"Spencer?"
Carlton answers, feeling at once confused and annoyed. Spencer had left last night so abruptly, and then...nothing. He didn't show up at the station all day. He didn't call Carlton after they spent the whole damn day together. He didn't even check in on Emily's case. It's nine o'clock at night and why is he calling now?
"Hey, Lassie." Spencer's voice sounds thin and anxious. "Whatcha doin?"
"I'm..." Carlton considers the paperwork splashed across his kitchen table. Weighs it against Spencer. "Nothing."
"Would it be wearing out my welcome if I came over? Not to sound too needy, but I could use..." He clears his throat. "A friendly face."
"Sure." Carlton frowns. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Yeah, it's fine. I mean, yes. See you soon, Lassie." And Spencer hangs up.
Carlton looks at his phone. Spencer sounded weird. Unsettled. And definitely unhappy. What's eating him? The case, surely, but they haven't had any news. Nothing's different.
Except...
Suddenly Carlton remembers. O'Hara's words after Emily's body had arrived at the morgue. "Woody is out of town. We won't get her autopsy results until Monday at the earliest."
Oh.
Oh, Spencer.
He went to see Emily. Carlton couldn't be more sure of it if Spencer had told him himself.
His suspicion is confirmed when Spencer shows up on his doorstep a half hour later.
"Hi, Lassie," Spencer says. His smile makes Carlton wonder how anyone believes anything Spencer says, ever.
"You saw her," Carlton says, and it isn't a question. He moves aside so Spencer can come in. Closes the door and locks it.
"Yeah." The brighter light of the kitchen makes Spencer appear hollow-eyed and pale. "I'm not gonna lie, Lassie. I feel pretty bad."
He sits in one of the barstools and looks at his hands. "Really bad, actually," he adds reflectively.
Carlton moves to stand beside him. He hesitates, then puts a hand on the back of Spencer's chair.
"What happened to her - " he says. "What she did. You couldn't have known." Pause. "You aren't psychic."
Spencer bows his head. "I know, Lassie," he says quietly. "If I did...I would be able to fix things. Change them. But this - "
He turns his hands palm-upward.
"How do you fix this, Lassie?" he asks, his voice raw. "How do you extract any justification, redemption, any other -tion?"
Carlton has no answer for him.
He moves his hand from the back of the chair to Spencer's shoulder and pulls Spencer against him.
Spencer's hands come up and he clings to Carlton, fingertips digging into his waist, face against Carlton's ribs. Carlton feels him breathing: long deep breaths, the breaths of someone trying to stay an onslaught of emotion.
Carlton didn't want to get involved when Spencer was hurting. But maybe - maybe that's what Spencer needs.
So Carlton pulls away. Leans toward Spencer.
Kisses him squarely on the mouth.
No surprise, this time. No hesitancy, no uncertainty. Spencer reaches up and clamps both hands on Carlton's upper arms, dragging him closer. He's kissing him hard, furiously, hungrily, and Carlton feels the heat in the pit of his stomach start to move downward.
And now Spencer is on his feet, propelling Carlton backwards. Carlton's legs hit the couch and he sits down hard.
"Sorry," Spencer says breathlessly, but his hands are on Carlton's shoulders and he's shoving Carlton flat onto his back on the couch, and he doesn't really appear to be sorry at all.
His mouth descends onto Carlton's once more and he swings a leg up and over Carlton and straddles him, one leg bent beneath him on the couch, the other foot on the floor. Sudden shock of pleasure as he rolls himself against Carlton's rapidly-hardening erection.
Carlton lets out an involuntary groan, his hips jerking upwards.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," Spencer mumbles against Carlton's mouth.
Carlton feels Spencer's hands at his waist. Smooth quick motions, unbuckling Carlton's belt.
Carlton falls still. "Spencer - " he says.
Spencer kisses him hard. "Shut up," he growls, and Carlton does.
Cold air as Spencer shoves Carlton's pants and boxers aside. He kisses him once more, the shut up implied, and a half second later, Spencer's mouth is on him.
It's as though the wind has been knocked out of him. Carlton arches up, hands clamping onto Spencer's shoulders. There's nothing subtle about Spencer's technique: his mouth works briskly, tongue swirling, and Carlton feels the vibration of Spencer's moans. His vision narrows. Shawn.
A moment more and he comes. Harder than he has in years. He is dimly aware of Spencer swallowing, mouth soft and sucking. His hands are clenched in Spencer's shirt.
"Jesus," he breathes.
Spencer pulls away, tugging Carlton's shorts and pants up. He wipes his mouth on his T-shirt and hefts Carlton's legs.
"Move," he says, dropping onto the couch beside Carlton and putting Carlton's feet in his lap. Just like yesterday. Only infinitely different.
Eyes closed, Carlton tries to slow his breathing. He is shaky, light-headed; his limbs feel loose.
"I feel better." Spencer pats Carlton's leg. "Thanks, Lassie."
Carlton opens his eyes and looks at Spencer. He can't help it. He laughs. Because Spencer looks so incredibly sexy, all swollen lips and heavy eyelids, and he just made Carlton come harder than maybe he has in his entire life, and he's the one saying thanks.
"Oh, Spencer," he says, stretching out a hand. "C'mere."
Carlton's couch is barely big enough for both of them, but Spencer makes it work. He wedges himself so far into the couch that he's half under the back cushions.
"Guess this means you can stand me," Spencer says.
Carlton puts a hand over Spencer's face. "Shush. I can stand you."
Spencer's voice is muffled against Carlton's palm. "Do you like me?"
"Don't push it," Carlton says.
"You totally do." Spencer's fingers close over Carlton's wrist and he pulls Carlton's hand away. Props himself on his elbow and looks down at Carlton. "You like me."
"No I don't." Carlton doesn't mean to smile but he smiles anyway, because Spencer's expression is so earnest and certain. And Carlton feels that weird little twinge, that protective affection that has only amplified in the past five days.
"Do too." Spencer brushes his lips lightly over Carlton's.
"I'm a grown man, Spencer," Carlton says, and he puts his hand on Spencer's back. "Don't insult my integrity."
Spencer walks his fingers up Carlton's chest. "Admit you like me. I'm Leia and you're Luke."
Carlton catches Spencer's hand. "Luke and Leia ended up being twins."
"Oh yeah." Spencer makes a face. "Okay, well, I'm Leia and you're - "
"Spencer." Carlton interrupts him. "In no scenario are you Leia."
"Fine, fine, fine." Exasperated huff. "I'm Alicia Silverstone and you're Paul Rudd."
"Spencer, that's disappointing even for you." Carlton considers. "Although, actually, not all that far off."
"If you're talking about my assortment of feather-topped pens, I'll have you know that those are legitimate collector's items." Spencer shifts on the couch until he's lying mostly on top of Carlton. "We just haven't gotten to the end of the movie yet. Where you realize you like me."
"I'm not making movie comparisons, Spencer," Carlton says.
"I like you," Spencer offers.
"Your mistake," Carlton says.
"On the contrary," Spencer says. He catches Carlton's earlobe in his teeth. "I 'hink it's a measure of my good judgment."
"Whatever."
"Hm." Spencer pouts. And Carlton sees that he might be a little bit serious, after all.
Spencer puts his head onto Carlton's shoulder, but has to move in moments: Carlton's arm starts to go numb, and the couch really is too small for both of them.
It's a little awkward, then. Spencer talks too much and Carlton, almost not at all. Spencer doesn't ask for any sexual reciprocation, and in fact, when Carlton tries, he laughs and ducks out of reach. They end up watching Top Chef instead.
"Thanks for hanging out with me, Lassie," Spencer says. He's got both feet on the couch and is curled against Carlton, his weight a heavy comfort at Carlton's side. Carlton's arm is around his shoulders. Like a date.
It strikes him, suddenly, that what they're doing is exactly that.
Carlton feels a twinge of unease. He's been on maybe three first dates in the past year, and not one of them went on to a second. Granted, they were all rebound-from-Gabriel dates with women, so maybe he shouldn't count them. Still, he doesn't have a great relationship track record, and for all Spencer's irritating quirks, Carlton likes him. He really doesn't want to mess this up.
"I didn't have anything better to do anyway," Carlton says.
Spencer pulls away and looks at him critically. "Lassie, was that a joke?"
Carlton focuses on the TV. "Maybe," he says.
Spencer sits up. "I was totally right."
"Huh?"
"You are into me!" Spencer jabs Carlton's upper arm with his forefinger. "You are straight up, nerd-and-prom-queen into me. How long have you wanted to get me in the sack?"
And this - this right here - this is why Spencer drives Carlton crazy. That he can intuit every damn thought that goes through Carlton's head, and then that he just announces them...it makes Carlton feel unbalanced and vulnerable. Carlton stands up and goes into the kitchen. "Spencer, you're being ridiculous."
Spencer pauses, tilting his head to one side thoughtfully. "Probably," he concedes. "I'm right, though, aren't I?"
Carlton can feel Spencer's eyes on him. "I don't want to talk about this."
"Why?"
"Because I don't." Carlton sets a Sprite in front of Spencer. Slams it down, really.
"Ooh." Spencer's hazel eyes are wide. "Lassie. You're mad."
Carlton drops onto the couch. "I'm not mad," he says, "but if you keep bugging me, I will be."
"Okay."
Spencer looks thoughtful. "If you're mad, will you stop talking to me?"
Carlton snorts. "Like you'd let that happen."
"Will you make me leave?"
"Probably."
"Hm." Spencer reaches for the Sprite and pops the tab. "Okay. I won't bug you."
But something has changed, and Carlton feels it. After the Top Chef episode ends, Spencer gets up.
"Thanks for the company," he says.
It's after midnight, and Carlton had assumed Spencer would stay. But he's reaching for his jacket. Shrugging into it. Digging in his pocket for his keys.
He stoops and plants a kiss on the top of Carlton's head.
"'Night, Lassie," he says, and he's gone.