Disclaimer: I don't own Psych. Enjoy.
"Shit, father." Carlton growled. Father Brannigan sighed. Confessions with Carlton Lassiter were never, strictly speaking, easy affairs to sit through.
"Don't swear. What is it?"
"I had sex with Juliet last night." the cop rasped, barely audible. Brannigan whistled.
"I'm sure you know the church's technical standpoint on marriage sans wedlock." Brannigan said.
"Yeah, I know," Carlton replied. "It was kind of...I dunno. Unexpected, I guess. We weren't exactly sober and we worked a really draining case-"
"I don't need to know the details," said Brannigan quickly. "It's clear that you feel strongly for this woman. Strongly enough to drive to her house in the middle of the night, half drunk and exhausted. Don't leave this the way it is now, Carlton. You must pursue her, more than as just a casual fling."
"She's with someone else." he replied sulkily.
"I will hear no more of this down-talk, my son," said Brannigan sternly, his Boston accent finally coming out. "You will pursue this woman. Whether she rejects you or not is entirely down to your handling of yourself and her true feelings for you. She clearly feels something for you."
"But what?" Carlton asked.
"That, only one person can answer. It's Sunday, Carlton. Relax. Say a prayer." Carlton nodded dumbly, and stepped out of the confessional, straightening his jacket and tie more out of habit than for any other reason. He needed to eat. After waking at Juliet's, with his half nude partner tangled around him, he'd known that he had to leave. He woke her gently and fed her some lie about having to get home. He didn't even remember what he'd said, really, only that home was necessary. A shower and a shave were necessary. And about three hours inside a church, telling Father Brannigan what he'd done while holding up a line of other confessors and not caring, was definitely, definitely necessary. He slid into the back pew and bowed his head again, though it was more exhaustion than prayerfulness that made his chin sink to his chest.
He'd had sex with Juliet. Twice, if he remembered correctly. Judging from the sea of memories that were bombarding his senses, yes, he had slept with her twice. If everything wasn't such a mess, he'd be congratulating himself (tacitly, of course). He closed his eyes and allowed himself to savor, for a few moments, the memories he'd managed to retain. They were the little things that the detective part of his mind had managed to see and hold onto, like sensory photographs. The feel of her hair, her lips. The way her eyelashes fluttered when she said his name (over and over). The way her collarbones were shaped. The way the skin of her stomach tasted. His mouth was smiling before he knew it.
Eventually, he left the church, shaking hands with Father Brannigan on the way out. The old priest gave him a knowing look, which he returned with a soft smile. Brannigan really had been very patient with him all this time, and one day, he must return the favor. Carlton left the church whistling a tango he wasn't aware he'd heard, but that had been stuck in his head on and off since his dance with Juliet at the station. He was so content to whistle and bustle out to his car that he almost didn't feel his phone buzz in his breast pocket.
"Lassiter." he said, his tone much more relaxed than the usual commanding bark.
"Morning." it was her. She sounded, not bubbly, but as though she was almost purring; a content feline with a saucer of warm milk. How is a man expected to stay sane when she talks like that at all hours of the day and night?
"It's afternoon now." he replied wryly. She giggled.
"Morning, afternoon, evening. I'm up to my eyes in paperwork back at my place. Care to come over and share the burden?" she was a clever one, he'd give her that. He knew what she was really asking-Carlton, for all his esteem issues, was not a stupid man and knew when a woman was propositioning a man. Many a perp had tried, so that they could get out of having to answer questions-and he was buying into it. He wanted, so badly, to buy into it.
"How bad is it, really? This amount of paperwork that you've got." He rasped, starting his car.
"Oh, it's downright colossal. You'd better come over as soon as possible." she replied. He grinned.
"I can be there in under half an hour."
"Deal."
He hung up the phone and sped down the highway.
When he showed up to her house this time, she was waiting for him in a far better state than he'd seen her last night. She took his jacket and made him breakfast (egg-in-the-basket and coffee), and for a while they chatted of things that were blatantly inconsequential to both of them. They knew they were just biding time, trying to add a little normality to the complete madness that their respective worlds had become.
"So," she said at length, after he'd finished breakfast and coffee, and had even gotten the chance to read the paper for a few minutes (how domestic). "I hate to interrupt, but I have got a lot of paperwork to do." he cocked an eyebrow at her.
"It's both literal and figurative, Carlton." she said. There, sitting on her coffee table, was a stack of paperwork a mile high. He scrunched up his nose in disgust.
"Ugh."
"I know," she said miserably, looking at it as though it was some kind of poor, dead animal. "But help me out. It'll get done quick, I promise."
"Alright," he grumbled, kicking off his shoes and hanging up his tie. "I'll take the top half, you take the bottom. Deal?" she nodded, and for awhile they worked in silence. All the while, it hung in the air like fog-will they; might they? Had she spoken to Shawn? Had he regretted what he'd done last night?
In the end, was it just booze and panic and sex, and nothing else?
"You're thinking too much to be doing paperwork." he chuckled-a sound that he'd meant to sound genuine, but was strained, like a dry cough-but kept his head bowed over the stack of papers, lest his eyes betray him.
"Carlton?" her voice was quiet and tense; enough to make him pull himself from the forms long enough to really look at her. She looked radiant that morning-blonde hair up in a silly, messy chignon, police academy tee shirt and old, worn in jeans and black Keds. So Juliet. So perfect. The tips of his ears turned pink.
"Sorry. Just thinking. Sorry. Hand me the bail listings?" he stuck his hand out, trying to regain the impatience that he'd always had, but it was dissipating. It always did around her.
"Carlton," she said, firmer now. "Look at me."
"What?" he spat, his head snapping up to glance at her-every time, it was like the first time-as he tried to be stern. But that little smile on her lips was obliterating every rational part of his brain-dammit dammit dammit-
"You've got great eyes, Carlton." she said softly. The flush that was threatening to creep across his features finally did. He rested his head in his hands and looked at her through the gap between his middle and ring fingers. She laughed, and walked over to him, seating herself on the armrest of her little sofa. She put a hand on his leg-it almost made him jump.
"You think too much." she was suddenly close-so close on that little sofa, in her little house.
He couldn't help himself. He wrapped one large, warm hand around her wrist and the spread the other across her face, and kissed her. They forgot about the paperwork.
He wanted to ask her so badly, but any utterance of the other man's name would destroy the perfection of the moment that he was savoring. They were in the haze that hung as thick as the bayou, between sleep and wakefulness. They were sprawled on her bed, the periwinkle sheets kicked about and in disarray, breathing quietly and drifting off to sleep when he remembered that he should've asked her before he'd had sex with her again.
He should've asked her before he'd even come over.
She snuggled closer to his chest, though, and he was exhausted. He let his eyes flutter closed-let her quiet, gentle form comfort him into submission. He'd ask her tomorrow. He wouldn't ruin this moment for all the reassurance in the world.