police cars and grown his hair long and snuck out to meet girls.
Spencer pauses for a moment, shaking his wrist, then looking down at his splattered shirt.
Carlton abruptly gets to his feet and puts out his hands but Spencer is already buttoning up his coat to hide the mess. His skin is still flushed and there’s some sweat at his forehead, but otherwise Spencer looks normal enough to pass inspection. Like nothing had happened. Except that he has buttoned his coat all the way up to the neck and he suddenly looks like a real soldier.
Carlton opens his mouth and there’s another cough at the tent door.
“What now?” His voice is tight and, for whatever reason, Spencer’s lips quirk up. Carlton can feel his ability to be embarrassed return with a sudden drop in his stomach. “I’ll be right out,” he adds when the figure outside won’t go away. His jaw is still a bit sore, something he discovers when he tries to clench it.
“So…Spencer…” he tries as soon as he can level out his voice and Spencer glances up, shrugs, and makes his way back to the bag and his sandwich and his two juice drinks. His sandwich is probably cold. So much for lunch.
Carlton rubs at his face, which feels raw thanks to Spencer’s ever-present facial scruff, and steps over to quickly try to stick his mustache and beard back on. There’s enough spirit gum on them it should still stay in place, and possibly hide the worst of the burn he’s sure is on his face.
He needs to make sure Spencer shaves more often.
Which all implies something that’s going to happen again, just like Spencer had predicted, and which is…annoying. No, it’s more than annoying, it’s aggravating to think that Spencer was right, again, and he was going to end up doing just what Spencer wanted, like always.
Spencer’s bag is packed up and over his shoulder. But he’s not moving from his position by the door, his eyebrows up and the smile coming and going from his face. After a second of sharing a look, Spencer scratches at his nose.
“So…?” he asks, rolling one hand as though that’s encouraging at all. Carlton clears his throat, then shuts his mouth. Because Spencer doesn’t have to say anything. Carlton had just done exactly what he’d just said he didn’t do. That he would never do.
Just because Spencer did it all the time didn’t make it normal, and someone ought to show Spencer that.
“I like Thai,” Spencer volunteers helpfully. Hopefully, if Carlton is going to be honest.
“I prefer Italian,” he answers instantly. “What food don’t you like?” he adds after a small pause, then narrows his eyes because Spencer still isn’t saying anything. Isn’t arguing, isn’t babbling pop nonsense and waving at his supposedly clairvoyant brain. Carlton looks down again and tries to fry the table with a stare. It doesn’t work, but why would it?
Thai is spicy enough to give him heartburn no matter how good it is. There’s only two Thai places in town that he even likes, and only one them the kind of place that he’d want to sit and dine in. Dammit, he doesn’t even like shrimp. Thai is definitely an acquired taste. Only Spencer, who seems to like everything he comes across, would possibly find Thai food appealing on a regular basis.
Carlton sighs then brings his head up. “I know a place that makes good pineapple friend rice.”
Spencer coughs once, just like Peterson, and taps his fingers along the strap of the bag. Carlton feels each one like some twisted countdown and breathes hard.
“And?” Spencer says at last, and Carlton throws his hands up.
“I can eat there alone if you don’t want to go, Spencer,” he snarls at him and Spencer grins widely.
“So…Thai Me Up, Thai Me Down tomorrow night at eight? The best rice in town…” Spencer calls out and gestures at Carlton’s hair, which, as soon as Carlton touches it, he realizes is a complete wreck. On account of Spencer.
“Tomorrow…?” he repeats blankly, remembering to refasten his pants at the same time. Spencer would know the restaurant he’d been thinking of.
“I made reservations…” Spencer hops in place with what cannot be nervous energy and then tilts his head to one side. “Wear something…dark. You know, I don’t usually put out on the first date, Lass…well okay I do. But two is definitely special. Actually I don’t think I’ve ever had a second date…Maybe it’s my cologne.” He stops to frown and sniff cautiously at his shoulder.
“Two?” Carlton winces to hear himself and composes himself enough to glare, and Spencer’s cologne always smells expensive and surprisingly understated. “That’s because blowing people in restrooms isn’t a date, Spencer.” The cool addition makes Spencer stare over at him for a long moment, and then the man nods and speaks, his voice tight.
“Exactly, Lass, that’s the point. Gus is very insistent that this is the proper way. Meals and movies and possibly dancing with the intent of more than hot sex, though hot sex is of course acceptable. It’s all very complicated. Gus has a book with a lot of rules in it.” Spencer scrunches his forehead and honestly looks confused.
“What?” He’s going to pretend that Spencer hasn’t been discussing him with Guster, and his father, and whoever else he’s decided to take into his confidence. “I have a reputation, Spencer,” he says after that, and licks his still-buzzing lips. “I’m not risking it for some trick or game or half-assed idea of dating.”
Spencer’s breath hitches and Carlton shoots him another glare that somehow stretches until neither of them is speaking, and hasn’t been speaking for a long time.
He feels like he just got hit by a truck.
“What is this?” Carlton demands. Spencer’s eyes look gray now as he avoids his gaze and steps back out toward the light.
He just skips out of the tent a second later, yelling. “Lunch. Seriously, Lassi, maybe you ought to get some sleep.”
“Oh and I’ll get this back to the president…” he adds, far too loudly, when he sees Peterson outside the door, and smacks the damn bag for good measure. As though Peterson is fooled at all.
With one last obviously fake wink, Spencer disappears from view. He’s moving fast, even for Spencer.
Carlton knows his face is beet red, but coughs and turns to face Peterson anyway.
The man is waiting on him, with what has to be a smile playing at the edge of his mouth. That’s…surprising. Peterson is the Assistant Fire Chief when he’s not playing Carlton’s ADC. But Carlton’s hardly one to take any crap from a junior officer, as O’Hara had learned the hard way.
Carlton brings a hand up to his collar, then scowls and leaves the top few buttons unfastened, his skin still hot and scratched from the way Spencer had curled his fingers around his neck. His hat is on the ground again, and he swoops down to retrieve it, nearly gasping at he flare up at the base of his spine.
“The men are ready,” Peterson comments in a dry voice he could have gotten from Chief Vick herself. He waves a hand at the field, and then over toward Horatio, who’s waiting nearby.
“I don’t give a crap whether they’re ready or not. I am,” Carlton sneers at him and strides past him. He angles the hat back, with the brim high over his forehead, and grabs the reins before he swings himself back up into the saddle. He has to grit his teeth, but he does it.
His back twinges and Carlton sneers at that too just as the band starts up a new song.
“Come on, Sergeant,” he orders, staring up at the sunshine. “Let’s do this.”
For: Psych
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter
Summary: What do you do when pursued by an amorous Shawn Spencer? Next in the Slutty Boys ‘Verse. This is like…fluff. Fluffy smut. Not pr0n. I’m not really sure how I started out with angst porn and ended up here, but okay…
Rating: Adults Only
Warnings: Fluffy smexin. Slash. Mild language. References to eggplant sandwiches.
His chest is tight, his throat locked. For a moment, all that races through his mind is that that bathroom had been filthy. In a place like that, he thinks, and tries to shake the thought away, as though it had never occurred to Spencer to try to take it anywhere else.
“Or not…” Spencer goes on after what Carlton realizes must have been a minute or two of silence. Spencer scratches behind his ear and moves his gaze up to the top of the tent when Carlton finally looks back at him, blinking. “Henry’s on your side of this, as much as he can bring himself to think and talk about it. Which isn’t much. I wouldn’t count on any invitations to go fishing for a while.”
“Henry?” The wince is automatic, but surprisingly, it makes Spencer look at him again. He’s even smiling a little as he swings his leg back and forth. “Wait a minute…” It’s not like he and Spencer are…
They’ve already messed around. It’s been a while since Carlton’s few college experimentations, but there is no denying that they have definitely fooled around. Gone further than fooling around, if he’s being honest. Wanted to do more than fool around. Dreamed about doing more than fooling around.
His face is burning. He is not imagining Spencer telling his father about that. That’s a nightmare for later. He’ll just have to start wearing a vest under his suits for the next few weeks, on the off chance Henry Spencer wants to kill him. And while that’s almost a welcome distraction right now, it’s not like Carlton is going to fire back at such a well-respected officer, though it could be fun, he supposes, a game of life or death and…
Carlton shuts his eyes for a moment and nearly cries. He’s going as insane as Spencer.
A few moments ago he had been peacefully recreating a scene from one of the bloodiest battles in history, minding his own business and reasonably content with all the imaginary carnage, even if he wasn’t sleeping steadily anymore and whenever he closed his eyes he saw a hundred little Spencers laughing at him for thinking his attention meant anything, and now he’s got the real Spencer in front of him, laughing at him not getting that his attention did mean something, and Henry Spencer probably out to kill or at least maim him.
“Hold on a minute, Spencer.” He puts up a hand and he knows he will never, ever understand Shawn Spencer because his fierce words make Spencer bounce in place.
“Don’t you think it’s time you called me Shawn again?”
“No,” Carlton answers shortly, no matter how hopefully Spencer’s voice had risen, or the way his eyes kept darting over to him in a look that would have uncertain from anyone else. People who suck cock in public bathrooms aren’t allowed to be shy. That’s a rule Carlton can get behind…a rule he can understand.
“I don’t know what you think this is, Sh—Spencer, but…” As soon as he knows what he’s saying, he’ll finish that sentence.
It’s hot in his tent. His skin feels like it’s on fire. Carlton pulls at his collar and pops free another few buttons, only shuddering a little when that gets Spencer’s attention. He’s starting to wonder if this is what the criminals Spencer catches feel like as he circles around their guilt. He ought to know what’s going on, except that all he can seem to focus on is that he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask Henry Spencer’s permission to date his son. He didn’t do that, well he did, he had, with Victoria and her father, but this was entirely different. “We’re not dating, Spencer.”
“Not yet, you won’t ask me,” Spencer snaps back instantly, as though he’s been waiting for Carlton to work out the obvious. “And frankly, Lass, I’m getting tired of waiting. Here I am, approaching spinsterhood…”
“Spinsterhoo…?”
“…All because you won’t work up the courage to ask me to go see the animated adventures of a martial-arts loving panda with you.” Spencer hops off the table and Carlton feels as though he can move again. He reaches around Spencer and grabs another piece of salami off his sandwich. He barely chews it before swallowing. Then he jabs his finger in Spencer’s direction. They aren’t quite close enough to touch, but they could be.
“You could ask me,” Carlton points out roughly and can’t even be surprised. “You don’t seem to have any problems inviting O’Hara to go anywhere.” Or Hornstock. But Carlton shuts his mouth hard before that name can slip out.
“Jules?” Spencer actually looks surprised. Then embarrassed. His face flushes a little to a nice, guilty pink and he spends a moment scratching behind his ear. “That’s a different kind of situation, Lassi,” he answers at last and widens his eyes when Carlton snorts and crosses his arms. “No, see, I was going to marry her…no…That isn’t really what a person ought to say out loud, isn’t it? Hmm.”
Spencer is frowning enough that Carlton spares a minute to wonder if Spencer other…dates…targets…suckers…whatever…were won over by this kind of talk, or if Spencer was just this irritating with him. He frowns right back at him and Spencer swallows and sucks in a breath.
Embarrassment evidently gone, Spencer launches into a speech about childhood and dreams and Guster’s cheerleader fantasy that doesn’t make much sense, not that Carlton had expected it to. He had thought Spencer had shown the slightest bit of maturity back in that field by actually telling the truth, but he had obviously been mistaken.
“Was going to. Was. Total past tense,” Spencer finally winds up, beaming again, hopefully, shyly, whatever. Carlton looks down.
“It’s none of my business, Spencer.” His sword belt has gotten twisted, probably during the fall. Spencer’s eyes are on him while he fixes it and when he raises his head, Spencer has moved in closer. Carlton’s legs hit the chair as he considers backing up.
“I swear.” Spencer actually crosses his heart as he says the words, then frowns when Carlton rolls his eyes. “Jules is like…” Spencer takes a moment to think…of a good lie probably. Then his face brightens. “The girl next door. The dream girl.”
Carlton actually feels his stomach clench, acid burning in the back of his throat.
“Not. Helping.” All the acid churning through him is nothing to the cold thrill of fear when he realizes he said that out loud. Spencer of course, immediately perks right up.
“But you, Lass, you’re like…” Carlton lowers his brows and works his jaw, his eyes on Spencer while Spencer searches for the right words. That he appears to be thinking deeply on the issue just proves he isn’t, that he has already thought about it in the recesses of his insane but undeniably gifted mind.
“…The cranky college kid up the street who is too busy and mature to have time for our crazy high school antics, but who I still catch a glimpse of sometimes through his bedroom window as he’s getting dressed and who I’m convinced is leaving his bedroom blinds open on purpose to screw with my teenage hormones.”
Carlton fakes a smile, then lifts his head when he realizes a second after Spencer is done talking that he didn’t have to. He blinks since his eyes feel dry, and swallows. His throat feels dry too. “What was that, Spencer? Ah…” Spencer has moved so that their boots are bumping, and the thought brings even more heat to Carlton’s face. Fortunately, Spencer is staring at the sandwich on the table.
“Believe me, if I’d thought I would have had a chance…”
“You would have screwed that up too?” The harsh words get stuck in Carlton’s throat when Spencer lifts his head and gives him his usual I’m-a-psychic-and-I-know-what-you’re-thinking look and then makes a “tsk tsk” sound. He still doesn’t know if Spencer being playful is Spencer being real, so he frowns and coughs before he speaks.
“What’s your point, Spencer?” Cutting through the bull is the best response. Spencer scowls for a moment and steps back into the table.
“You know, Lass, this is a very serious conversation for people who haven’t even had a first date yet.” He really shouldn’t be surprised that Spencer whines or that after his statement he reaches back to pick up a piece of salami. He looks thoughtful as he chews it, and doesn’t seem to notice that he got a bit of mustard on his cheek. Carlton glares at it—at him.
“Seriously, Spencer, what is with your dating obsession?” It’s just more of Spencer’s insanity, acting as though they haven’t known each other, or at least worked together, for over a year now. As though Spencer hadn’t hesitated to ask out everyone who wasn’t Carlton within a ten block radius. As though he’d asked anything before appearing in that bathroom.
Except he had, Carlton realizes again, and shivers.
Spencer stops chewing and licks most of the mustard from his cheek before gesturing at his uniform.
“An old-fashioned guy like you, Carlton? I thought you’d get it.” Spencer holds out a hand and uses his other one to count off on his fingers. “Without a first date we don’t get a first kiss. And it’s shortly after our first kiss that we finally get really freaky.” He finishes with a small flourish toward his head, as if to say to that this is all inevitable and in some psychic vision. Only after that Spencer is motionless, or appears that way, breathing shallowly.
Freaky? Carlton mentally repeats the word as he sucks in some air. He’s having some trouble difficulty too all of the sudden. He can hear himself breathing, the noise mingling with the slight rasp of Spencer’s breath, his heart in his ears, and the sounds of soul funk being played with snare drums, pipes, and trumpets.
“Is that…Flashlight?” Spencer blinks once or twice and then winces at the sound of a trumpet solo. “Civil War soldiers were big on George Clinton?”
“They also do weddings and bar mitzvahs,” Carlton explains over the distant sound of the men cheering what was clearly some kind of request.
“Of course they do.”
“Freaky?” Carlton wonders out loud. Spencer looks up, the bad music apparently forgotten. His slow grin is like the strip club all over again, but without the haze of scotch.
“Oh yeah,” Spencer promises, nodding for emphasis then closing his eyes. He puts up his hands and then lets them fall until they are resting on Carlton’s chest. It’s the vision scene he’s enacted a hundred times before and just like before his hands instantly wander. Carlton inhales sharply.
“We’ve just finished dinner—date number two—and you’re dropping me off at the office, because you’re such a gentlemen, Lassi, and you’re helping with the door, because I’ve got my arms full of the pineapple you brought me instead of flowers and some doggie bags because neither of us had much of an appetite…for food…” With his eyes closed, Spencer still arches his eyebrows and tries a leer. Carlton tries to snort, for effect, but his ears are straining for the next bit and he’s frozen, letting Spencer roll right on, spouting nonsense, groping him, just like always.
“Then while I’m leaning against the open door fiddling with my keys, you lean in, and before you know it you’ve got me pinned against the wall…and then the floor…and we don’t really make it all the way inside, but my neighbors are pretty discreet, so you don’t have to worry about my reputation.”
It’s not just his face. His whole body is on fire, and Spencer must feel it through his clothes, because he opens his eyes. Carlton stares back at him, tries to swallow but his throat is too dry.
“Are you saying…?” He can’t say that out loud, not while he’s wearing the uniform.
Spencer doesn’t seem to have the same problem. He shrugs again as though it doesn’t really matter.
“I didn’t really expect you to fuck me on the floor, Lassi, but I’m hardly complaining. The rug burns are so worth it.”
He feels like he has done the open mouth, shut mouth routine about six times already during this insane conversation. Spencer looks absolutely certain. It has to be a bluff.
Spencer’s not psychic. That’s the truth because psychics don’t exist.
True, Spencer is right about a lot of things. But Carlton doesn’t do impetuous things like take fake psychics on a date or to f… to make love on floors.
Yes, there had been sex in a strip club bathroom, but that had only been once…and…Spencer had somehow tricked him. Or at least, not really given him much a choice, just unzipped him and gone to town with that sweet, lying mouth of his. He had only pulled Spencer to his feet and jacked him off because he’d wanted to shut him up. Because he couldn’t just leave Spencer like that. Because Spencer’s skin was hot and his hands hadn’t let go once while Carlton had held him.
Clearing his throat isn’t any good with his mouth this dry.
If he was going to think about…about something like that happening…right here and now instead of at home in the shower, or on the couch during the Late Show, then it would all take place after dinner, inside, with the door closed and the windows closed. And there would be a bed, a big, wide bed with clean white sheets so he could grab Spencer’s wrists and work his legs apart without having to worry about a sore back in the morning. He’d turn Spencer into that whimpering, obedient mess he’d been the first time, fuck him until he couldn’t manage any psychic babble or pop culture references or anything else but his name.
His mouth is wet again. His body hot, his heart pounding, his dick hard.
Carlton licks his lips and leans in. Spencer’s eyes go wide again, though he isn’t trying to play innocent. His fingers curl at Carlton’s sides and Carlton jabs a finger into his chest and then pokes him again until his ass hits the table.
“I don’t play games.” What he’d meant to say outside suddenly comes back to him. Shawn blinks, obviously confused, and Carlton smiles at him, a good, slow smile that makes Spencer frown. He waits for three beats of his rapidly-approaching-an-arrhythmia heart and then leans in more. Spencer’s breath catches. “And if and when I ever fuck you, Spencer, it will be on my terms, not yours.”
At least, that’s what Carlton means to say. What he actually hears leave his mouth is, “When I fuck you, Spencer, it will be on my terms, not yours.”
His eye might be round with surprise, but Carlton still isn’t moving away. Spencer’s eyes slide down to his uniform and then back up, something suspiciously like a smirk curving his mouth.
Carlton’s hands are clutching something soft. He has a feeling that if he looks down he’ll see his hands wrinkling Spencer’s shirt. But Spencer wets his lips and the temptation is obvious. Carlton grunts and moves forward. If Spencer wants to provoke him then he’ll show him a first kiss.
He tightens his fingers in Spencer’s shirt and yanks him close.
“Wait wait wait!” Spencer whispers, his hands going up and Carlton freezes, a new sick feeling replacing the heat in his chest. This was another game. Of course it was. He drops his head and moves but Spencer puts his hands at his shoulders to hold him still.
“Lassi,” he says, almost seriously. Carlton scowls as he turns, already stepping away. Spencer just rolls his eyes. “I refuse to have our first kiss involve the face wig,” he announces, still close to serious. Carlton gets a moment to wonder once again what in the hell Spencer is talking about and then there’s just the lightening-quick sensation of pain as Spencer tears off his fake beard.
“Ow! What the hell, Spencer?” For a second he can’t see for the tears in his eyes, and then he doesn’t need to. Shawn Spencer’s mouth is under his, his stubble scratching his cheeks before Carlton turns into the kiss. Spencer makes the same whimpers as before when Carlton touches him, the same but they sound new, muffled against his mouth, as needy as Spencer’s grasping fingers pulling his head down. The sounds echo between them, and Carlton swears, tries to, and ends up just grabbing Spencer and crushing him to the table.
Spencer only parts his lips and lets him, leaning back, his hands clutching at the decorations on Carlton’s shoulders to stay up.
Spencer’s mouth is…Spencer’s mouth. Just like he imagined. Worse than he imagined. Quick and restless, but gentle, soft. He can’t breathe but he can’t stop. Carlton moves his hands, spreads them over Shawn’s stomach, brings them down to his hips.
Shawn’s legs are open and Carlton steps between them without hesitating, not really sure when Spencer had ended up sitting on the table again, not really caring either. He gets Shawn’s suspenders out of the way in a second flat and Spencer makes a surprised noise in his throat, but he moves his arms one at a time, bringing his hands back to Carlton the moment he can.
Carlton had slicked his hair down that morning to wear his hat. Spencer just drags his fingers back and forth through it until it’s a mess. He uses his short fingernails to scratch at the back of his neck, and lets out ridiculously hungry sounds with each lick of Carlton’s tongue across his. “Lassi Lassi Lassi,” he repeats in the bare second their mouths are apart and Carlton can hear himself answering, not even certain he’s using words. The noises make his face hot, seem loud around them, but his body tenses and Spencer’s only pounds against him, insistent.
His chest is going to burst and still Carlton is kissing Shawn, panting against his opened mouth, pushing forward again. His hands are locked tight on any part of Spencer he can reach, grasping, pulling cloth away until he finds skin.
Spencer is warm, tan like he’ll never be. His chest has a surprising amount of hair, not that he wants to imagine Spencer waxing.
“Carlton,” Spencer says easily, maybe smiling, but breathing too hard to play it completely cool. Carlton puts his mouth on that patch of skin at Spencer’s neck that has been driving him crazy and sucks hard. He’s leaving bruises but Spencer must like them, he shudders with each one, makes more noise, and Carlton decides heatedly that he’s going to leave Spencer covered in hickeys. He’ll have hickeys on every inch of him and when he looks in the mirror he’ll forget every smart ass thing he’d been going to say and just think about Carlton. That’s what he’d wanted in that closet, in that field, in that damn bathroom, what he wants at home in his bed.
Another noise slips out of him, rough into Spencer’s neck, and Carlton angles his head up, sucking at the scruff under Spencer’s chin. Spencer falls back and Carlton immediately arches over him, rests on top of him, pulling Spencer’s wrinkled white shirt out of the way until he can feel his bare skin with his palms.
Every time Spencer moves, every time he wriggles and tries to take over, Carlton pushes him back down, as rough as Spencer in that closet, enjoying Spencer’s shocked, aroused puffs of air against his face, the amused little wriggles that Spencer does on purpose after that, arching up to meet his hands and mouth. He doesn’t even mind when Spencer gasps out his name in his Little Girl Voice, because when Carlton stops, Spencer’s voice gets low again, and his grip on Carlton’s shoulders grows desperate.
Spencer’s skin is soft. Carlton licks the taste of sun tan lotion from Spencer’s throat, and pulls back. He has to hold himself up, his chest anyway, his crotch is still right between Spencer’s legs. Oh he’d thought about that, what he’d felt for a second in that goddamn storage closet. Spencer’s face hot and pink, his erection twitching and wet, rubbing against his cock as he moves.
“Lass…Lassi.” Spencer doesn’t even sound surprised as he stretches out beneath him. His white shirt is up to his neck, reminding Carlton that he’s also still in uniform. He is still in uniform.
“I don’t do things like this, Spencer,” Carlton growls against Spencer’s ear, breathing hard when Spencer shudders all over. His fingers splay out over the warmth of Spencer’s stomach on their own, start circling lower, and he didn’t do things like this ever before. Not even when people had asked him to.
Spencer doesn’t ask, not out loud. He closes his eyes and shifts his hips up and Carlton is groaning and falling back on top of him. He grips his hips tightly, bruising him again, and grunts into his shoulder. His mouth slides open again, teeth, tongue, he doesn’t care, Spencer just pants and says his name.
“That’s it,” Carlton hears himself speaking even while he’s still kissing Spencer’s throat, his collarbone, darting up for a moment to lick the last of the mustard from Spencer’s cheek. His stubble makes it like licking sandpaper, but Carlton does it again before dropping his head back down. Spencer’s shirt is in his way for a moment, and then his lips are around a nipple and Spencer is yelping his name. There’s a pounding beneath him, a heartbeat, like the heavy music of that club.
“Carlton,” Spencer says again, as easy as before, and Carlton yanks at the buttons on the fly of Spencer’s trousers, plastic, but then Spencer’s costume—uniform—had been last minute. They pop free with barely any effort and Carlton sneers at them, at the startled look on Spencer’s face when he glances up.
“Now?” Spencer seems shocked for a moment and then his eyes light up. “Lassi…” But Carlton is shaking his head, enjoying the confusion on Spencer’s face.
“I told you,” he warns once, his cock jerking at the frown on Spencer’s face. Because Spencer doesn’t know everything after all, and that’s the biggest turn on there is.
“But you…” Spencer starts, then stops, and Carlton really, really doesn’t want to hear about Hornstock right now, however Spencer knows.
“Unless you’re calling out my name, Spencer, I don’t want to hear it,” he bites out, then pauses to enjoy the strangled noise Spencer makes, the way the dick pressed against him reacts.
“Carlton Carlton Carlton,” Spencer responds breathlessly a moment later, and then shuts his eyes and screeches it out again, just barely keeping voice down when Carlton slides his pants down. Spencer had not gone with accuracy and worn boxers. Carlton peels those out of his way too. They’re damp, not quite sticky, and Spencer’s dick twitches for him the moment it’s freed. “Sweet Dole Pineapple Chunks. Carlton!”
It’s been a long time since Carlton’s done…anything like this…and he’d never really thought he was any good at it, if anyone could ever be bad at it, which didn’t seem possible. He’d stop, consider something else, but the second his lips touch Spencer’s dick, Spencer shouts his name to the high heavens, loud enough to wake the dead and make the band pause in mid-“Ring of Fire”.
Spencer’s entire body goes still at the first cautious flick of Carlton’s tongue, enough to make Carlton’s face get even hotter and make him think about pulling back. But Spencer’s hands reappear at his shoulders, holding him there, urging his head down.
Carlton dares a glance upward. Spencer’s exposed skin is flushed and sweaty, his chest moving quickly up and down as he struggles to catch his breath. He’s half-off the table for one moment, his mouth softly open and his eyes round, the look alone enough to make Carlton blush hotly, reminding him all over again that this was a bad idea, that he ought to stop, that he’d never be like Spencer at all this. This isn’t easy, and it shouldn’t be easy, to be this intimate with someone else. Spencer ought to learn that.
A rough, shocked noise bursts out of Spencer again when Carlton doesn’t stop, when he moves his tongue again, just like he had licked the mustard from Spencer’s face, and then Spencer collapses back onto the table, his hands flailing for a moment before settling back on Carlton’s shoulders.
“Lassi, if you stop, I will kill you,” Spencer promises him, and Carlton frowns, putting his palms on the table to better hold himself up while he lets his tongue trace the length of Spencer’s cock. It’s not bad, not small, a good mouthful. He stops his exploration to suck once or twice along the thick, pulsing vein, like Spencer had done to him, just grunting when Spencer’s fingers immediately slide up to his hair and tug it in all directions.
The sensation streaks sharply right down his spine, and Carlton grunts, putting his mouth back around Spencer’s cock and tightening his lips.
“Maybe I’ll just get Henry to kill you,” Spencer is still talking in hitching little bursts, quiet and then loud every other word, then just loud when Carlton takes a hand from the table to touch him.
His hip is slick, wet with sweat, the skin shivering under his fingertips. Spencer angles his lower body up and Carlton pushes back without thinking, warning, hard. The heavy, shocked noise escapes Spencer’s throat again, the same feverish whining he’d heard from against the door of that bathroom stall, close to pleading.
“God, Lassi,” Spencer sounds close to begging again, and Carlton likes that, hot again at Spencer begging, comparing him to God. His body is tense, arched painfully over Spencer but he’s knows he’s not going to stop. Not now. Not with Shawn like this.
He flicks his tongue again, pressing at the head of his cock, salty like he remembers and grins when Spencer yanks on his hair. It hurts a little, just like he likes it, and for a second he’s glad Spencer knows things, psychically or otherwise.
Rewarding, ready for more, Carlton ducks his head, taking in as much of Spencer’s cock as he can, swallowing around the tightening in his throat for a moment, then pulling slowly back.
“Or…maybe I’ll just m…marry you.”
Simple enough to do again, and again, just as slow, letting Spencer’s hips twitch and roll and his breath come faster. The slightest motion upward and Carlton can shove him back down, keep it how he wants it.
“Lassi…Carlton…” Spencer whines, twitching up again like he wants Carlton to shove him back, his fingers curling at his scalp, not quite scratching. He’s babbling again a moment later, letting Carlton slowly work his dick. “I didn’t…I don’t want you to think that… Oh, sweet mystery of life at last I’ve found you!”
“General?” The sound of Peterson saying his name and coughing outside the tent entrance takes a second to sink in and then Carlton freezes, glaring when Spencer raises his head to look at him. Spencer’s eyes look wide and dark, no longer blue at all, and there’s a spot at his neck, just above his collarbone, that’s already red with a bruise. Carlton stares at it, distracted, and pulls his mouth away to lick at his lips.
He’d take a moment wondering when Peterson got the discretion to not just walk in, but Shawn is shaking his head and scowling at him. He can almost believe Spencer would kill him if he stopped now, and without thinking Carlton wraps his other hand around the bottom of Spencer’s dick and resumes his blowjob. He makes his grip firm, and spends a moment stroking Spencer while his tongue curls around the tip of his cock.
Spencer falls back with a groan and a grunt and then twists hard on the hair he’s still holding. It’s so good Carlton nearly thrusts against the table, and settles for sucking hard right when Spencer opens his mouth.
“The…General…is…uh….busy!” Spencer’s voice rises to a subdued shriek, then drops to a low mutter. “Come back later, when I’m not dying.”
“What?” Peterson evidently isn’t discreet enough, and Carlton would be blushing if he could make himself care about anything else but the taste of Spencer’s cock and the way Spencer is already shaking, the way he’s going to make Spencer lose it right here, right now, with someone else listening. He can’t stop his hand from spreading wide on Spencer’s hip to feel it, to hold him steady when his lips meet his fist and he knows Spencer can’t feel anything but how tight and hot and wet it is.
“The uh…Lassi…uh…General Cartwright is still…Piña colada! Is still going over the message from Lee…”
“Lincoln,” Carlton tears away to correct him, and then slides his mouth back down and swallows.
“Lincoln!” Spencer whimpers at the door, pushing Carlton’s head down and then yanking it back up. “Oh God yes Lincoln.” He didn’t realize Spencer could hit that pitch. “Come back in a few minutes. The…um…the…affairs of state must take pre…precedence over the…um…affairs of state.”
That sounds familiar somehow, but Peterson just coughs again.
Spencer is really trembling now, shuddering with each dip of Carlton’s head, gasping out unevenly when Carlton’s fist squeezes him just right.
That Peterson has to know is at the back of Carlton’s mind, but Spencer feels hot and violent under his hands, feels weak in his mouth, sounds crazy even to the sergeant at the door.
“Lassi,” he pants as quietly as he can, probably frowning, probably surprised, and Carlton shifts, presses in to bring Spencer off, right there, his mind just as crazy as Spencer’s, feverish with the need to make Spencer come, to shut his stupid mouth, to make him stop saying ridiculous things to Peterson. Just his name, that’s what he wants and he flicks his tongue, sucks hard, squeezes Spencer’s dick like he wants every drop.
“Thought you might want a song,” someone else is still talking, just louder than the cry Spencer makes when Carlton pushes him over the edge. The yell burns along Carlton’s skin, down his body right to his cock, and he grunts as he tries to swallow the flood of semen. It burns inside too, sweet like victory at the blurred rush of words out of Spencer’s mouth, at hearing his name again, and the moremoremore right before, Spencer’s body shaking and exhausted underneath him.
He is…he could fuck Spencer right now.
Carlton blinks at the realization, too aroused to blush, to do more than look up at the door of the tent and realize that Peterson’s silhouette is gone and that there is come on his cheek from when he finally pulled away. It only takes a second after that to remember that he had just obviously had sex in his tent, in his uniform, with another man, and that the Sergeant had clearly understood that. Christ. He’d swear out loud, but his mouth feels heavy, his lips sort of buzzing. He’d forgotten about that feeling.
Carlton traces his lips with his tongue, the act making his cock twitch. He’s still pressed right against Spencer, and Spencer sighs.
Now that he can think, his back is seriously starting to ache, from his position or from the fall earlier, or both. He straightens with a wince and then Spencer moves at last. For a moment, he’d honestly looked dead except for the rise and fall of his chest.
He blinks too, as he lifts his head at little, his mouth still open like he hadn’t even once thought of trying to keep it shut. Carlton narrows his eyes, waiting, but Spencer just blinks at him again and lowers his head.
“I…” Don’t do things like this, Carlton starts to say, then stops, focusing on his sandwich, which has been crushed by either Spencer’s ass or his hands. Spencer’s meatball sub is of course, just fine at the other end of the table.
“There was a Mel Brooks Marathon on AMC yesterday,” Spencer remarks breathlessly, probably just to confuse him. Carlton shakes his head, then looks away as Spencer makes an effort to actually sit up.
And it does take him some effort. Carlton doesn’t stop his mouth from curving up, enjoying the stunned expression that’s lingering on Spencer’s face. It lasts until Spencer meets his eyes.
“You just gave me a blowjob with one your officers standing nearby,” he comments as though that means something and his knowing smirk returns no matter how out of breath he is.
Carlton stops, feels his dick pulse and jerk when Spencer directs that same knowing look at his lap, and scoots off the table.
“Spencer…” Sergeant Peterson is going to be back at any moment. Carlton puts a hand up, takes a step back, and has to sit down in the chair to keep from falling. He’s got Spencer straddling his legs a second later. If he didn’t know any better, he’d start to think that Spencer has been waiting for any chance to sit in his lap.
Spencer seems heavier now, slower; his usual quick hands stay at Carlton’s hips as he settles himself and the chair digs into the ground.
“Spencer,” he tries, as low as he can, and Spencer angles his head and rests his lips over his mouth, his breath hot.
“Carlton,” Spencer answers him seriously, bringing a hand to his coat, tugging at his loose collar. “Are these the pee-buttons?”
“I…What?” He knows he’s frowning, but gives up trying to figure out Spencer’s meaning when Spencer abandons his coat and moves his hand to the front of his trousers. His shifts his body up, his breath warm against Carlton’s cheek, and the chair creaks.
He doesn’t think it can hold both of them, and knows he’s right when Spencer has to slide his legs back to the ground. It’s a relief for half a second and then Spencer smiles down at him and Carlton realizes that he’s seen that smile before, on the stripper that Spencer had sent over to him.
There is still music playing from the regiment band outside, something familiar and yet wrong without electric guitar, but Spencer seems to recognize it. Carlton is halfway convinced he’s crazy for thinking Spencer would even know how to give him a lap dance when Spencer slides back into his lap, and rests his hands on his face, near his mouth.
His mouth is open, but Spencer’s smirk at seeing that fades as he runs his thumb over his bottom lip, which is still buzzing. Spencer’s thumb is dry, and Carlton licks his lip when it’s gone.
Spencer is still practically naked below his shirt, or close enough, his pants rumpled and his fly down.
“Spencer…” Carlton tries again, glancing at the door only to have Spencer “tsk” him again as he urges his head back. He angles his mouth close again, not really kissing him, and grins at Carlton’s scowl right before he sticks out his tongue and licks across Carlton’s cheek.
“Suspenders too?” he wonders as his hand moves under the bottom of Carlton’s coat and finds his undershirt, the suspenders. Spencer unhooks them without looking and though they aren’t elastic they snap back. Carlton sits up straighter, staring into Spencer’s face while the other man frowns lightly and tries to figure out the large inside button on Carlton’s trousers.
When he gets that, he ought to smile, because the weather was too warm for the traditional long underwear, and to be historically correct, Carlton hadn’t worn his usual underwear. He hadn’t worn any underwear.
Spencer’s eyebrows jerk up for a moment, but then he lifts his other hand to the back of Carlton’s head, holding himself up with his arm at Carlton’s shoulder, gripping the chair.
“Nothing to say, Spencer?” Carlton has to say something when it’s obvious that he’s not even wearing boxers, clearing his throat just to speak then stopping when Spencer’s other hand curls around his dick and Spencer ducks his head without a word. His fingers find their way back into Carlton’s hair, cupping the back of his head, and Spencer buries his face into his uniform.
The sound of Spencer breathing hard is all Carlton can hear, his skin warm where they’re touching. Carlton frowns, tries to look, but all he can see is Spencer’s silly hair. Then Spencer runs his fingers across the crown of his cock and slides his fingers down the shaft, loose and teasing, making Carlton’s breath hiss from between his teeth. He does it again, until Carlton can feel the damp heat of his palm wrapped around him. Then Spencer tightens his hold.
Carlton hisses again, fighting to keep quiet, grabbing onto Spencer’s hips and thrusting as much as he can with Spencer’s weight on him. His body is tense, aching, hot beneath his heavy uniform, and Spencer is panting against his neck, his mouth open over his pulse.
He doesn’t know what new game this is, and doesn’t really care. Spencer isn’t asking for anything.
“Lassi,” Spencer says finally, still quiet in a way that is definitely freaky, considering that he’s stroking Carlton quickly, hard, and Carlton can’t stop clenching and unclenching his hands, from pulling Spencer to him. He shuts his eyes, then opens them. “I didn’t expect that,” Spencer adds, after another pause, and Carlton rolls his eyes and gasps for breath.
“So you don’t know everything.” He does his best to shrug and Spencer’s other hand tugs at his hair, as much like lightening as anything else Spencer does.
“I know enough.” Carlton can feel him smiling again, enjoying the weak grunt Carlton can’t keep back. Spencer’s grip is firm, knowing, not as good as his mouth, but fast. He pulls at his hair again, distracting, and licks at his neck.
“Carlton,” he whispers, and whatever Spencer thinks this is, Carlton doesn’t say a word when Spencer moves up to bite at his earlobe. His stubble is as rough as before, and when he takes his thumb and presses into the head of his cock again Carlton leans back and pushes up against Spencer’s legs, between his legs, into the heat of his lap. He says something, turning his head to find Spencer’s ear, and Spencer answers him, shaking out a laugh, then groaning and arching up.
He draws his tongue along Carlton’s cheek again, and Carlton catches him this time, sliding his hands up to Spencer’s head, holding him steady as he pants into his mouth, capturing his tongue. He thrust up again, rocking them both, and shuts his eyes tight, imagining.
He is going to fuck Shawn Spencer.
The thought spears through him brighter and hotter than any amount of hair pulling, sweet and sharp like Spencer’s mouth under his. Carlton gasps, grabbing onto Spencer tight, coming fast while Spencer strokes him and breathes heavily under his ear.
The chair creaks again before he goes still and Spencer slowly takes his hand away.
Something tickles at the back of Carlton’s head, Spencer’s fingers in his hair maybe, before Spencer pulls back and gets stiffly to his feet. Carlton’s eyebrows come together as he watches that, his scowl only getting worse when he sees the mess he made on Spencer’s uniform.
He has no idea what Spencer is thinking, or why for a second he feels like he ought to get up and pull Spencer back down onto his lap. Maybe because for a moment he looks young, like the crazy teenager who lived down his street growing up that his mother had always said was going to hell, because he had always seemed shy, but then somehow had always come home in police cars and grown his hair long and snuck out to meet girls.
Spencer pauses for a moment, shaking his wrist, then looking down at his splattered shirt.
Carlton abruptly gets to his feet and puts out his hands but Spencer is already buttoning up his coat to hide the mess. His skin is still flushed and there’s some sweat at his forehead, but otherwise Spencer looks normal enough to pass inspection. Like nothing had happened. Except that he has buttoned his coat all the way up to the neck and he suddenly looks like a real soldier.
Carlton opens his mouth and there’s another cough at the tent door.
“What now?” His voice is tight and, for whatever reason, Spencer’s lips quirk up. Carlton can feel his ability to be embarrassed return with a sudden drop in his stomach. “I’ll be right out,” he adds when the figure outside won’t go away. His jaw is still a bit sore, something he discovers when he tries to clench it.
“So…Spencer…” he tries as soon as he can level out his voice and Spencer glances up, shrugs, and makes his way back to the bag and his sandwich and his two juice drinks. His sandwich is probably cold. So much for lunch.
Carlton rubs at his face, which feels raw thanks to Spencer’s ever-present facial scruff, and steps over to quickly try to stick his mustache and beard back on. There’s enough spirit gum on them it should still stay in place, and possibly hide the worst of the burn he’s sure is on his face.
He needs to make sure Spencer shaves more often.
Which all implies something that’s going to happen again, just like Spencer had predicted, and which is…annoying. No, it’s more than annoying, it’s aggravating to think that Spencer was right, again, and he was going to end up doing just what Spencer wanted, like always.
Spencer’s bag is packed up and over his shoulder. But he’s not moving from his position by the door, his eyebrows up and the smile coming and going from his face. After a second of sharing a look, Spencer scratches at his nose.
“So…?” he asks, rolling one hand as though that’s encouraging at all. Carlton clears his throat, then shuts his mouth. Because Spencer doesn’t have to say anything. Carlton had just done exactly what he’d just said he didn’t do. That he would never do.
Just because Spencer did it all the time didn’t make it normal, and someone ought to show Spencer that.
“I like Thai,” Spencer volunteers helpfully. Hopefully, if Carlton is going to be honest.
“I prefer Italian,” he answers instantly. “What food don’t you like?” he adds after a small pause, then narrows his eyes because Spencer still isn’t saying anything. Isn’t arguing, isn’t babbling pop nonsense and waving at his supposedly clairvoyant brain. Carlton looks down again and tries to fry the table with a stare. It doesn’t work, but why would it?
Thai is spicy enough to give him heartburn no matter how good it is. There’s only two Thai places in town that he even likes, and only one them the kind of place that he’d want to sit and dine in. Dammit, he doesn’t even like shrimp. Thai is definitely an acquired taste. Only Spencer, who seems to like everything he comes across, would possibly find Thai food appealing on a regular basis.
Carlton sighs then brings his head up. “I know a place that makes good pineapple friend rice.”
Spencer coughs once, just like Peterson, and taps his fingers along the strap of the bag. Carlton feels each one like some twisted countdown and breathes hard.
“And?” Spencer says at last, and Carlton throws his hands up.
“I can eat there alone if you don’t want to go, Spencer,” he snarls at him and Spencer grins widely.
“So…Thai Me Up, Thai Me Down tomorrow night at eight? The best rice in town…” Spencer calls out and gestures at Carlton’s hair, which, as soon as Carlton touches it, he realizes is a complete wreck. On account of Spencer.
“Tomorrow…?” he repeats blankly, remembering to refasten his pants at the same time. Spencer would know the restaurant he’d been thinking of.
“I made reservations…” Spencer hops in place with what cannot be nervous energy and then tilts his head to one side. “Wear something…dark. You know, I don’t usually put out on the first date, Lass…well okay I do. But two is definitely special. Actually I don’t think I’ve ever had a second date…Maybe it’s my cologne.” He stops to frown and sniff cautiously at his shoulder.
“Two?” Carlton winces to hear himself and composes himself enough to glare, and Spencer’s cologne always smells expensive and surprisingly understated. “That’s because blowing people in restrooms isn’t a date, Spencer.” The cool addition makes Spencer stare over at him for a long moment, and then the man nods and speaks, his voice tight.
“Exactly, Lass, that’s the point. Gus is very insistent that this is the proper way. Meals and movies and possibly dancing with the intent of more than hot sex, though hot sex is of course acceptable. It’s all very complicated. Gus has a book with a lot of rules in it.” Spencer scrunches his forehead and honestly looks confused.
“What?” He’s going to pretend that Spencer hasn’t been discussing him with Guster, and his father, and whoever else he’s decided to take into his confidence. “I have a reputation, Spencer,” he says after that, and licks his still-buzzing lips. “I’m not risking it for some trick or game or half-assed idea of dating.”
Spencer’s breath hitches and Carlton shoots him another glare that somehow stretches until neither of them is speaking, and hasn’t been speaking for a long time.
He feels like he just got hit by a truck.
“What is this?” Carlton demands. Spencer’s eyes look gray now as he avoids his gaze and steps back out toward the light.
He just skips out of the tent a second later, yelling. “Lunch. Seriously, Lassi, maybe you ought to get some sleep.”
“Oh and I’ll get this back to the president…” he adds, far too loudly, when he sees Peterson outside the door, and smacks the damn bag for good measure. As though Peterson is fooled at all.
With one last obviously fake wink, Spencer disappears from view. He’s moving fast, even for Spencer.
Carlton knows his face is beet red, but coughs and turns to face Peterson anyway.
The man is waiting on him, with what has to be a smile playing at the edge of his mouth. That’s…surprising. Peterson is the Assistant Fire Chief when he’s not playing Carlton’s ADC. But Carlton’s hardly one to take any crap from a junior officer, as O’Hara had learned the hard way.
Carlton brings a hand up to his collar, then scowls and leaves the top few buttons unfastened, his skin still hot and scratched from the way Spencer had curled his fingers around his neck. His hat is on the ground again, and he swoops down to retrieve it, nearly gasping at he flare up at the base of his spine.
“The men are ready,” Peterson comments in a dry voice he could have gotten from Chief Vick herself. He waves a hand at the field, and then over toward Horatio, who’s waiting nearby.
“I don’t give a crap whether they’re ready or not. I am,” Carlton sneers at him and strides past him. He angles the hat back, with the brim high over his forehead, and grabs the reins before he swings himself back up into the saddle. He has to grit his teeth, but he does it.
His back twinges and Carlton sneers at that too just as the band starts up a new song.
“Come on, Sergeant,” he orders, staring up at the sunshine. “Let’s do this.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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:)
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You so rock.
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because I’ve got my arms full of the pineapple you brought me instead of flowers and some doggie bags because neither of us had much of an appetite…for food…” With his eyes closed, Spencer still arches his eyebrows and tries a leer.
I got a particularly strong image of Shawn's leer.
I can't get enough of the way poor Lassiter's mind works. So adorably bewildered by the Shawn Spencer whirlwind.
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Good thing we like to watch them screw. :P
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So, how high is the chance for more? Soon? *hopehopehope*
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Please write more <3
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:)