[[Author's Notes:

It seems like all I do in these things is apologize for tardiness. And here I am doing it again!

Does anyone know much about Lassie's dad, canonically? In discussing it with fmapreshwab, I decided that he was one of those melancholy, disillusioned, disabled war vets: hence the choice of weapon listed. I actually did research. And in case you're wondering, I'm pretty sure Lassie keeps that one in the table at his bedside.

Thank you for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and being generally awesome. I love you all. And if you've been around long enough to hear my complaining about my biology class, I finished it today. Feel free to leave me celebratory reviews and/or write me some Shassie fic. ;) ;)

Special thanks to my reviewers: torchil, DaiKuro-Chan, fmapreshwab, blackm00n5, NBunBun, elyoko11, beardofbees, and aki. Oh, and thanks to beardofbees for pointing out that I totally forgot to give credit to Michael Stipe for the line : you can lead a horse to water and watch him drown, which is from the REM song "Horse To Water". I can't remember if I stole it or if Shawn did. Hehehe.

So here's the next part. Please enjoy.

H&Ks, Elske]]

"…so I suppose this means I'm asking," says Spencer, and he's suddenly far too close, as close as two people could possibly be without touching, just a breath of air between them. His face is too close to focus on, so Carlton closes his eyes, because obviously it's that that's making him dizzy.

"Do I have to do it?" Spencer breathes, and Carlton's forgotten the fundaments of the English language for a long long moment.

"What?" he finally responds, and he swears he can feel a shift in Spencer's eyelashes when he rolls his eyes.

"You're going to shoot me for this. Promise me you'll use a very big gun," says Spencer, and Carlton re-opens his eyes at the exact moment the distance between them is closed in one soft, clumsy kiss.

It makes Carlton think of his very first kiss – Will laughing, mumbling something about the ancient Greeks, kissing him so quickly that their entire faces collided – but the second one, the second one was better and so that's got to be the reason that Carlton does what he does. He reaches out, bunches his hands in Spencer's shirtfront, draws him in closer and kisses him.

And Spencer, Spencer moves his hands to Carlton's waist, threads his fingers through the belt-loops at his hips, sighs into the kiss parting his lips in an invitation and that – that! – that is when Carlton comes to his senses.

He draws away – not far enough away that he's let go of the other man – just far enough that he can open his eyes, that he can focus, that he can get a read on the situation. Because this, this, this situation is going against everything that he's spent so long trying to become.

Spencer licks his lips, reflexively, and there's something about his face his posture his being that suggests complete and total disappointment and that cuts Carlton to the quick, somehow.

"Don't worry," he murmurs, "I'm not going to shoot you. But, Spencer, I can't…" Pause. Deep breath. "I can't do this, not now, not with you, I promised myself I wouldn't…" he trails off, tries to sort out the flood of memory, emotion, that's suddenly engulfing him.

Love, real love, that's risky. That leads to pain, to broken bones and broken hearts and a look of cold disappointment and hatred in those dark dark eyes. Love begins and ends and then it hurts, white hot agony, and you're eighteen years old and turning your father's old Smith & Wesson Hush Puppy pistol over and over and over in your hands and wondering how long a bullet would hurt in your brain.

There's fear in his eyes when he looks at Spencer, says "Don't you see, I'm not seventeen anymore, Spencer."

"And you're scared," Spencer says, matter-of-factly, and Carlton just scowls. "What was it like, then, when you were seventeen?"

Carlton sighs. "Probably like it is for you every single day," he admits, and there it is, one of the biggest reasons he's resented the other man, right out in the open. "Consequence free was what it was like, and beautiful, and…we didn't know it was wrong, when we started, you know? Part of me thought that what we were doing, we were the first people ever in the world to do. The first love of the world," and there's a stinging like tears at the back of his eyes and damnit, he's not going to cry in front of Shawn Spencer. "But we weren't. We were just part of a chain of deviants, and now that I'm not seventeen, now that I understand responsibility, I get it, Spencer. Broken bones and broken hearts and at least when Victoria left it didn't…"

Whatever else he was going to say is interrupted by Spencer, gathering him roughly in close and kissing him again, and this time it's neither awkward nor sweet nor longing: this time it's quick and sharp, a flash of Spencer's teeth lingering against Carlton's lower lip, and when Spencer draws back there's an apologetic look in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he admits, letting go of Carlton, and it's his turn to offer his empty hands, palms up, towards the other man. "It was just the only way I could think of to get you to stop talking, and I really needed you to stop talking, and…what if it was consequence-free, what if we were seventeen again – and you're really lucky I'm not singing the song right now, by the way, but it's not really the appropriate moment for the Eurythmics – if the world were ending in twenty minutes, Carlton Lassiter, what would you do?"

Carlton's forehead wrinkles as he looks at Spencer. "The world's not."

"Aha!" Spencer raises one eyebrow, grins. "But what if it were? It might be!" He taps his fingers against his temple, says "…remember?"

Carlton decides it's his turn to interrupt, and half a breath later he's got Spencer by the shirtfront again, pinning him up against the wall again, and this time the kiss is slow and languid and he doesn't resist the invitation of Spencer's parted lips, throaty sigh.