A/N: Whenever I finish posting a Lassiet (in this case, "Enough Now"), I find I'm full of smut-oriented ideas in the days afterwards. What this says about me, I don't care to speculate. But this time, having also just read stories in another fandom of a "friends with benefits" angle, I had an idea to build my smut around. (For the record, I think the whole premise of "friends with benefits" is inherently flawed and usually doomed unless both parties are in true and perfect agreement that they are just using each other, in which case I should worry more about what that says about them than about what writing smut says about me… but I digress.) On with this next stand-alone smut-tale. P.S. I've just spent the last two hours writing this. I'm reading it over one more time and then I'm posting before I can talk myself out of it.
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"I'm just saying, I wouldn't say no to being a friend who provided benefits for her, if you know what I mean, and I think you do."
"I hear that, Shawn. It's disgusting, but I hear that."
"What do you mean it's disgusting? What's disgusting about two friends agreeing to provide certain… services… for each other without any emotional commitment?"
Carlton interrupted, clearly tired of the conversation already. "If you're friends, there's already an emotional commitment."
Gus nodded. "What he said. Besides, you know I think sex should only be within the confines of a committed relationship."
Shawn laughed. "That's not what you said when you were sniffing around the last couple of women who agreed to date you."
"I didn't say I would only have sex within the confines of a committed relationship. I just said it should only be within the confines of a committed relationship. I'm an idealist."
"You make it sound dirty."
"What, sex outside a committed relationship?"
"No, idealism."
The three of them were standing at the back of the room waiting for the Chief's press conference to begin, and didn't know Juliet had come in behind them. She didn't feel like announcing herself, so she hung back and let the conversation roll on, hoping Chief Vick would soon be able to start fielding questions about the series of home invasions they'd been working on.
Shawn, she knew, was talking about one of the reporters, the buxom Maria Vera. Back when Juliet was still dating him, he'd often admired Ms. Vera out loud, usually following it with a hurried admission that she couldn't hold a candle to Juliet. She hadn't minded one way or the other; looking at celebrities was free and she herself had a particular fondness for Colin Firth and George Clooney and Daniel Craig and Carlt… she jerked back to reality.
"The thing is," Shawn continued, "I disagree with your statement, Lassie. The emotional commitment between friends isn't a deterrent to sharing those benefits I'm talking about."
"You don't know what you're talking about," Carlton retorted. "And anyway, any female friend of yours would know she couldn't trust you to keep it quiet."
Gus made an mmm-hmm noise, and Shawn glared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"The whole idea is to…" Carlton cleared his throat, and Juliet noted a bit of color in his cheeks, "to get the itch scratched discreetly. To take care of whatever… needs there are without removing yourself from the dating market. Because you're both agreeing it's just superficial. But it's still supposed to be private. Who's going to trust you?"
Gus made another mmm-hmm noise, and this time Shawn elbowed him. "I'll have you know," he said pompously, "that I have never betrayed a lady's confidences."
Carlton asked acidly, "Do you realize how much I know about your sex-life with O'Hara?"
Juliet felt an instant, all-over flush of embarrassment and outrage.
Gus gazed wide-eyed at Shawn. "What did you tell him?"
"I didn't—I never—" At least he did look embarrassed.
"No," Carlton continued. "You discussed it openly with Guster here. At crime scenes. Over dead bodies. You even referred to it in front of strangers on the set of that reality show Paths of Love. And that was about your committed relationship with a woman you claimed to love and should have respected. So what are the odds you'd be discreet about your involvement with a mere friend?"
"I—I—well, now you're just talking in riddles."
"I'm talking about trust. A woman who actually wanted a friends-with-benefits arrangement with you would have to be willing to accept that she could never trust you to be discreet. I just hope O'Hara never figures out how much of her private life you blabbed about while you were dating. She deserves a hell of lot better."
He turned away then, moving a few rows ahead, and Juliet slipped back a few feet so the others wouldn't see her. Killing Shawn with all these reporters present wouldn't do the Chief any favors. Neither would rushing up to give Carlton a huge hug.
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They were stuck in a traffic jam. Carlton wanted to get out of the car and personally Get Things Moving, but Juliet put her hand on his arm and laughingly said no, so he stayed put.
At least it was a nice day. He lowered the windows and let in the cool spring air—even if it was exhaust-scented—and tried to make himself relax. They were only on their way back to the station after meeting with a Ventura County task force on the home invasions, which had now crossed the county line, so they had no particular agenda.
"I overheard the conversation you had with Shawn and Gus at the press conference on Monday." Her voice was mild.
Carlton turned his head slowly, reviewing in his mind the possibilities—and oh crap. That conversation?
"Thank you for saying I deserved better," she added quietly.
"You did. You do." Suddenly he really wanted out of the car.
"I should have known he couldn't keep our private life private."
"Well…."
Yeah, he'd better stop there. Just because she'd finally ended things with Spencer didn't mean he had to hammer home all the reasons she was better off.
Juliet gave him a small smile. "You'd have been discreet."
"Yeah I would," he agreed automatically, and then realized what he'd just admitted to, and what they were talking about—a sex life—and was mortified.
Really needed this traffic to clear up.
She only nodded. "You were right, by the way."
He dreaded finding out what she meant.
"The important thing, if a person wanted a friends-with-benefits arrangement, would be to choose a friend you could trust completely."
It was safe to agree to that, so he did.
She was silent a moment, looking out the window—he stole a glance and admired the sunlight on her hair—and then said, "I could trust you."
He couldn't stop staring at her, and she turned to meet his gaze, still seeming impossibly calm.
"Couldn't I, Carlton?"
He couldn't speak.
"If I had an itch and asked you to help me… reach it, I could trust you to be discreet, right?"
He could speak.
"Yes."
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That conversation had ended abruptly when the car idling behind them had suddenly (and unintentionally) surged forward, tapping their bumper with enough force to legitimately distract everyone for several lanes around.
Juliet was pretty sure it was a good thing. Merely hearing Carlton's firm "yes" had been enough to shatter her hard-won façade of calm. She still couldn't believe she'd gone through with that much of it.
Nor that she was outside his door this sunny Saturday morning.
She knocked anyway.
After a moment Carlton opened the door, surprised to see her but not apparently displeased about it.
"Hey, partner." He stood back to let her in, and she took in his undone-ness: old tee, flannel pajama pants, tousled hair, unshaven, looked damned good anyway.
Juliet stopped by the dining room table and waited while he closed the door behind her. "Have you got half an hour to spare?"
"Yeah, unless you need me to be more presentable than this."
"No, you're fine." More than fine. "I'm hoping you're still willing to…" She took a breath. "Help me scratch an itch."
His Mediterranean-blue eyes widened, and he seemed to stop breathing for a few seconds.
Juliet held his gaze. Trembling.
Gradually the blue turned a bit stormy—but it was a very good storm, she sensed.
"Just tell me where it is," he said in a tone which frankly made her weak.
She stepped into his arms and he kissed her hard, and she wasn't surprised to find his mouth was perfectly fitted to hers, nor that his tongue was quick and insistent.
"How do you need it scratched?" he whispered into her ear, nuzzling the sensitive skin just below it.
"Hard and fast," she whispered back. At least this time.
"Done." His hands grasped her waist and he hoisted her up onto the table, pushing the chairs out the way, and if he was surprised, when he slid her sundress up and learned she wore no panties, he didn't show it.
But she was surprised when he dropped to his knees and parted her thighs. Surprised and instantly a hundred times hornier than when she'd knocked on his door.
She felt so deliciously exposed to him, and that he took a moment to sigh out his appreciation for what he was seeing made it all the more erotic.
He showed more of his appreciation with his tongue and fingers, and Juliet was lying back on the table before too long, unable to remain upright under the sensual onslaught.
Her orgasm was still trailing off when he rose and slid inside her, hands moving on her breasts under the sundress he'd never bothered to remove. Juliet looked up into his eyes and marveled at the passion and the naked desire she saw there and knew she'd be back for more. She knew.
That was the thing about scratching an itch. Usually it just made the itch stronger.
He took her hard and fast as she'd requested, kissed her almost senseless throughout, and never said another word as they sullied his table but good. Her second orgasm seemed to fuel his, and when it was over (and it wasn't over), he helped her stand and smoothed her dress and kissed her hair and let her go home.
She did thank him before she left. He gave her a lopsided grin and said she was welcome. Any time.
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Implicit in the agreement was that it never be acknowledged at work. Carlton got that—would honor it with his very life—and their home invasion investigation continued without undue upset.
He couldn't completely compartmentalize what had happened, of course; Juliet was a beautiful woman he'd long had feelings for, and to have seen her nude and gasping for him, to have tasted her and been inside her—well, these were not things a besotted man could easily set aside.
But more than anything else he did respect her, and honor her, and he would absolutely not betray either her trust in him or her trust that he'd let things be.
Friday night he was on his way home from a post-workday shooting range session when she called.
"Are you busy?" she asked, her voice like silk in his ear. "I'm itchy."
In one second, he was too. "I can be there in ten minutes."
She advised him to make it eight. He got there in seven.
Meeting him at the door with a smile, wearing only a long silk robe, she pulled him in and into her arms and he barely got the door closed before the robe was off.
Carlton let her drag him to the bedroom and found out that part of her itch this time was to explore his body. He let this happen, up to and including having her warm wet mouth engulfing his extremely aroused flesh, but when he was dangerously close to the point of no return, he had to take over.
Efficiently flipping her, he mapped her lovely slim form, tasting each breast and nipple and trailing his inquisitive tongue along her stomach and thighs until she was moaning in frustrated anticipation.
Time to satisfy that itch, he thought, and thrust into her deeply. Her dark blue eyes went wide with pleasure and the sounds she made almost destroyed his ability to draw this out as long as possible.
Because he wanted this to last as long as possible. He wanted making love to Juliet O'Hara to last as long as he could still breathe.
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Juliet did a lot better than she expected, keeping the two halves of her relationship with Carlton separate.
At work he seemed mostly normal—crabby when expected, as focused on the job as ever, irritated in the usual ways.
She caught him looking at her but that was okay; he caught her looking at him. It was to be expected. Long-time friends who suddenly developed carnal knowledge of each other were bound to have an adjustment period. That was part of why 'friends with benefits' seldom really worked.
But then again, she wasn't really trying to make it work.
As attractive as he was to her originally, he was ten times more attractive now. His glorious blue eyes were so expressive; his long-fingered hands were much more tempting now that she knew everything he could do with them; his lean strong body was sexy and called out to be touched. Everywhere.
Her next 'itch' came quickly: just half a week after the incident in her apartment.
I need a good scratch, she texted him when she was sure he was home on Wednesday night. Can I come over for a bit?
Yes. Use your key. I'm about to take a shower.
Ohhh… yes.
She did as he said, hoping he'd at least wait to hear the key in the lock before he turned the water on.
He must have read her mind, because the bathroom was hardly steamy at all when she stepped inside. "Off," he said about her clothing.
Juliet removed it all quickly (not much; another sundress and shoes and no impediment of underthings) and joined her delectably naked wet partner in his big shower.
Carlton kissed her voraciously: no other word. He already wanted her; his erection throbbed against her stomach. He ran his hands all over her, soaping her up, caressing and exploring, and welcomed the same attentions from her in return.
He took care of her first orgasm with questing fingers, and provided a second one when he'd rinsed her clean and pushed her back to the wall and used his mouth… but the third one came when he turned her around and took her from behind.
Her hands clutched at the wall; his hands gripped her hips, and even if her eyes had been open she wouldn't have been able to see a damned thing because it all felt so good, so freakishly good, and she was exhausted and still trembling when he dried her off later with a large fluffy towel.
She so wanted to stay the night.
But to maintain this illusion… she had to go home.
For now.
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Three times he'd been with her now, and Carlton couldn't decide exactly how insane he was.
It was taking more and more effort to keep that part of his life in its safe little sex-compartment.
He'd known before that infernal 'yes' ever escaped his yap a few weeks ago that it would be emotional disaster to go down this road. 'Friends with benefits' was a farce: true friends couldn't survive the complications of a sexual relationship unless it went somewhere, and while he desperately wanted this to go somewhere, he couldn't press it, and he couldn't ask for it, because to be the kind of friend she said she needed him to be required his cooperation and discretion and not his heart and soul.
Juliet was just so completely irresistible. And tasty and beautiful and sexy and damned good in bed and he wanted her all the time in every way.
Which sucked.
Sunday afternoon. The text read: Are you home for a little while? Sincerely, Itchy.
I'm here. Let yourself in.
He heard her enter a few minutes later, and held up his hand to signal he was on the sofa in front of the TV, which he muted now.
Juliet came around to see him, all golden sunny perfection and with that I want you now look in her beautiful blue eyes. He loved her sundresses. He loved knowing she had nothing on underneath.
Carlton smiled at her and she dropped to her knees in front of him, undoing his belt and zipper without saying a word.
He let it happen, encouraging her gentle—and possessive—explorations of what she found in his jeans. That hardening was for her anyway; let her explore.
She pulled his jeans and shorts off and pushed his legs apart to have full access to him; he only urged her to remove her dress first so he could admire her soft nude body, and then he was lost in sensation as her mouth closed around him.
It was too good, he thought dazedly with each spasm. Her mouth, her tongue, her teeth, her fingers stroking him. Too damned good.
But she wanted him inside her—a want he shared—and climbed up to straddle him, already ready for everything he had to give her… which was everything he had, period.
He anchored her to him, kissing her breasts and then her anxious mouth, pulling her ever closer as she clamped around him.
I don't want you to ever leave.
Juliet threw her head back as her orgasm rushed through them both.
I wish I could ask you not to ever leave.
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It was getting worse. Juliet wanted him all the time now.
But still they worked in sync with each other, and when they broke the home invasion case on Wednesday morning and he came out of Interrogation B—triumphant and gorgeous—and they finally knew they had the right guys and those bastards were going to jail, Juliet let her control slip.
The Chief went in with Dobson to cuff Kingston and Juliet stood on tiptoes to kiss Carlton, rules be damned. He was immediately receptive and kissed her back hard but it was all too brief because the others were so close.
She held out until after lunch, texting him to come to the Records Room because she had something.
She had something all right. She had a burning desire which could not wait until tonight.
"Lock the door," she said quietly when he came in looking quizzical.
Instantly his eyes showed desire: she knew that look now. She knew it intimately.
Carlton came to her and turned her around, circling her waist with one arm, nuzzling her neck. He slipped his other hand under the waistband of her slacks, immediately seeking a point further south, under her already-damp panties.
He whispered something about her wetness, stroking her mercilessly while pressing his body to her backside. His own arousal was evident, and she regretted not choosing a skirt to wear today.
But mostly she just felt: his fingers, the palm of his hand rubbing her as his fingers slipped inside, his rough breathing against her ear, her orgasm, hot and fierce and thunderous.
"Take me," she begged. "I don't care how."
Carlton chose efficiency: he bent her over the old wooden table, taking her slacks and panties down far enough to have access to her, and she closed her eyes and let the pleasure wash over her, through her, through every nerve ending as she felt, just felt, just felt him moving in her, heard his pleasure, shared it, wanted more.
The release was incredible.
Soon she'd have to tell him he owned her.
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He flat out couldn't deny the idiocy of sex at work. But neither could he deny how incredible it had been—not just the act itself but that she'd wanted him that much. He'd been half-gone just from her surprise kiss in the Observation room.
He told himself to wait for her next summons.
But he couldn't.
He texted her on Friday evening: I'm in my car. Any signs of itchiness?
It just this second started. Use YOUR key.
His heart started pounding—better get that in check; don't give too much away—but he drove there in a relatively straight line and unlocked her door with a relatively steady hand.
Juliet was waiting in her bed, and he shed his clothing on the way to her.
Drawing him close when he joined her, she kissed him languorously and asked if she could give him a massage.
"Why yes," he told her, and lay on his stomach.
Her hands were warm and nimble, spreading erotic sensations along every nerve ending even before she started working on his buttocks, and by the time she let him turn over he was already erect.
But she still had more to explore, starting with his shoulders and moving on to his chest—he was still startled by how good it felt to have her tongue circling his nipples—and down his abdomen. She knelt between his parted legs, massaging his thighs and then attending to his erection with those so-warm hands and that so-wicked tongue.
And this time she wouldn't stop when he asked her to.
This time she finished him off with hands and mouth and looked damned pleased about it, Ms. Satisfied Cat.
This time he went after her with a ravenous hunger and dragged two prolonged orgasms out of her, during which delectable activity he developed another powerful erection, as a result of which the headboard smacked the wall repeatedly as he took her hard, all the way to their mutual and extreme satisfaction.
This time he didn't feel like he was supposed to leave.
This time, she fell asleep draped across his chest, and Carlton knew he'd have to tell her soon she owned him.
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It was Tuesday afternoon, and Juliet was having trouble concentrating.
Ever since Carlton slipped out of her bed early Saturday morning—he had a seminar to go to at the University, a seminar she knew about and still suddenly hated—she'd been in bad shape.
That night with him had been the worst, because it had been the best. He'd sought her out that time, and he'd stayed with her.
And she knew him well enough that she was sure it wasn't just because he was horny. If that man wasn't in love, then she was a complete failure at reading anyone, ever.
So what was she afraid of?
Well, that he'd still find a way to run from it all. That putting the L-word to what was going on between them would scare the crap out of him, dredge up memories of the bad ending to his former partnership and the black mark it left on his record.
But things couldn't go on this way. Could they?
She loved him so, and it started before her little experiment. Loving Carlton was one reason—not the main reason, but one reason—she'd finally ended it with Shawn. It wasn't so she could pursue her partner, but because she realized her relationship with Shawn would never approach the depth and complexity and rightness of what she had with Carlton, and that was only the bond of partnership and friendship.
Now they had this new layer, this love-making—and she couldn't think of it as only sex, because for her it had never been only sex—and everything seemed so perfect and complete except for the nagging issue of not being able to acknowledge it for what it was: a relationship. A real one. Love and everything. A forever kind of thing.
That night she went to his place after dinner, uninvited, unannounced, and he had her up against the fridge, one hand in her panties and the other in her hair, his tongue as searching as his fingers, and Juliet had managed to unzip his pants and grasp him when she pulled back from his kiss and said, "Wait."
Carlton—his eyes heated to a storm-tossed blue she couldn't resist—was breathing hard. "What is it?"
"Tell me," she managed.
His fingers kept moving. He kissed her. He said, "I love you."
Her heart thudded in her chest. "Again."
"I love you." Still his fingers moved.
Juliet felt the waves building, and her legs trembled, and her hand on his hot flesh trembled too. "Your friend?"
"My lover."
"Your partner?"
"My everything."
She kissed him back, grinding against his fingers.
"Tell me," he said, almost harshly.
"I love you." It came out as a moan. "Before this started."
"Quiet now." He kissed her hungrily, and finished her off with his fingers, and took her to his bedroom for more. For everything.
The concept of 'friends with benefits,' they agreed later, only worked for other people, if it ever really worked at all. For them, the 'benefits' only put the frame on the work of art they'd already created together.
Damned nice framing, though.
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