Title: If You Can't Beat 'Em… They Weren't Tied Down Properly

Author: DeMarcos

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Nicht meiner. Nie wird sein. Die Chance nicht mal eines Schneeballs in Hölle. Translation: No belong-ie to DeMarcos!

Notes: Thanks to Olivia Sutton and Red for all the wonderful new ideas on where to take this series.

Santa Barbara – 1987

Henry glared angrily at his son, his arms folded to his chest, a piece of paper dangling from one hand as he radiated absolute displeasure. Shawn was seated on a bench, his head down, bangs covering the guilty look in his eyes, elbows balanced precariously on his knees. The hustle and bustle from the crowded police station was muted by the thick locker room door separating him from freedom. Shawn wanted nothing more than to be out in the busy bullpen, talking to anyone who wasn't Henry Spencer.

Unfortunately, the damning piece of paper was the reason his father was boring a hole in his head with that death glare of his, instead of watching him from across the room while he played poker with the other officers. He should have thrown it away the second he got it, but Gus had to go and open his big, fat mouth. His dad had taken the paper Shawn had reluctantly handed him after being ratted out by Gus, looking for all the world like he was headed for the gallows. Henry's eyes narrowed as he read what was written on the paper. After folding it up, he quietly told Gus to wait outside.

That had been five minutes ago and Shawn knew he dad was taking the time to properly ream him for getting in trouble.

"Suspended for fighting, Shawn? What could have possibly driven you to punch-" He looked at the paper again, because in his fury, the name hadn't stuck with him, "Larry Drake in the face? Twice?"

Shawn peered up at his father through the curtain of his banks. A large red palm marred his cheek, the corner of his mouth slightly swollen. "Larry was teasing Gus during recess. He just wouldn't shut up, so I finally walked up and told him to stop it, but he slapped me. So, I punched him back. Once for Gus and once for me."

Henry rubbed at his forehead in aggravation, sighing heavily. "Well, as noble as that is, son, you still assaulted Larry. Now, his parents are going to be calling me tonight to chew me out, and you've been suspended for three days. And Principal Brooke said that you aren't allowed to go on the class trip to Washington D.C. next month."

Shawn sat up sharply, his face morphing into an expression of horror, despite the pain from the slap he'd received from a bully who'd hit puberty early and was nearly twice his size. It had been like getting hit with a brick, while his two punches had landed like mere love taps. Still, it was the thought that counted.

"No! Dad, that's not fair! He was picking on my friend, and I get punished for standing up to him?" He banged his fists on the metal bench and resumed staring down at the floor.

Henry sat down next to him, slinging an arm around his shoulder. "You brought this on yourself, Shawn. You should have told a teacher that Larry was picking on Gus and let them handle it, instead of letting your anger get the best of you. Because of that, you've thrown away an opportunity to go on this trip. And what have I told you about opportunities?"

Shawn mumbled something indiscernible, eyes not leaving the floor.

"I didn't hear that." Henry said gruffly.

Shawn tilted his head up and groaned morosely. "Opportunity only knocks once and then goes to the neighbor's house."

Henry clapped Shawn's back. "Exactly. Now you're going to miss out on having a good time with your classmates, simply because you couldn't use your head to think your problems through and do the right thing. C'mon, let's grab Gus and head home. I've got some angry phone calls to sit through."

Santa Barbara – Present

I hold on so nervously
To me and my drink
I wish it was cooling me
But so far, has not been good
It's been shitty

Carlton sat at a table in the very back of Tom Blair's Pub, sipping his scotch on the rocks as he glared daggers at the so-called psychic and his sidekick, who were laughing and joking around with Detective O'Hara. He had crawled into his glass of scotch after witnessing the wannabe epileptic close another damn case that had been keeping him and O'Hara guessing for weeks, with no plans of crawling out until the memory was lost to the blissfully numb haze of alcohol.

Those hopes had been dashed the second he spied the trio enter the bar for what was most likely celebratory drinks. Now he just wanted to drown in the glass to end his misery once and for all. Was it too much to ask for just a moment's peace, he asked himself, groaning inwardly. Carlton has chosen this particular for its low visibility from the rest of the bar, but he just knew that somehow, some way, Shawn would sniff him out and come over to gloat, which was the exact opposite of what he needed right now.

Spencer had ordered their first round and was now talking animatedly about something or other, making O'Hara and Guster laugh. Lassiter couldn't hear what he was saying, thanks to the crowd of people milling about and the sound of the music pumping through the speakers, not that he really cared to know. He didn't, even if he was damn sure Spencer was mocking him.

Carlton just kept watching the bane of his existence through narrowed eyes, loathing him with every garishly overdramatic flourish of his hands. He downed the rest of his drink with a single and signaled the waitress for another. When he was sure she saw him, he turned his head back to the impromptu celebration and fully took stock of the psychic detective. He wasn't consciously aware of exactly when he'd started to do this, but every time he caught Shawn snooping around the station, he found himself gazing upon him like a questionable piece of butcher's meat.

The assessments would range from how ludicrous and unsightly his selection of shirts was to which direction he styled his hair in on any given day. Or how his faded jeans hugged the curve of his ass.

The first time he realized exactly where his thoughts had strayed to, about three months previous, he'd dropped the coffee mug he'd been holding, sending the ceramic shards skittering across the floor. At the crashing noise, everyone had turned their attention to him, including the culprit for his wayward thoughts, all of them staring at him in surprise.

He hurriedly mumbled something about finding a custodian to clean up the mess and ran out of the bullpen like the devil was chasing him. He'd exited the station and thundered down the steps, putting some distance between himself and what had just happened. Once he was a good distance away, he took in several deep breaths of the crisp ocean air before taking a good hard look at the left turn his life had taken.

And I feel awkward, as I should
This club has got to be
The most pretentious thing
Since I thought of you and me

In the weeks following that particular incident, Carlton quickly discovered he could only be within a ten foot radius of Shawn for a limited amount of time before he began to imagine cuffing the psychic to Chief Vick's desk, peeling off whatever ridiculous shirt he was wearing that day and experimenting with the younger man's nipples. When he wasn't imagining picking Spencer up by the collar of his shirt and hurling him into the ocean. There was no in-between. He either lusted after the man or got a migraine whenever he was around.

Whenever his mind started wandering, his eyes tended to glaze over, leading O'Hara to snap her fingers in front of his face and asked him if he was feeling okay. If Spencer happened to notice, he'd get a concerned look in his eyes, like he feared for his sanity. And it never got any better. There was never any relief. Shawn had become a permanent fixture at the station, sniffing around Vick for a case, having lunch in the bullpen with O'Hara and McNabb, or lazing around Lassiter's desk to annoy the hell out of him.

Carlton never got so much fresh air as he did during Spencer's extended visits.

The waitress knocked him out of his reverie by dropping off his fresh glass of scotch, taking the empty one from him.

"That's your sixth glass. Bar policy says I have to confiscate your keys." She held out her free hand expectantly.

Carlton grumbled as he dug into his suit jacket, hooking a finger through the ring to pull them out, placing them gently in the waitress' hand. The ring held four keys, to his house, car, safe, and gun case keys. No witty personal additions or grocery store discount cards. His keys were as sterile and unremarkable as he was. His mood got darker as he watched her pocket them and he told her to keep the scotch coming. She flashed him a sympathetic glance, recognizing a tortured soul seeking solace in their cups, and turned to attend to her other tables.

When she was gone, Carlton's gaze found Spencer once more, who had withdrawn from the conversation with O'Hara and Guster. The two of them were conversing together about something interesting, O'Hara sitting at rapt attention as Guster spoke.

Shawn had turned away from them, his narrow attention span getting the better of him, as per usual. He sometimes honestly wondered if it could only be measured in nanoseconds, with how the man constantly bounced around. When he glanced back at Spencer and saw him scanning the bar patrons, hazel eyes dancing up and down everyone they passed over, Carlton ducked his head down with so much alacrity, he almost cracked his skull open on the table. He stared down into his scotch, praying to God almighty that the odd angles of the bar where he was sitting would hide him from those prying eyes.

Carlton recalled the events of the last time he encountered Spencer here, thought all he could remember of the evening was drunkenly revealing some incredibly embarrassing secrets before blacking out. He had to admit, however, that afterward, Spencer had thankfully kept his teasing discreet, something he hadn't expected him to do.

When he thought it was safe, he risked looking up from his drink. Unfortunately, his gaze met Spencer's, and was rewarded with a smile that could outshine the sun. He jumped to his feet, almost knocking over his chair in the process, and made his way across the bar. Carlton groaned pitifully, cursing his bad luck. Not only would he now have to listen to Spencer chastise him for being a party pooper, but he would have to watch him as he did so. His alcohol addled brain didn't think it could sit through all that without drastic, life altering consequences, but he didn't have a lot of options at this point, unless he wanted to get up and run away.

The waitress had taken his keys, in exchange for more booze, so running wasn't a valid option. Carlton took a long pull of his liquid courage, locking eyes with Shawn over the rim of his glass as he walked up to his table.

"Well, well, well… Here, I go through all the trouble of planning a nice night out to celebrate the successful close of a case, and the one person I couldn't convince to show up gate crashes anyway." Shawn sat down across from Lassiter and beamed widely at him, idly drumming his fingers on the table.

Carlton glanced down at the slender fingers banging on the edge of the wooden surface, his mind immediately conjuring up images of what those fingers could do on another type of wood. Sighing at how truly bad he had it, his forehead hit the table again, only this time, he wished his skull would split open.

Well I am imagining
A dark lit place
Or your place or my place

Shawn's smiled faded when he Lassie bang his head against the table, a morose, almost longing sound escaping his throat as he did. His eyes skated across the surface of the table, wet ring marks marring the polished veneer. The glass Lassie had in his hand had barely begun to sweat, the ice not even having a chance to melt.

"Had a few too many, eh? You know what the secret of drinking is? Moderation." Carlton arched an aggravated eyebrow at him and Shawn backpedaled. "Or you know, drinking frilly girl drinks. They taste good and don't get you as drunk. Of course, you have to be really secure in your sexuality to drink of them in public, if you aren't a chick."

At that, a waiter appeared with a brightly yellow colored drink, thick slices of pineapple decorating the edge of the glass, completely with a spindly straw that was a horrid shade of pink. Shawn graciously thanked the man for doing the lord's work and then sealed his lips around the offensive straw. His cheeks hollowed out as he sucked down a large gulp, eyes closed in delight.

Carlton watched him do this with a sickening fascination, unable to rip his eyes away from the sight of Spencer sucking on that straw like his life depended on it. He felt an internal timer ding, indicating that his allotted time and proximity to the psychic was up.

"What do you want, Spencer? Because unless you an actual reason for sitting there, drinking that god-awful concoction in front of me, the only drinking partner I want is right here." He lifted his drink up to illustrate his point, the ice clinking against the glass.

Shawn tilted his head to the side, shaking it slowly, as though he were disappointed. "See, that's the problem with you, Lassie. You need to open up to things that don't contain alcohol or bullets." He half-spun in his seat, pointing to Gus and Jules at the other side of the bar.

"You should be more like them. They worked hard on this case, as did you." Carlton snorted at that, but Shawn pressed on. "You did, don't deny it. And yet, there they are, having some drinks, having a good time, and unwinding after a hard day's work." Shawn turned back to Lassiter. "You, however, are sulking in a corner by yourself, drinking what I can only guess is piss and vinegar."

Shawn extended a hand across the table and placed it lightly on Lassiter's. "If you keep doing this, if you keep everything bottled up inside, and holding everyone around you at arms length, you are gonna eventually burn out."

Carlton cast his gaze downward at the hand, the warmth burning him like a brand, and back up to the psychic. The contact was stirring things in him that hadn't been stirred up since he and his wife separated. Maybe even long before then.

Well I'm not paralyzed
But I seem to be struck by you
I want to make you move
Because you're standing still

"Listen, Shawn." Carlton gritted his teeth, searching for a way to properly phrase what he wanted to say. Shawn smirked when he used his given name, instead of referring to him solely by his last name, but Carlton did his best to ignore how it made him feel. "I appreciate what you are trying to do. I do." His voice shifted into a low growl, as though paranoid that someone would hear them over the patrons and the music.

"But unless you remove your hand from mine in the next ten seconds, you are going to find yourself in a situation you may not be entirely comfortable with."

Shawn ratcheted up his smirk, brazenly leaving his hand exactly where it was. His eyes read the detective, the way his pupils dilated in a way that had nothing to do with alcohol. He could clearly see the line Lassiter was debating on crossing, a line that hadn't been crossed in far too long. He leaned in closer, his smirk becoming wicked.

"If it's a situation I think it is, I say it's about damn time. I've been throwing hints at you for the past few weeks."

Carlton's expression morphed into one of confusion. He muttered dumbly, trying to find something to say that sounded even remotely intelligent.

Shawn stood up, coyly moving behind the detective, spider-walking his fingers up Lassiter's arm to his shoulder, lips finding his ear. "Just go with it, Lassie. I can read your body language and it's screaming that you want this. So stand up, get your car keys and let's find someplace a little less crowded."

A shiver made its way down Lassiter's spine, Shawn's warm breath tickling at his neck, a siren call to give in to his wanton desires. His mental alarm went off again, warning him to ignore his impulses, to stay the hell away from Spencer and all his depravities, but for once, Carlton paid no heed to it. Shawn was freely offering him everything he'd been having dreams -and nightmares- about for far too long to be healthy and he was done playing it safe.

Without saying a word, he stood up from the barstool, grabbed his jacket off the back, sliding his arms into the sleeves as he walked over to the bar. He could feel Shawn following behind him, hot on his heels but he refused to look back. If he did, he might start second guessing himself again, so he kept his eyes forward, mind focused on one thing and one thing only. When he reached the bar, he flagged down the waitress who had taken his keys.

When she didn't seem too keen on handing them over, Shawn stepped in, flashing his toothpaste commercial grin. "Hey, there," his eyes found her nametag, "Lexi. My friend called me because he needed a ride, but if I want to get his lanky ass home, I'll be requiring those keys you took from him."

Charmed by the smile and the supportive hand he kept on Lassiter, she handed over the key ring, no questions asked. "Drive safe. And I hope your friend feels better."

"Oh, I can guarantee you he'll be feeling much better once I take him home." With a suggestive wink and a gracious thank you, he grabbed Carlton by the arm, frog marching him over to Jules and Gus, who were now discussing the merits of Warren Ellis' work. Shawn had absolutely no idea who they were talking about, so he just barged right into their conversation.

"Look who I found lurking around like the Hunchback of Notre Dame."

When they saw who was with him, they blinked in shock, having not expected Lassiter to show up, not after he'd turned down Shawn's invitation. Jules smiled, glad to see her co-worker attempting to have a social life for once. "What a nice surprise! The more the merrier!" She said, pulling one of the unused chairs out from under the table and motioned for him to sit.

Carlton began to doubt his original idea to ignore his better judgment, if Shawn was just going to make him join their little party, but the psychic put two fingers to his temple, his voice taking on that infuriatingly ethereal quality.

"The detective would love to join us, but I see… I see that if he doesn't get home soon, he will topple to the floor like a drunken prom date." Lowering his hand once his vision had passed, he glanced over at Lassiter, a small, private grin toying at the corners of his lips.

Lips that Lassiter had been in a tizzy over for months. Thankfully, his staring seemed to convince Juliet as to the depth of his inebriated state. "Oh. Well, I can drop-"

Shawn stopped her with a wave of his hand, which contained Carlton's car keys. "Don't worry your pretty flaxen colored head about it. I have to make a stop by the office anyway, so I see it as two birds, one big ass stone. You two stay, have fun, drink and be merry." Shawn reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a crumpled wad of money, handing it to Gus to pay for their drinks.

Gus tossed him a suspicious glare, holding the cash as though it were potentially dangerous. Shawn paying for something with his own money did not compute. Shawn being nice to a drunken Lassiter really didn't compute. Shawn doing both at the same time was clearly a sign that the world was about to end. Then again, if he was left alone with Jules, he might have an opening with her, so he didn't say anything about the strangeness of the situation. He pocketed in the money, ninety percent sure that at one point, it had been his money, before Shawn had swiped it from him.

"Don't forget to turn the alarm on when you leave the office. I don't want to come in a find beach bums sleeping under my desk again."

"One time that happened. One time!"

"Once was enough, Shawn!"

Grumbling under his breath, he waved goodbye to Gus and Jules, then lead Carlton out of the bar with a gentle grip on his elbow.

If your body matches
What your eyes can do
You'll probably move right through
Me on my way to you

Thank god he was drunk, because if Carlton had been sober, wouldn't have had the balls to shove Shawn onto the trunk of his Crown Vic and taste his lips for the first time in a crowded parking lot.

Shawn tensed up from the rough manhandling but relaxed when he felt Carlton's lips on his own. Now we're getting somewhere. He opened his mouth as the detectives tongue begged for entrance, kissing him back fiercely. They remained that way for a several minutes, Shawn's arm bracing both their weight on the trunk.

When he felt Carlton's hand drift down his chest, fingers fumbling at the hem of his shirt to try and get underneath it, he broke the kiss. Carlton didn't look too pleased with this, his breath was heavy as his brow furrowed in frustration. Even in the pale sodium lighting of the parking lot, Shawn could clearly see lust beginning to turn Lassiter's normally bright blue eyes a darker shade.

"I think we need to find someplace that's not a bar parking lot to finish this." He panted, pushing the detective's hand away. "Not that I have anything against PDA… I just don't like being fined for public indecency."

Carlton finally seemed to realize where they were and slowly nodded. More than a fair share of the officers he worked with frequented Tom Blair's, and it wouldn't win him any favors to get busted making out with another man on top of his car. He reluctantly pried himself off the younger man and smoothed down his tie with a shaking hand. He really didn't trust Spencer with his vehicle, but as an officer of the law, he couldn't permit himself to drive inebriated, so he made his way over to the passenger side and climbed into the car. He buckled up tightly as Shawn took the hint and got into the driver's seat, using his keys to start up the car.

They pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street.

Back inside the bar, Gus was describing the day to day tasks of his other job -his real job, as he still wasn't entirely convinced the whole psychic thing would pan out for him or Shawn- to Jules when he overheard something that didn't sound quite right. Two guys had walked, talking loudly to each other as they maneuvered past their table.

"God, did you see those two guys making out in the parking lot? I thought for sure the guy in the suit was going to suck the other one's face right off!" His buddy laughed and said something, but by then, they had moved out of range to be heard clearly.

Gus pondered the comment for a moment. He really hoped that it was two other random guys making out and not Shawn doing something monumentally stupid. But knowing his best friend like he did, Gus knew Little Shawn was acting up again, trying to put itself in places it didn't belong. He resolutely ignored the sinking feeling in his stomach and turned back to his conversation with the O'Hara, silently praying Shawn would be back in a short while, with zero hickeys or stories about how he sucked face with the most ornery detective in the state.

I hold out for one more drink
Before I think
I'm looking too desperately
But so far has not been fun
I should just stay home
If one thing really means one

When Gus and Juliet exited the bar some time later, he happened to notice that Shawn's bike, still parked next to his car. Since he had presumably taken Lassiter home in the detective's car, he wasn't sure if Shawn would end up needing a lift, though by this point, he would have either called a cab or his dad to pick him up. Before he took Jules home, he pulled out his phone, dialing his friend's number, trying to convince himself that Shawn had just decided to walk back to the bar from Lassiter's, instead of joining him for a nightcap.

Carlton and Shawn were kissing frantically, stumbling toward Carlton's bedroom with single-minded intent, shucking their cloths off on along the way. The drive to Lassiter's had been a test in restraint, the man's drunkenly wandering hands bound and determined to do some exploring, but Shawn had remained unmoved by his attempts, waiting until they were safely parked in the driveway of Lassiter's house before attacking him.

The journey from the car to the front door had been interesting, the two of them nearly tripping over one another half a dozen times in their rush to get inside and Shawn had spent several seconds pressed up against the front door while Lassiter simultaneously tried to fondle him through his jeans while unlocking the deadbolt.

Just when they'd made it to the bedroom, the king sized mattress beckoning to them with its spaciousness built for sin, Shawn's phone began to ring in his pocket, cutting through the mood like a knife. Cursing under his breath about horrible timing, he dug his phone out of his pocket. The swearing intensified when he saw Gus' name on the display. Holding up a finger to Carlton, who took on the appearance of a starved lion being denied a gazelle, Shawn flipped the phone open.

"This had better be you calling me to tell me that you scored with Juliet or I'm hanging up right freakin' now." He gritted out.

"Damn, dude. I was just calling to see if you needed a ride back to the bar to get your bike." Gus retorted, sounding snippy and put out by the attitude he was getting for trying to do something nice.

Shawn grinned lasciviously, eyeing Lassiter's chest and thick crop of stern bush he'd been dying to run his fingers through for weeks. "No, dude, I'm good. I already have a ride."

Gus paused for a moment, before his tone became dangerously sharp. "Do not tell me that what I overheard people talking about after you left the bar was what I think it was, Shawn."

"If it was a tall black guy with a friend who looked like a short, fat Screech, then yeah, it's exactly what you think it is…"

Gus groaned inwardly, causing Jules to glance at him in concern. I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna kill him and never again will I have to put up with this kind of stuff again.

"And those guys were perverts anyway. You'd think they'd never seen two guys making out before."

"Dammit, Shawn! Is it possible for you to stop and think before you make bad decisions?"

"Trust me, dude, this is the best decision I've ever made in my life." Shawn heard the line cut off as Gus hung up. Shrugging, he tossed the phone down and looked back to Lassiter, who was all but salivating. "Sorry for the interruption. Now, where were we?" He peered down at the bulge in Carlton's pants, begging to be freed and shown some attention.

"Oh, yeah."

Well, I'm not paralyzed
But, I seem to be struck by you
I want to make you move
Because you're standing still

They must have dozed off at some point, because when Carlton came to, he became painfully aware of a weight on his arms that was cutting off his circulation. Shifting his head on the pillow, he saw Shawn snoring softly next to him, looking years younger than he truly was with his face relaxed in peacefully slumber. The alarm went off in his head again, reality crashing down around him, and this time, he paid the warning some heed. He moved to roll off the mattress and stand up, the motion jarring Shawn awake.

"You okay?" He asked sleepily, blearily cracking his eyes open.

When Carlton outright ignored him, choosing instead to search through his dresser drawers for a pair of boxers, a thought jolted through Shawn. He was suddenly wide awake, watching with fear as Carlton walked into the adjoining bathroom and closed the door behind him without a word. Sitting upright in bed, Shawn quickly retraced the events of the evening. He had seduced Carlton while he was drunk and though he seemed to sober up some as they progressed from the bar to the parking lot to his house, Carlton now seemed to be freaking out.

This was not what Shawn wanted. He had been dropping hints on the detective for months that he was interested in him, going from subtle to overt when none of them seemed to get through that gorgeous head of hair, but now that he finally had the chance to connect with the man, Carlton seemed bound and determined to not say anything once the deed was done. Standing up on numb feet, a horrid sensation of rejection coursing through him, he started sorting through the cloths littering the floor, wanting to get dressed as quickly as possible.

He had just slipped back into his jeans when the toilet flushed, the bathroom door opening to reveal Lassiter in the doorway, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. "Where are you going?" He asked with no small amount of trepidation.

Hearing the barely suppressed fear in his voice, Shawn blinked dumbly at him. "I just… I thought… did you not want me to leave?"

Maneuvering around other man, Carlton sat down on the bed, refusing to even look at him. "If you… want to leave, that's fine with me." There was no disguising the pain in voice now and he just hoped Shawn would leave quickly, to save him some shred of dignity by not sticking around to witness him shatter into a million pieces. It had been decades since he trusted himself with another man, and years since he wanted anyone this much since his wife, but it had all been for nothing.

Shawn crossed over to him into two easy strides, kneeling down in front of Carlton. He covered the other man's hands with his own. "Trust me. After that, I want to stay as long as I can. You are… surprisingly talented in bed. Never would have guessed that about you in a million years." Even for all his skills in reading people, Shawn had no idea what he'd been getting into until he'd uncovered what a veritable beast Lassiter was in the sack. "And you have this bizarre, yet not unappreciated fascination with my nipples. I'd be an idiot to say I didn't want all I can get from you… but it seemed like you were ignoring me earlier and I got the impression that you…"

Shawn trailed off and Carlton freed once of his hands to run his fingers through that thick crop of spiky hair. When Shawn leaned into the gentle touch, Carlton turned his head so they were looking each other in the eyes. "How do you think I felt when I saw you getting ready to leave?"

"Let's, uh… let's chalk this all up to a miscommunication and start over, yeah?" Carlton nodded vehemently and Shawn beamed up at him. "So, are you okay?"

Carlton sighed, pulling Shawn up and back onto the bed. They shuffled around for a minute, Shawn taking his jeans off before getting back under the covers and he rested his head on Carlton's shoulder, fingers tracing lazy patterns through his chest hair.

"Yeah, I'm okay," He said, purring quietly under the gentle ministrations, "just a little shocked at the sudden turn of events."

"I know how you feel. I thought I was going to have to paint a sign that said please go to bed with me to finally get your attention."

At that, Carlton laughed. "What can I say, I was too busy being pissed at you for jumping in on all our cases and solving them like they were child's play. When I wasn't too busy staring at your nipples." He saw Shawn smile out of the corner of his eye.

They lay in silence for a while, pawing sleepily at one another and trading soft kisses.

"Have you ever been with a man before?" Shawn asked, before they drifted back to sleep. "'Cause I figured a big resounding no, if it took you this long to succumb to my charms."

Carlton didn't immediately answer the question and Shawn thought he must have touched upon a sore spot. Then… "Yes, actually, I have been. A long time ago, before I entered the academy." Shawn blinked in surprise at this but said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"I met this guy, Jonas, and went ass over teakettle for him. We dated for a while, but I was determined to enter the force. But back then, gay cops were not exactly welcomed with open arms.

"I told him I wanted to break off until I passed the entrance exams and was assigned, and he accused me of caring more about the job than him. Then he left me. And you pretty much know the rest."

Shawn knew from living with his father how unforgiving the job was with relationships. "You buried yourself in the first person who was interested, married her, and she became a future ex-wife the day she said I do. And when that fell apart, you did the exact same thing with someone else while still trying to fix the doomed marriage. But that didn't work out well, for either of you." Carlton couldn't argue with the nut shelling.

"Look, I won't pretend to know where this is gonna go, but just know that whatever happens, I will not be some rebound for all the bad relationships you've had, because I intend to succeed where others have failed. And I will not make you choose between me and the job. I saw what happened with my mom and dad when she asked him to choose."

Carlton saw Shawn slip into some long ago memory and the expression he wore was not one that he ever wanted to see on the psychic's face again. He ran a hand over Shawn's cheek, bringing him back to the present.

"And I won't presume on this either, but now that I actually have something I want and it's something you want, too, I'll try my damndest to make it work. But answer me one question?"

Shawn nodded. "Yeah, anything."

"After how we got started, with the, let's say dislike," Shawn knew there was a stronger word the detective would have used under other circumstances, but not after all that had unfolded, "between us, why did you try so hard to get me to like you? And why try to hook up with me?"

Shawn grinned stupidly and leaned in to passionately kissed Carlton, whispering quietly against his lips.

"When you can't beat 'em…."

You'll probably move right through
Me on my way to you

This is the last in the prequels and the next installment will be a sequel to 1,000 Paper Cranes… Of Murder?