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Carlton pinched the bridge of his nose, as he stood between Spencer and O'Hara at a dessert buffet, while Guster was in the bathroom. They had dragged him out here under the pretense of team building, but he was certain that this was just an excuse to make him be social.
Unfortunately, it worked.
“I mean, seriously, have you ever eaten this as a dessert?” Carlton gestured towards a wooden board that was more charcuterie than anything. “It's cheese and jam! That's an appetizer!”
“It doesn't matter if it's traditional, Lassie.” Spencer insisted with a grin, as he shoved a piece of cheese into his mouth, which was smothered in unholy amounts of jam. “It's delicious anyway!”
Guster's voice suddenly came from behind Carlton, making him jump. “You need to let go of your preconceived notions of what dessert food is. This is actually incredibly common in Europe.”
“Jesus,’’ Carlton muttered, shaking his head. “I still draw the line at putting a damn honeycomb on the board. Who's eating a-” He cut off when Spencer picked up a honeycomb and ate it. Carlton just sighed. Of course he would.
“Hm.” Spencer tilted his head, considering it. “Sweet honey, but the comb doesn't taste like anything, and it's now stuck to my teeth. Eating experience: Six out of ten.”
“Maybe you shouldn't just shove things in your mouth to prove a point then.” Carlton smiled sarcastically, and O'Hara snorted, bursting into a fit of giggles. Carlton raised his eyebrows at her, and she laughed louder.
“Sorry! Sorry, I… that was stupid.” She shook her head, grinning, and Carlton couldn't help but loosen up. “I don't normally laugh at that sort of…” She trailed off and shook her head again.
“You know, I bet I could name every cheese on that board blindfolded.” Spencer boasted.
Carlton rolled his eyes. “Oh, you could not. There's at least forty varieties on there.”
“No, he definitely could.” Guster nodded solemnly. “I can promise you that. Don't ever make a bet with Shawn like that.”
“No, I think I will.” Carlton smirked, grabbing another plate. “Alright, Spencer, twenty bucks says you can't even name five cheeses here blindfolded, let alone all of them.”
Spencer beamed at that, which immediately made Carlton feel like he'd stepped into a trap, but he wouldn't back down because Spencer had a good bluff. “Deal. And if I win, I'll bet you fifty bucks I can guess all forty-three.”
Carlton was certain he'd win, so he agreed. “Alright, deal.”
“Your funeral.” Guster interjected.
At that, Spencer turned around, heading back to their table, and Guster followed him. With a flourish, Spencer picked a cloth napkin off the table, handing it to Guster. “Tie it tight, buddy. I don't wanna see a thing.”
Once he saw Guster had a fabric napkin over Spencer's eyes, Carlton started loading the plate with every type of cheese. “There’s no way he can do this. No one's palate is that good.”
“Then why are you putting all the cheeses on the plate? If you're so sure, you'll only need five.” O'Hara challenged him with an annoying smirk.
He stared down at the plate, already containing fifteen different cheeses. He blinked. Her point was obnoxiously irrefutable. So the only refute he had was to glare at her, then mutter, “Ah, shut up.”
O'Hara laughed, and Carlton finished loading the plate. He did it in such an order that he could look at the signs from their table to check. There was now a neat group of cheese cubes, as well as four cheese spreads, on the small dessert plate.
He walked back over to their table with O'Hara, sitting down and setting the plate down.
“I'm ready for my first cheese.” Spencer announced. Carlton smirked, taking the first cube and putting it into his hand, which was outstretched on the table, palm up. Spencer lifted it to his mouth, and almost instantly, slumped. “Come on, Lassie. If you don't wanna be out fifty bucks in the next twenty minutes, at least give me something hard. Muenster.”
Carlton rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine.” He picked up the next one in the row, putting it into Spencer's palm again. He popped this cube into his mouth, chewing for a moment. “Port cheese.”
He checked the sign.
“Aw, what the hell, no one eats that.” Carlton muttered.
“I do, and I'm offended that you find my taste in cheese so obscure.” Spencer said, with all the sincerity of a defense attorney.
“Alright, fine.” Carlton mumbled, picking up a more crumbly piece. Maybe he could get him with something that looked like blue cheese. Ah, yes. Looking at the signs, there were two fetas – a Greek one, and a Bulgarian one. He picked up the Greek, and placed it into Spencer's waiting hand with a smirk.
This time, he saw Spencer chewing carefully. He frowned, his jaw slowing as he processed. Carlton watched as he nodded slowly, before finally swallowing.
“Feta. Greek feta.”
Carlton threw his hands up. “Okay, you've got to be cheating!”
“I warned you, man.” Guster shook his head. “Don't mess with Shawn and cheese.”
“You can still back out of our bet, Lassie. I won't judge you if you do.” Spencer told him earnestly, which only made Carlton want to double down.
“No! No, I'll get you on this, dammit.” Carlton insisted, looking over the plate for another cheese. He picked up a cube he didn't recognize by sight, and looked at the sign. He didn't even know that name. Mimolette. Perfect.
Spencer's hand waited again, and Carlton placed the hard cube in it. He put it into his mouth, and leaned forward on the table, focused. “Name… the name…” he muttered, putting one of his hands to his temple like he was doing his damn psychic shtick.
About a minute later, he spoke again. “Not Minuet, that's Star Trek.” He shook his head, frowning. Carlton leaned forward, and was about to smugly ask for his money, when Spencer called out, “Mimolette!”
“Seriously?” Carlton exclaimed, loudly enough to draw attention from other tables. He immediately cleared his throat, and lowered his voice, repeating, “Seriously?”
“I'm a cheese connoisseur, and you're one cheese away from losing twenty dollars.” Spencer said, nodding. He grinned. “Last chance, Lassie.”
Carlton grumbled vaguely, but found a cheese he liked on the plate. It was a basic sharp cheddar, but the specific brand was on the sign. “Fine, but if you get this, I'm not doing all the rest. I'd like to keep the other fifty we were gonna wager on.” He muttered, and handed the last piece over.
As Spencer chewed it, he made a face. “Is this seriously sharp cheddar? They have that here?”
“What's the brand?” Carlton dared him, leaning forward.
“Vermont.” He answered immediately, and Carlton banged his hand on the table, as Spencer took his blindfold off, grinning ear to ear.
“How the hell did you do that, Spencer?” He asked in disbelief.
“I used to work at an exotic cheese shop.” He replied, smirking in the obnoxious way he always did.
“He got fired for sampling too much.” Guster supplied helpfully, which made Carlton feel a little better.
“Whatever.” Carlton mumbled. “Let's just eat some real dessert.”
By the time they left the dessert bar, Carlton was stuffed. Everyone was, it seemed, except for Spencer, whose stomach was apparently just bottomless.
“Alright, I'll see you at work tomorrow, O'Hara?” Carlton pulled his keys out.
Spencer pouted. “Lassie, it's only 7:30! The night is still full of youth! You can't leave now!”
Carlton rolled his eyes, turning to face Spencer. “I can, and I will. I'm not exactly the… type, for all of this.”
This time, O'Hara spoke up. “Come on, Carlton! You can't say you haven't been having fun tonight. Why don't we go to Tom Blair's?”
He did like that pub. And, although he wouldn't admit it, he was having fun, and might not mind spending another hour or so out. Besides, O'Hara's puppy dog eyes were impossible to say no to, and Spencer's energy was slightly contagious.
“Alright, fine. But only for a drink or two. We do have work in the morning, O'Hara. I don't want you coming in hungover.” Carlton warned, but she seemed to ignore that part in favor of getting excited.
“I won't, promise.” She told him, and Carlton noticed the look she shared with Guster. Oh. Well, he could definitely afford a drink or two if it meant giving O'Hara a chance with him tonight. Not that he'd ever admit to that secondary motivation.
As they all started walking to Tom Blair's, O'Hara fell into step beside Guster, leaving Carlton to awkwardly walk beside Spencer, who prattled on about something inane and ridiculous that Carlton half-tuned out.
When they reached the bar, they sat in a booth near the back, with Carlton next to O'Hara, and Spencer across from him, next to Guster.
“Alright, first round is on me.” O'Hara said with a smile, as the waitress came up to them for their orders.
“I want what Lassie's getting.” Spencer immediately said. Carlton smirked, but he was confused. Surely Spencer knew he didn't go in for the sugary crap he liked.
“I really don't think you do, Spencer.” He warned, then turned to the waitress. “Single malt scotch.”
Everyone at the table turned to Spencer expectantly. “It can't be that bad, right? I'll take it!”
Carlton barked a laugh, then cleared his throat when O'Hara and Guster looked at him in surprise, a blush dusting his face when Spencer beamed. “Fine then, but you'd better finish it. You're on O'Hara's dime.”
“You have my solemn vow, Lassie.”
Guster ordered an IPA (the weak man's beer, as Carlton called them), and O'Hara got an espresso martini. Still girly, but it was acceptable because A, O'Hara was a girl, and B, it had the bitterness of espresso.
When their drinks arrived, Carlton couldn't help but smirk as he took a sip of his drink with no issue. “Well, Spencer?”
He watched intently as Spencer took a sip, and immediately saw his throat tighten to suppress a cough. Carlton took another easy sip of his drink, not breaking eye contact with Spencer.
“Wow.” Spencer said breathlessly, after finally swallowing. “That's uh… good! Good gasoline!”
“I told you, you wouldn't like it.” Carlton chuckled softly, leaning back.
Guster nodded in agreement. “I could've told you that, but it was funnier to let you try.”
Spencer shot a weary glare towards Guster, then looked firmly at Carlton. “How do you drink this stuff without even wincing, Lassie?”
“I've stayed away from all the girly crap you normally drink.” Carlton said, ignoring the glare he got from O'Hara. He then got an idea – vengeance, for Spencer's earlier taunts. “It's okay. You don't have to finish it if you can't take it. I understand.”
Spencer leaned forward on one arm on the table, using his other hand to lift the glass to his lips and take another sip. This time, his reaction was much less visceral, which Carlton found impressive considering his initial dramatics. “No, I'll finish it. Hell, I'll order a second!”
“Uhhhhh, Shawn, I wouldn't-”
“A second?” Carlton grinned, picking up his own glass and polishing the rest off, which was a bad idea, but he refused to let it show. “I bet you can hardly finish your first. How about this: If you can take a sip without making any kind of face before the end of your first, I'll buy your second. No bracing, no wincing, nothing.”
Spencer looked at his glass, then back at Carlton. It looked like he had two, maybe three sips left. Normal sized ones, anyhow.
“Alright. I get to pick my second drink; you're on.”
At that moment, Carlton felt the light warmth from finishing his own drink too quickly. He definitely shouldn't have another one, himself. When he'd ordered, he'd intended to nurse his drink over half an hour, not down it to impress- no, not impress him – to one-up Spencer.
But he'd done what he'd done. Oh well.
He leaned forward as Spencer took another sip of the drink. It was too large, more like a gulp, and he saw the way he knocked it back like a shot – a habit that anyone drinking scotch had to break to get it down. Otherwise, you got all the burn, with none of the rich taste. But of course, Spencer didn't know that. His usual drink was probably a piña colada.
Carlton watched as Spencer swallowed, his eyes searching for any signs of a flinch, for the tiniest microexpression – and he found it. Spencer's left eye twitched, and he pursed his lips particularly hard.
While he should've had two more chances, the glass was now empty. Carlton barked a laugh and smacked the edge of the table with his fingers in victory. “Ha! You flinched!”
“It's not fair, Lassie, you drink jet engine fuel!” Spencer whined, but Carlton's triumphant smirk remained.
“Oh, come on, Spencer, it’s not that bad.” Carlton said with a grin, feeling his face flush a bit from the alcohol.
The waitress brought over a round of shots, seemingly unprompted, of what looked to be a clear liquor, and what smelled like vodka. Carlton eyed them suspiciously. “This is a gift from that lady over there in blue,” The waitress told them, pointing to a brunette woman, maybe late twenties, early thirties, across the bar. “She said she wanted to buy the table a round in hopes that the ‘bombshell blonde' might come talk to her.”
O'Hara looked over, and gasped, a bright smile coming over her face. “Oh my gosh- I'm sorry, do you guys mind? I haven't seen her in years!” She asked the group, but her eyes remained mostly on Guster as she asked.
“I- we don't mind, Juliet. Go ahead.” Guster told her, and she gave him a quick hug before taking the shot and going to join her friend.
Spencer patted Guster's back. “Sorry, buddy. You know how women can get whisked away by the whims of their friends.”
“Oh, trust me, I know it.” Guster muttered, a little bitterly, but Carlton saw the way his expression softened still when he looked at O'Hara. When had those two gotten so close?
“Come on, let's not waste the good woman's money!” Spencer held up one of the shots. Guster sighed, but held up his shot glass, as well, and both men looked expectantly at Carlton.
“What? I said I'd have one drink.” Carlton scoffed. In unison, as if their brains were wired together, both of them raised their eyebrows at him.
“It's just a shot, Lassie, come on.” Spencer insisted.
Carlton was already slightly buzzed from drinking his scotch too fast. He knew a shot of vodka was not going to be a good idea right now.
But the other part of him was feeling good, and was finally a little loose, and figured one shot wouldn't hurt. Right?
He lifted the shot in front of him, and clinked it with theirs. “To questionable decisions.”
When he downed the vodka, he felt it almost immediately go to his head. For a moment, the room spun, and he blinked a few times to adjust. “Jesus, that's strong.”
Spencer all but slammed his glass down. “Oh, but your rocket fuel isn't?”
“If you knew how to savor anything, Spencer, maybe you'd understand the difference.” Carlton leaned forward on the table on his elbows, making eye contact with Spencer. His words were beginning to come without filtering through his brain fully. “Vodka is all about instant gratification. The quickest way to pleasure.” He lowered his voice. “Scotch is supposed to be savored. You take it slow. Nurse it. Appreciate it. And then you get there naturally, and by the end of a good glass of scotch? You understand how you got there.”
He wasn't even sure if what he was saying made sense, but it sure seemed to make sense to Spencer if the look on his face was anything to go by. His pupils were dilated, face slightly flushed, and his tongue darted out between his lips.
“Well, that quick pleasure feels good, Lassie.” Spencer swallowed. “Are you saying I need to take it slower?”
“I'm saying you might enjoy it more if you do.”
There was a silence between them for a moment, as neither broke the other's gaze. It was only broken by Guster, who stood up awkwardly. “Uhhh, I think I'm gonna go see if I can meet Juliet's friend. Maybe spend a few minutes with them.”
Carlton knew he wasn't imagining the charge in the air when Spencer didn't even respond to that.
“Alright, then.” Spencer nodded slowly, his eyes searching Carlton's face as he held a hand up to flag the waitress. “Another two single malt scotches.” He said as she walked over.
“You still won't like it.” Carlton said, though he knew just as well as Spencer did at this point that it didn't matter.
“I don't like to get drunk, Lassie.” Spencer said, leaning forward over the table, and Carlton actually believed him. “So if we're going to, I'd like to remember exactly how we got there.”
Carlton didn't really have anything to say to that, so he didn't. He sat in silence, tapping the side of his empty glass. Silence stretched between them, and it was neither awkward nor comfortable, but he couldn't fathom filling it.
When their drinks came, the waitress left them alone quickly. Spencer picked up the drink in his hand, his eyes finally leaving Carlton's face to observe the glass in his hand.
“So, Lassie. Teach me the art of savoring.” Spencer smelled the drink, then pulled a face.
Carlton took a sip of his own drink. He really shouldn't be having another, but here it was, in his hand already. He supposed as an instructor, it was responsible to lead by example.
“To really savor the scotch, you need to focus. Get to the taste beneath the alcohol.” Carlton explained, as Spencer watched him, eyes wide as he leaned over the table. “It might be easiest with your eyes closed.” He reached up and tapped Spencer's temple.
Spencer's eyes fluttered shut, and he picked up his glass, holding it to his lips and taking a small, deliberate sip. Carlton had seen this look on his face a million times – the look of pure concentration. He made that face a lot before his “psychic” episodes, normally when he first walked into a crime scene, if he found them there.
“It tastes like… the woods.” Spencer said, his voice so low, Carlton could hardly hear him over the buzz of the bar. “Oak, maybe. And a little sweet, but barely.”
Carlton nodded, and slowly put his hand down on the table. “Good. Now what's the aftertaste?”
“Smoke. Like a campfire. And the tiniest hint of cinnamon.” Spencer slowly opened his eyes, looking down at the glass, then at Carlton with a new appreciation in his eyes. Carlton felt his face heating, and not from his own drink, but he took another sip to hide it.
“You really do have a good palate.” Carlton muttered, finding himself unwilling to make eye contact again. “Anyone else thinks I'm crazy for tasting cinnamon in this brand.”
“You're not crazy, Lassie.” Spencer shook his head, as he took another slow sip. “I think… you might be right, about the whole ‘taking it slow' thing. It's… I've always been the type who tries to take the shortest route. The easiest path.” He swallowed, and the sincerity in his voice drew Carlton in, in a way he didn't expect. “But Jules was right, man. You're right. The richest things in life aren't supposed to come free. I need to take my time to get what I really want. If I always try to rush things, I'll only attract rushed people. But if I take it slow, take it easy… maybe I'll get the person who does just that.” Spencer looked him in the eyes.
Carlton wanted to look away, but found he couldn't. He was trapped here, in this moment, as his brain lagged behind on trying to process just what it was Spencer was saying. His heart, for some reason, skipped a beat at Spencer's next words: “I got here slowly, didn't I?”
Carlton was silent for a moment after that, his mind racing to latch onto something that made sense, because Spencer had started talking about scotch, then switched to talking about people, and Carlton was pretty sure he'd been talking about him.
“Spencer…” He started, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for more words. But none came. What was he supposed to say here?
“Forget it, Lassie.” Spencer muttered, finally breaking his gaze to look away, as he took another sip of scotch, this one bigger than the last. “I don't think I'm sober enough to be making sense, anyway.”
Somehow, Carlton felt… wrong. Like he'd misstepped and upset Spencer somehow, and for once, he actually cared about it. This was a fun night, a good night, dammit, and he refused to ruin it. And with the other two gone, Spencer was the last one here with him, so he felt obligated to make him happy… for some reason.
He was drunk. There, excusable reason made. Because the real reason was buried too deep to acknowledge.
“You know, even though we're both drunk, I bet I could kick your ass at pool.” Carlton blurted out suddenly.
“Even if we were sober you couldn't do that, Lassie.” Spencer perked up a bit. “Gus could tell you, I'm a master of all bar games. I used to hustle people for quick money when I was on the road.”
Carlton was going to pretend he didn't hear that questionably legal admission. “In college I was known for being the nerd who could somehow make every bank shot at a party. That was the only thing that got me social credits.”
Spencer grinned. “Lassie, I'm shocked that your rockin' sternbush didn't earn you any cred. You with a V-neck would've had me on my knees.” He paused, and the flush in Carlton's face deepened when he added, “Still would.”
“Well, I don't think the moustache was as popular as… certain films would've had me believe.” Carlton muttered, taking another sip of scotch.
At that, Spencer barked a laugh. “Oh, no, your stache was atrocious. But I could've ignored it. I gladly would've.”
“Moot point.” Carlton looked away.
“So, you're really gonna challenge me to a game of pool, huh?”
Carlton simply gave a shrug. It had seemed to clear some of the tension in the air when he did. “Why not? I know I'm not getting hustled. Half of hustling someone is making sure it's a fool you're playing against.”
“Well, they got rid of the pool tables in Tom Blair's a while back.” Spencer nodded towards the extra cluster of tables where they used to be. Huh. Somehow Carlton hadn't noticed. When had they done that?
“We could go somewhere else?”
“I'd be happy to find a venue to destroy you at pool.” Spencer said with a sly smile, standing up. “I'm gonna go let Gus and Jules know where we're headed. Last round was on you, right?”
Carlton flustered for a moment, but then remembered saying something about Spencer's next drink being on him. “Right. I'll pay.” He stood up and got out his wallet.
As he walked up and paid his bill, he realized – was he crazy? Was slightly drunk him more than slightly insane? Because he was buying Spencer drinks, and even going with him, just the two of them, to another bar. When had this night turned into a da-
No. No, no, nope. Not one of those. Tonight may have looked to an outsider like one, but Carlton wouldn't call it that. No, this was… an impromptu social outing, which had gone from a group outing to a dual one, which was more intimate than the group setting had been…
He wasn't helping his own case.
But he was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of Spencer's laughter across the bar, as he made some joke and hugged O'Hara. He suddenly locked eyes with him, and Spencer waved him over.
“Alright, we're heading out. You all have a great night.” Spencer waved to Guster, O'Hara, and O'Hara's friend, who all said goodbyes to them both.
He held the door for Spencer as they stepped out, the night air, cool and crisp, a welcome refresher against his skin, warm from the alcohol. It was slightly sobering, but it left him feeling just off balance enough to bump shoulders with Spencer occasionally as they walked. He didn't seem to mind.
“So, college Lassie went to parties?” Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Well, I got dragged to a couple by some of my buddies, yeah. They were always more the partying type than me.” Carlton explained.
“So even back then you were all business, huh? But I bet you're a mullet deep down, Lassie.”
What? “What?” Carlton raised an eyebrow, glancing sideways at Spencer, who grinned.
“I think deep down, you've always wanted the party, but you've never known how to do it like everyone else does.” Spencer kicked a rock down the street, and Carlton watched it land beside a parked car's tire. “So you're all business up front, but deep in the back of your heart, you're a party. Just not everyone else's party, you know?”
No, not really. “I'm… not sure I follow.” He admitted awkwardly.
“It's…” Spencer paused, tilting his head and actually seeming to consider his words. “So, up front, you're all business, right? Ties and sexy holsters and scotch and catching bad guys. You're married to your job, and that's what you tell people. It's what you show.” Spencer continued, “But deep down, you like the party, right? You're this- this passionate guy who cares about his team, who wants to be a part of it. And not just because of work, you know? You knew a dessert bar wasn't really team building. You used the business as an excuse for the party.”
Carlton was silent for a moment as he processed that. A light breeze cooled his cheeks, which had heated during Spencer's explanation, for reasons he didn't want to explain.
“I… see what you mean, now.” Carlton admitted quietly. Then, he found himself curious, because Spencer spoke like a man who knew too intimately exactly what Carlton did. “And where's your… business, Spencer?” He glanced over. “You're all… party up front. So where's your business?”
“It's Psych.” Spencer answered simply, and Carlton went to roll his eyes at the literal answer, until he continued, “What I do is fun. It's good for me, because every case is like another job. And- and I can use my talents, the stupid curse Henry gave me, for good, but unrestrained by the rules you live by.” They stopped outside the bar, and Spencer turned to look at him. “I could've never done what you do, Lassie. All the protocol and paperwork, it's not for me. That's all your monkeys. But my monkeys are outside those confines. They always have been.”
Monkeys? He wanted to ask, but… he didn't need to ask to understand what he meant.
For a moment, he just stared at Spencer. Normally he dismissed his babble, but this time he actually explained it all, and… it was quite profound, revealing a depth to Carlton he didn't know he was capable of.
He didn't miss the bit about his "curse" from Henry, but he mentally filed that tidbit away for later.
“Huh.” He said softly, blinking.
“That's enough feelings for now, Lass.” Spencer patted Carlton's chest, then opened the door to the bar. “Let's go play pool.”
That was an idea Carlton could get behind.
Somehow, despite having more social attractions, like pool and darts, than Tom Blair's, Rourke's was quieter. Carlton chalked it up to a lack of televisions for people to scream at about The Game. What game it was on any given night, Carlton didn't bother to know. Sports were nothing more than idiotic contests. Football was a strength contest that resulted in life-altering injuries, basketball was a height competition with a ball and hoop for show. Not much mental acuity was needed for either game, as far as he was concerned.
But pool required calculation. A focused mind, a steady hand, and clever analysis of the location of each ball, and the angles at which to hit them.
Carlton picked up a cue while Spencer went to the bar to order drinks for them. He racked the pool balls, and saw Spencer walking over with two somewhat thin, but tall glasses.
“8 ball.” He announced their game. “What are those?” Carlton asked, taking his glass from Spencer and handing him a pool cue in return.
“Do not question. Only drink.” Spencer said, with a faux sage voice that Carlton didn't trust one bit.
Still, he'd let him order, so he'd pay the price. He took a sip through the straw and immediately, his eyes widened. “Holy shit, Spencer, what the hell is in this?”
“That, my friend, is what we call a zombie. Three different types of rum. I always get mine with Malibu as one of them for a tropical flavor.” Spencer set his drink down on the edge of the pool table, then bent over to line up his first shot. “If I had to learn how to drink your drink, you can learn how to drink one of mine.”
Carlton sighed, glancing away, because if he didn't, his gaze would be drifting down a little lower than it should. He took another sip of the drink. It was strong, ridiculously strong, but not as bad as the vodka shot had been. He supposed it helped that this wasn't straight, either.
“Yeah, alright.” He muttered. Spencer hit the cue ball, and the break shot immediately sunk two stripes. He stood up straight, proudly holding his cue beside him.
“Your turn, Lassie!”
“What are we playing for, anyway?” Carlton asked, setting down his drink and watching as Spencer took a long sip of his own. “Pride?”
“Well, it's getting later, Lassie, and we're both getting drunk. So I'd say we both crash at the winner's place tonight.”
Carlton had been calculating the angles for his next shot, and was about to hit the cue ball when Spencer spoke, but he stopped. “My place is way closer than yours is, you're all the way up 17th!”
“If we play with no real stakes, it's no fun! We already bet money, so that's boring. This bet is way more interesting!”
What Carlton didn't understand was why they both had to sleep somewhere together. Why couldn't they go home separately?
This was practicality. He was suggesting practicality. Both being drunk, it wasn't safe to walk alone. A buddy system was more pragmatic. There was nothing more to it.
So why did he keep thinking there was?
… Did he want there to be?
“Alright, fine. But if we end up at your place, you're responsible for getting me back to Tom Blair's to get my car in the morning.” Carlton warned him, leaning back down to take his shot again.
“You've got yourself a deal, Lassie.”
Carlton hit the cue ball, standing up and taking another sip of his drink as he watched two of the solid balls sink. He smirked, locking eyes with Spencer. “Somehow I don't think this is going to be a long game, Spencer.”
“Not as long as I'm playing it.” Spencer taunted back, as he slowly circled the table. His eyes were narrowed slightly, his tongue sticking barely out between his lips. It was the same look Carlton saw on his face before a “vision”. It was just focus, nothing more. Intense focus. He'd seen him look at crime scenes like that dozens of times.
Yet somehow, right now, he couldn't look away.
He took the shot. He sunk another striped ball easily, and the eight ball nearly went into the corner pocket, but Carlton figured it was an intentional show-off, not a mistake, judging by the small smirk on Spencer's lips.
Still, he wouldn't let him get away with pretending.
He took another sip of his drink, and the world was beginning to look a little lopsided. “Nice trick, Spencer. Trying to line it up so I might get it by mistake, huh?”
“Isn't that what the whole game's about, Lassie?” Spencer took another large sip of his drink. “Lining it up just right to fuck your opponent over.”
Carlton felt heat creep up his neck to his cheeks and ears after that comment, and he took another few sips of his drink to cover it up.
“You're a vulgar drunk.” Carlton muttered, bending over and lining up his shot.
Spencer made some sort of comment about subliminal messaging, which Carlton was too focused to process. If he hit the 4 at the right angle, he could knock the 1 and the 6 in, and if he hit it hard enough, he could have it bounce, sink the 3, and maybe roll the 4 into the hole across from it.
It would have to be a perfect shot.
He slid the cue between his fingers a few times as he lined it up. Taking a deep breath, he hit the cue ball.
He watched it fly across the table. There went the 1 and the 6. His smirk returned as the 4 knocked the 3 in, with enough force to propel it back into the opposite pocket.
Perfect.
When he looked back up at Spencer, he was staring back at him, eyes wide. “Lassie…” He said in disbelief. “Dude, that was so sexy!”
Carlton couldn't get the blush off his face with the way Spencer was talking. Sexy? He'd called him sexy before, but it hadn't felt like this.
What was with him tonight?
“Think you can beat that, Spencer?” Carlton asked, putting on a sly smirk.
“Please, Lassie. I could beat that with my eyes closed.”
That gave Carlton a devious idea that only a drunk him would ever dare go through with. He pulled at the knot on his tie and pulled it off with a snap, then grabbed Spencer's arm, pulling a little harder than intended, which sent Spencer stumbling into him, his back against Carlton's chest.
This worked.
“I'll give you thirty seconds to memorize the table. You wanna play with your eyes closed? Here.” Carlton said, his voice low.
Spencer squirmed in his grip, and Carlton watched with satisfaction as a blush crept into his face. He closed his eyes, leaning back against his chest. “Don't need it. I already memorized it.”
There was no way in hell that was true, but Carlton could only benefit from his cockiness. He took his tie, wrapping it tightly over Spencer's eyes. Carlton felt him shiver beneath his touch, which made him feel all sorts of ways.
“Silk. Nice.” Spencer said, his voice barely breathier than usual. “I like it. Very you. You know, I once worked at a Men's Wearhouse. We had a great silk tie collection there, I'm sure-”
“You're stalling, Spencer.” Carlton muttered in his ear, shoving him forward gently, towards the table. “Take the shot.”
Spencer nodded quickly, holding up his cue in one hand, and feeling along the edge of the table with the other. He nodded once when his fingers found a corner, then, astoundingly, lined up his cue perfectly with the cue ball. How in the hell...?
When Spencer took the shot, he sunk two more stripes, and almost sunk a third. Somehow, the 8 ball didn't even get hit.
“How'd I do, Lassie?”
“You never cease to astound me, Spencer.” Carlton said, before he could think better about saying it. “You didn't beat me, but… did you really memorize the table that quickly?”
Spencer nodded. “I could probably tell you based on what I did and heard which ball is where.”
Normally, he'd call bullshit on that and make him do it. But after that display? Carlton believed him. Crazy as he might've been, Spencer's skills were crazier.
No wonder he was such a damn good detective.
“Unfortunately, I set you up for an easy shot to hit your last ball before the 8.” Spencer sighed dramatically.
Looking at the table, he was right. This game could be over in three turns, if he called it right.
And sure enough, he sunk the 7. He was just one call away from winning.
Keeping the blindfold on (because of course he did), Spencer felt his way around the table using the edge, until he could line up his shot.
“How did you know where it was? Can you see?” Carlton asked, still in disbelief at how sharp his senses were.
“No, I was trained.” Spencer muttered, as he took the shot and sunk the 12, but nothing else.
“Trained?” Carlton raised an eyebrow, moving around the table to line up a shot. “Corner pocket to your left.” He called, then hit the cue ball.
The 8 ball went right in, and Carlton smirked. “I guess we're going to my place, Spencer.”
Slowly, Spencer set down his pool cue, then reached up to untie the tie from the back of his head. He grinned at Carlton. “I guess we are.” He said, not sounding even a little upset at losing the bet. “I'll go settle the tab.” He held up a credit card which was definitely one of Guster's.
“Right.” Carlton nodded, his mouth suddenly dry as he realized fully that he'd be taking Spencer home with him – and that had implications.
The more jarring realization was that he didn't care about them.
When Spencer came back, Carlton handed him his coat and shrugged his own on. He held the door for Spencer as they both stumbled out into the night, occasionally bumping shoulders like they had on the way here.
“I don't live too far.” Carlton said, glancing over at Spencer, whose hands were shoved in his pockets again. “You mind walking?”
“We probably should, anyway. Sober up a bit. They say exercise is good for that, but I think it's the night air. I think there's less tannins in night air than day air.”
“Tannins are in wine, Spencer. Not air.” Carlton told him, but he was certain Spencer knew that already.
“I've worked at a few bars, too. I've done a little bit of everything, really. Man, if I could tell you some of the things I've done.” Spencer looked up at the sky, and drifted towards Carlton, their shoulders bumping again. He felt heat at the point of contact, a stark contrast against the slight chill in the air.
“You know I worked a taco truck in New Mexico? That was interesting. My great grandfather on my dad's side was Mexican, so I've been told. That's partly why I ended up across the Mexican border three times. I wanted to learn more about my roots.” Spencer continued on, but all Carlton could think of was the way his lips looked when he spoke.
“I worked at a clown bar.” Spencer said with a grin. “Yeah, the staff all had to dress up like clowns. Not as fun as the maid cafe I worked at.”
“You worked at a maid cafe?”
“I did. I think I actually might still have a picture somewhere of me in that uniform.”
That planted images in Carlton's mind that were far from savory.
God, Carlton was in it tonight.
The next ten minutes of the walk, Carlton could hardly pay any attention to what Spencer was saying, too distracted by every detail he noticed, and every image of Spencer in that maid outfit his mind conjured. By the time he got to the door of his apartment, though, Spencer had gone silent, and was staring up at him.
Carlton fumbled with his keys a bit, but managed to unlock the door, stepping inside and turning to face Spencer when the door fell shut behind them.
Before he knew what he was doing, his lips were moving against Spencer's, and Spencer's fingers were running through his hair, and his own hands were gripping Spencer's waist, and when did all this happen?
He didn't care. Somehow, this was the most natural thing he could do. And dammit, it felt good.
At some point, Spencer snaked Carlton's tie back around his neck where it belonged, and was using it to pull him further into the apartment between feverish kisses. “God, Lassie, do you have any idea-”
“Yeah, Spencer, I think I do.” Carlton basically growled against his lips, and his fingers found the skin beneath Spencer's flannel shirt, right at his hips. “Are you sober enough to remember this? To consent to it?”
“If I could hook that blindfolded shot back at the bar, I don't think we have an issue.” Spencer mumbled, his wonderful, wonderful mouth nipping and sucking at Carlton's jaw and neck in between sentences. “Are you good, Lassie?”
“The walk home helped.” He admitted, groaning as he could feel Spencer's arousal pressed against his thigh through his pants. “Let me get a glass of water, and I'll be okay.”
“Clean?” Spencer asked. Carlton nodded, forcing himself to pull away, because if he didn't, he'd never get that water.
“Go get ready in my room, Spencer. Let's see how well you follow orders.”
Spencer grinned. “Sir, yes sir.”
He watched as Spencer practically tripped over himself to run to the bedroom. Carlton took a deep breath, heading to his kitchen and getting himself a glass of water from the fridge. He took a few sips, but it wasn't the water sobering him – it was the situation. He was about to sleep with Shawn Spencer.
Was he insane? Maybe. But tonight, Spencer brought out a side of him he'd forgotten he'd ever had, buried by bad experiences, underneath his professionalism and seriousness – his indulgent side. His fun side. He was divorced and didn't have time to find sex, and who was he to deny the magnetism between them if it was finally drawing them together?
He was going to enjoy himself, dammit. And he'd make sure Spencer did, too.
He'd swear he didn't take more than two minutes with his water, but somehow it was enough time for Spencer to do plenty. Even Carlton walked in, Spencer was sprawled on his bed, clothes on the floor beside it, and he was twirling Carlton's handcuffs on one finger.
“Those aren't a toy, Spencer. Put them down.”
“What are you gonna do if I don't?” Spencer challenged, laying back on the bed, his head propped up on a decorative pillow. “Arrest me?”
Carlton let out a growl as he felt his arousal growing quickly unbearable. “I won't arrest you, but I will cuff you.”
“Don't tease, Lassie.” Spencer's grin only grew. At that moment, the handcuffs flew off his finger, right towards Carlton, who caught them. “Oops.” He said, not sounding the least bit sorry.
Carlton made it to the bed in three quick strides, grabbing both of Spencer's wrists before he could react, and flipping him over onto his stomach. He bent down over Spencer, his lips brushing his ear every time he spoke. “You wanna be cuffed that badly?”
“Yes, Officer, please.” Spencer taunted with a smirk.
Carlton cuffed his wrists behind his back, shoving him down into the bed like he would shove a perp down on his car. In fact, he'd done it to Spencer in that context once or twice. It was nice to see him more pliant in this position, rather than starting up a ‘’vision". “That's Head Detective to you.”
“Well, Head Detective, you might want to know I can Houdini my way out of cuffs.”
Carlton chuckled. “That so? Well, then you'd better know there are consequences for deciding to do that.” He tightened the cuffs to be tight around his wrists. “Not that I'll make it easy for you. You don't want easy, do you, Spencer? No, you want it hard, don't you?”
“Well, that depends. I don't get myself worked up for ten minutes. If I take it hard, I need guarantees, Lassie.” Spencer teased.
Carlton stood up, yanking on the chain that connected the cuffs to pull Spencer to his feet with him, earning a slight hiss. “I thought you learned earlier that I know how to make a good thing last, Spencer. Or did you forget my lesson already?”
“I don't think I was paying enough attention the first time.” Spencer grinned coyly, and it drove Carlton wild. “You'll have to teach me again.”
“Damn right I will.” Suddenly, Carlton spun Spencer around to face him and took a few steps back, so he could look at Spencer like this. With his hands cuffed behind his back, he almost looked submissive. But of course, he still had that pesky attitude.
Carlton gave him fifteen minutes, tops, before the word “please” finally left his lips in a sincere plea.
“Down on your knees, Spencer. Don't drop, and don't use your hands against the bed behind you or anything. Let me watch.” Carlton commanded, not expecting obedience.
“You know, I think given everything, you could call me Sha-”
“Down. Now.” Carlton ordered again. “You want it? You earn it.”
Spencer stood there for a moment, like he was weighing his options, before slowly sinking to his knees, not breaking eye contact as he did, and Carlton couldn't tell if that was submission, or defiance despite it.
He almost hoped it was the latter.
“So, this is how I get your mouth shut, huh?” Carlton slowly paced around him, appraising the sight before him.
“I thought in this position, you'd prefer my mouth open.” Spencer prodded. Carlton glared at him, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look up.
“Be careful what you wish for, Spencer. You don't know what I might have you do.” There was a dangerous edge in his voice.
“What if I don't like what you want me to do?” He retorted.
Carlton only tightened his grip on his chin at that. “If anything I do is too rough for you, you can always cry uncle.”
Spencer huffed a breath and grinned. “Is that my safeword?”
For a moment, Carlton paused. “No, I was going to use the stoplight system.”
“Yawn. Boring.”
Carlton growled. “Alright, fine. Then yes, it is your safeword, if you want it so badly.” He released Spencer's chin, standing up straight again. “Now sit up straight. I won't have you slouching or making me bend when I shouldn't need to.”
Spencer squared his shoulders as best he could with the handcuffs on, straightening his back and sitting on his heels. Not bad.
“Tell me exactly what you want, Spencer.”
Spencer gave him a mischievous smirk. “If that's not obvious to you, Lassie-”
Carlton grabbed a fistful of his hair and held it tightly. “I know you're not an idiot, Spencer. Wipe that damn smirk off your face, or I will. So use my proper name. And tell me. What. You. Want.”
Spencer swallowed, and continued more breathlessly now. “I… I want you… Carlton. God, you have no idea how much I fantasize about you.” He admitted. “I want to memorize your body, Carlton. With a memory like mine, do you know how awesome that would be?”
Despite the heat of the moment, Carlton's heart skipped a beat. Spencer's voice was softer than he was used to, and the confession was almost poetic.
Carlton pulled him into another deep, passionate kiss, this one more consuming than the last had been. Spencer let out a small noise when Carlton nipped at his lips, and the sound went straight to his cock. His fingers twisted in Spencer's hair, and he groaned as he felt him squirm beneath his grip.
One thing Carlton knew for sure right now – he needed some clothes off.
When he finally pulled back from the kiss, Spencer was panting, his lips slightly parted.
“Good.” Carlton praised, loosening his grip on Spencer's hair, and moving his hand down instead to the top buttons of his shirt. “If you want to see, Spencer, then you need to listen. Be obedient. No sass, no smartass remarks.”
He didn't think a little more maturity and seriousness was too much to ask. Spencer nodded slowly, and Carlton unbuttoned the top button.
“Good. If you want to move, you get permission. Got it?”
Again, Spencer nodded.
So Carlton undid another button.
It was flattering and arousing, the way Spencer stared at him as he unbuttoned his shirt. His eyes were fixated, pupils dilated with want, unblinking, lips parted, and Carlton could also see his cock twitching.
What a sight to behold.
Carlton didn't really think his body was all that to look at, but the way Spencer was looking at him made him feel like a god. By the time his whole shirt was off, Spencer was leaning forward almost unconsciously, his eyes searching the whole of his chest.
“Fuck.” He muttered under his breath, squirming in the handcuffs.
“What is it, Spencer?” Carlton asked, even though they both knew he knew the answer. “Tell me.”
“I had just totally given up on hoping I'd ever get to see you like this.” Spencer admitted, looking up at him. “And honestly, you're even hotter than I imagined, man. Seriously. That happy trail is doing wonders with the sternbush.”
Flattered, Carlton pointed a finger at the floor, right at his feet. “Get over here, Spencer.” Immediately, he moved over, walking on his knees, until he was directly beneath Carlton. “You want to see more, don't you?”
Spencer nodded. Just as slowly as he'd unbuttoned his shirt, Carlton unbuckled his belt, slowly pulling it out of each slip, until it was completely off, at which point he snapped it just beside Spencer's head. “You know all sorts of tricks, don't you?”
“I can undo the rest without slipping out of the cuffs, if that's what you're getting at.” Spencer said in a matter-of-fact tone.
It was, and Carlton was glad to hear it. He folded his arms over his chest, looking down at Spencer. “Then do it. I want to see you get my pants down with only your mouth.”
He watched as Spencer got up on his knees to be face level with his crotch, and leaned forward, his lips wrapping around the button on his slacks. He used a combination of his teeth and tongue to push the button back through the hole.
Carlton's cock ached at the sight. Of course this was a skill Spencer had.
Spencer moved the top fold of his pants out of the way, and bit the small zipper on his slacks, pulling it down until it was fully undone. He ran his tongue over his teeth when he was done with that part.
“So your mouth is good for something besides rambling endlessly.” Carlton muttered, gripping Spencer's hair in his fist again.
“Oh, it's good for a lot more than that, Carlton.” Spencer chuckled breathlessly.
“I'll bet it is.” With his free hand, Carlton pushed his pants down enough so they'd fall to his ankles. Spencer's breath hitched, his gaze falling to Carlton's thighs – his thighs, of all things. “You want to use that pretty little mouth of yours, Spencer?”
“Yes.” Spencer nodded, eyes wide. When Carlton looked down, he saw Spencer was no less aroused than when he'd first walked in. Good.
But he was still missing one thing.
“Then you need to learn how to use your manners, Spencer.” Carlton told him sternly. “You know what you haven't said once so far?”
“What?”
“You haven't said please.” Carlton tugged a bit at Spencer's hair, earning a soft hiss. “If you're gonna tell me what you want, you'd better ask for it, and ask nicely, Spencer, or you don't get it.”
“You want me to beg?” Spencer raised an eyebrow at him incredulously. Carlton narrowed his eyes in response.
“I asked for one ‘please’. If you keep up that damn attitude, then I'll have you begging.” Carlton growled out, tugging his hair harder this time. With a free hand, he pulled his cock out of his boxers. “If you want this, you'll ask politely for it. I don't give my cock to anyone who disrespects me.”
Spencer bit his lip, and was silent for a long moment. During that moment, Carlton almost wondered if he'd said something wrong, but he would trust that if he misstepped badly, Spencer would use their established safeword.
“Please.” Spencer finally said, looking up and looking him straight in the eyes. “Please, Carlton. Let me taste you.”
Carlton smirked. “Now was that so hard?” He used his hand in Spencer's hair to guide his head forward towards his cock. “Go ahead, Spencer. Suck me off. Take it slow.”
He watched as Spencer opened his mouth, and started by slowly licking a stripe from the base of Carlton's cock all the way to the tip. Carlton let out a groan, not taking his eyes off of Spencer, who closed his eyes and took Carlton's tip into his mouth. He started to slowly bob his head, taking his cock deeper every time he came back down. His eyes were open, staring up at Carlton, who guided his head with every move.
If this was the best way to get Spencer to shut up, then he'd gladly do it every day, because the warm heat of his mouth and skill of his tongue were perfect.
Soon, Spencer started moving his head faster, and Carlton let out a groan, as he felt himself drawing closer to orgasm – too close. He wanted this to last. He gripped Spencer's hair and held his head in place, then pressed his cock deeper until he could feel his tip hit the back of Spencer's throat.
“God, Spencer, slow down.” Carlton hissed out, but even in his position, Spencer's wonderful, amazing tongue kept moving, despite his orders.
He just couldn't get enough, could he? Well, Carlton would show him what happened when he didn't listen.
Quickly, he pulled his cock out of Spencer's mouth, staring sternly down at him. “You're going too fast, Spencer. I thought I taught you how to savor things.”
Spencer panted, trying to use his shoulder to wipe some spit from around his mouth, since his hands were unavailable. “Sorry, I just can't stop getting distracted and all caught up in the moment.” He said, not sounding sorry at all.
“Fine. Too distracted? Let's take away your distractions.” Carlton picked up his tie from the bed nearby. He tied it around Spencer's head, over his eyes, like earlier. “Maybe without your sight, you can better appreciate what you taste, instead of taking it all in at once. I'll be setting the pace from here on out.”
Spencer swallowed, and actually whimpered, and fuck, that sound went straight to Carlton's cock.
“Open up. Now.” Carlton tugged his hair again, and Spencer opened his mouth wide again, allowing Carlton to slowly push his cock in again, until he felt Spencer's lips touch the base. He groaned, looking down, and while he missed Spencer's gaze, it was equally as sexy to see him deprived of it.
Slowly, Carlton began to fuck Spencer's throat, holding his head firmly in place by his hair. He didn't gag once – fuck, because of course he didn't – which only made Carlton's cock twitch in his mouth.
“Savor the taste, Spencer.” He said, then immediately felt the vibration of Spencer's moan hit his cock, making him buck his hips forward suddenly. “The taste, the sensation. That's all that matters right now.”
Despite himself, Carlton himself couldn't help but move faster, too tempted to test Spencer, to see if he really did lack a gag reflex, or if he was practiced at breathing through it. He began to thrust faster, snapping his hips forward and letting out grunts and groans, as Spencer moaned around his cock again, shooting pleasure through his whole body.
“Jesus, Spencer, you really trained yourself out of a gag reflex?” Carlton began to pull Spencer's hair to get deeper down his throat with every thrust, and before he knew it, his orgasm was sneaking up on him. “Fuck… you better savor the taste of my cum, Spencer.”
He held Spencer's head in place as he pushed his cock as far down Spencer's throat as he could go as he started to release, groaning loudly. He rode out his orgasm like that, thrusting into his throat, and only pulled out when his cock started to soften.
He and Spencer were both panting.
“So, Shawn. What do you taste?” Carlton asked him, in the same tone as when he'd asked about the scotch earlier.
Shawn took a moment to respond. “... Salty. Bitter, pretty bitter. You probably wouldn't believe me if I said I could taste the cinnamon from the scotch.”
Carlton considered the answer for a moment, then deemed, “Good enough. Stand up. I'll make sure to get you off, too.”
Shawn grinned, his face flushing. “Oh, ah… no need, Carly.” He chuckled, and sure enough, when Carlton looked, he saw cum on the floor, and on Spencer's cock and stomach. “I've got a major thing for sucking dick.”
“That's… wow.” So Shawn could cum untouched? That was information to file away for later.
Shawn stood up slowly, stumbling a bit, so Carlton caught him, one hand on his chest, the other moving to take the blindfold off. “Here, turn around, let me get the cuffs off.” Shawn turned around, and Carlton undid them, letting him shake his hands out.
“Do you mind if I take a shower?” Shawn asked, rubbing his wrists. Carlton frowned at the red rings around them.
“Of course not.” Carlton reached out and held his wrists. “Do you need something for this? I think I have some aloe or something. I think it's meant for sunburn, but-”
“Let's see how it looks after a shower.” Shawn dismissed, shaking his head. “Join me?”
Carlton growled, a little playfully, and smirked. “With pleasure.”