Disclaimer: I don't own Psych. Enjoy.
They'd been assigned a horrible case wherein a little girl's body had been found in a nature reserve, mutilated and covered in blood. As they went through the wood, they found six other children who'd been killed in the same way; all brunettes between seven or eight years old. When they found the killer, they found him hanging by the neck from his own rafters, a clump of blonde hair and some baby teeth in his pocket and his hands soaked in blood. It was open-and-shut but utterly horrible, and the more gruesome the case the less possible it was to hire Shawn and Gus. So Carlton spent a week and a half straight with Juliet, and after the case closed, he could see no reason why Juliet shouldn't take a day off. He felt like he needed a week off...a month off. He could've done with a lifetime off after examining every inch of seven dead toddlers.
So, at 12:45, when his phone went off and he was on his fifth highball of Jack and in pajamas, he didn't hesitate to comply to the hard command that was made on the other end of the line. He just threw an old tan jacket, pulled jeans on and headed out the door.
"Come over." she rasped. She'd been crying, Carlton could hear it in her voice. And so, despite being half drunk and being hazy with something close to grief, jumped into his car and floored it. He'd put on the siren, just so that it was legal, and he was over in thirteen and one-half minutes. When Juliet cried, he wasted no time.
He knocked once and she threw the door open with a bottle of white wine loosely gripped in her fist. Her face was all makeup and tears-two grey tracks that went from her eyes to the place where her chin became her neck-and she was in the middle of a sob when he kissed her. He, Carlton Lassiter, was brave off the field for once in his life.
He kissed her and didn't seem to mind that her face was damp, because he felt like everything else was on fire. He was holding her, pulling her head to toe to him, trying to make her just an extra layer of his skin.
And what was a bit mad about the whole thing was that she compliedtoo willingly and far too well. Hands in hair, shallow breathing, wrapping around him like his favorite shirt, and God she was so gorgeously, gorgeously warm. Everything was suddenly peaches and tangoes and California sun and happiness, blessedly, for the first time in too long. He was utterly astounded, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he'd gone so long without this. The way she kissed back-as though she'd been waiting a thousand years for him to finally notice her, when in reality she was almost all he could think about-was intoxicating, drugged him, made him the weakest he'd ever been. When they broke apart, he'd have done anything she wanted in a heartbeat. If she wanted to fuck him, he'd never have been able to stop himself.
"Carlton," she breathed, her arms still wrapped firmly around his neck. "God damn."
"Yeah." he replied, wiping her face with his thumb. She closed her eyes and wet her lips unconsciously, reveling in his touch. His entire body was screaming to fuck her-to make him at least try-but he was maintaining composure somehow. Somehow, she wasn't on her sofa, undressed and moaning obscenely-
"Carlton, what are you thinking about?" she asked. He blushed hard, and broke his hold on her waist to run his hand through his hair.
"You." It wasn't a total lie, but the total truth would've been too mortifying to say out loud. He was sure she could read it on his face already, and didn't want anything to be more awkward than it needed to. Her response was a glowing smile that, despite her reddened eyes and the fact that her breath was more than a little tinged with the smell of wine-still sent his heart fluttering, and he yanked her close roughly (because why the hell not, right?) and kissed her again; this time deeper and with a note of need behind it. She didn't resist. Why would she?
"Have you ever thought about us like this before?" she asked, hours later. They were on the couch and the television was on, but Carlton was lying down and Juliet was on top of him, her head resting on his chest. It was as though she was the bit that was missing; the cold part of his chest that couldn't be warmed by a blanket or a drink, only by her cheek and golden-blonde hair.
He debated lying to her, saying whatever was happening between them was a product of booze and depression, but when he opened his mouth to try, the falsehood died in his throat.
"Yes," he said weakly. "I have."
"How did it end?" she was whispering into his ear, her soft hair brushing against his face, covering him in a peach scent and gooseflesh. She nipped his ear gently and every part of him practically melted.
Stop. Stop now.
"I can't." he should've said something else, but didn't. I can't was all that made it out of his mouth. She looked at him, half puzzled.
"I...I can't...I can't take you from-"
"Shawn," she sighed, resting her head in the crook of his neck. "I forgot." He closed his eyes and, for a moment, tried to savor the feeling of her on him. It seemed, perhaps, that he would not get another like this. He wished that his eyes could photograph what she looked like in this moment-flushed, hair loosed, face half-smiling, half troubled.
"I'll talk to him," she said breathily, promising, almost begging. She wanted him. She needed him. "I'll talk to him in the morning." She was leaving a trail of heated kisses on his neck, driving him wild, making him fist her hair gently-
Hadn't he waited long enough for this?
"Juliet," he rasped. "Please."
God damn his better sensibilities.
Juliet was, however, not to be deterred. She snaked one button open, then two, trailing clever fingers on his chest. His heart was pounding hard, and suddenly he was grabbing her by the upper arms, dragging her up to him and kissing her so hard-as hard as he could.
Those better sensibilities could fuck themselves.
"Promise you'll talk to him in the morning." He hissed, flipping her over so that she was beneath him, and his long, delicious hands were creeping under her shirt, undoing the tie on her sweatpants, kissing gently and finally fulfilling the only real desire he'd had for the past six years.
"I promise." she whispered, fisting his hair. He didn't say anything more, and didn't need to. They melded together haphazardly, lovingly, crazily.
God, I love you, thought Carlton.
What the fuck am I doing with Shawn? Thought Juliet.