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perpetual_motionTitle: Six, Six, One
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Pysch
Pairing: Henry/Lassiter
Rating: R
Summary: Drinking, talking, sex. In that order.
Disclaimer: Lies! All of it! Unpaid lies!
Author's Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dragonessasmith, who requested it. See what happens when I say no? And surprisingly little sex. But there is some! Much love to amazonqueenkate who gave it a look over.
He signs the divorce papers with enough force to indent the next three sheets on paper in the pile, folds them, sticks them in the addressed envelope, and throws the whole mess into a mailbox on his way out of the station.
And then he goes out for a drink. Because Carlton Lassiter does not fail, but when he does, it only seems fair that he gets to get rampagingly stinking drunk. There’s a new bar down on the beach, some building that’s barely a shack. Carlton’s driven by it a few times, just to get a look at the place, and he goes there now because the crowd will probably be tourists and old men. If he gets as stinking blind drunk as he plans, it means no one at that particular bar will know that he is a police officer with a stick up his ass.
He’s right about the crowd, with the exception of a group of women attending a bacholerette party. Victoria had had something similar, detailing the really ridiculous bits for him the first day of their honeymoon, and Carlton had laughed and kissed her and-
He is not having these thoughts. He is here to drink. Carlton Lassiter has failed, and Carlton Lassiter will drown himself in a puddle of beer if that’s what it takes to start wiping the whole idiocy of his marriage from his memory.
“What’ll it be?” The bartender’s young, maybe borderline illegal, and Carlton considers carding him, just out of spite.
“Beer.”
“We’ve got-“
“Beer.”
The bartender’s eyebrows go up. Carlton matches him. The bartender nods. “Beer. Got it.” He turns away.
Carlton polishes off the first beer in four large swigs. He finishes the second in six. The bartender puts the third down in front of him, and a hand comes from the side to grab it. Carlton clenches his fingers around the wrist and turns slowly on his stool. “If you know-“
“Carlton,” it’s Henry Spencer, and he’s giving Carlton a serious look. “You okay?”
“Peachy, thanks.” The ‘s’ slides out of his control, and it takes Carlton a moment to reign it back in. “I’m not drunk.”
“Of course not.” Henry gives a glare to the man on the next stool, and the man practically scampers away. “You’re just enjoying a night out.”
“I don’t need sarcasm.” Carlton pries his beer from Henry’s hand. “And I don’t need a Spencer around this time.”
Henry’s eyebrows go up. “This time? You regularly get drunk like this?”
“I mean…” Carlton presses his lips together and gives Henry a dark look. “Never mind.”
“Well, you’ve been drunk before, that much is-“
“Look,” and Carlton trips over the ‘k’ but doesn’t notice. “You are not a cop anymore. I am off-duty. That thing that crawled out from some moldy sweatsocks and calls itself your son is not here to embarrass or annoy me, and I just want to drink some beer.” Carlton takes another drink of his beer in defiance, and gives Henry the best glare he can under the circumstances.
Henry signals the bartender, orders a beer of his own, and taps his fingers on his cardboard coaster before finally asking, “So, how long since you signed the papers?”
Carlton manages to turn his head just enough that the beer he sprays does not hit Henry. He coughs, swallows, and gives Henry a hard look. “You are not psychic.”
“No, I’m not.” Henry’s beer lands on his coaster and he takes a drink. “I’m just divorced.”
“Congratu-fucking-lations to you.” Carlton toasts him with his beer and finishes it off. The bottle thunks against the countertop, and he raises his hand to signal for another. Henry’s hand presses on his wrist. Carlton shakes his off. “Mind your own business.”
Henry presses harder and forces Carlton hand down. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you your business or how to handle your situation-“
Carlton snorts. “Sure you’re not. Spencer men don’t stick their noses where they shouldn’t be.”
“Hey!” Henry’s tone is sharp. “Look, Shawn’s a pain in the ass; I’ll grant you that without a fight, but you came in here, and I just happened to be around, and I’ve done to my liver what you’re about to do to yours. This has nothing to do with butting in. This is solidarity.”
”Yeah. I’m sure. You’re the Spencer who’s all warm and fuzzy. That’s why your son is such an attention whoring little bastard, and why you two-“
“And we’re officially done here.” Henry stands up and grabs his beer, the anger clear in his tone and the clench of his fingers on his bottle. “You want to drink yourself into a black out, have a good fucking time.”
Carlton Lassiter is not a man with friends. He’s too competitive, too serious, and Henry’s taken him fishing. He reaches out and grabs Henry’s sleeve before he can walk away. “We made it six months,” he says instead of an apology. “To the day, it was six months before she told me to deal with my shit and get out. Her exact words. Deal with my shit. Get out.” Carlton stares at Henry. His vision’s going a bit fuzzy, but he can see the way Henry’s face relaxes just a little into a grimace that looks like it’s worn into the edges of Henry’s mouth.
“Let’s get a booth. Get some nachos.” Henry twists his arm around to grab Carlton’s elbow and steadies him as he stumbles off the barstool. “We’ll compare scars.”
Carlton wants to fight. Wants to point out that he is a cop. A cop, goddamnit, and he can handle his emotional fuckery, thanks so much. Except that Carlton’s more than aware that he can’t handle shit right now. She’s gone. She’s really fucking gone. And he’d been so certain.
“I don’t fail,” he says once Henry sits him in the booth and slides in across from him. “I am an exempla-“ he pauses, his mouth not wanting to keep time with his words, “exempl-“ he tries again. “I’m a damned good cop.”
“I know,” Henry says.
“My clearance is the best in the department.”
“I’ve heard.”
Carlton points a finger at Henry. It shakes slightly. “Even before-“
“I know.” Henry holds up his hands in defense. “Look, Shawn’s a jackass. We’re not debating that. You were talking about your wife.”
“Ex-wife,” Carlton spits out and glares at the table. “Fuck.” He says with less venom. “I’m a good cop. I work hard. I believe in what I do, and I…”
Henry sips his beer and watches the way Carlton presses his palms against his cheeks. “What’s Victoria got to do with you being a good cop?” He can’t put together the two, unless Carlton thinks a good cop needs a good wife. Hell, it’s how Henry ended up married. It’s not an uncommon thread with cops.
“I’m gay,” Carlton says flatly. “I’m a cop, and I’m gay, and I thought that I wasn’t, but I just, I am.”
There’s a long moment of silence while Henry forces his chin not to drop. “Look, I know divorce is hard on a man. Believe me, I know, but this is a little drastic.”
“This isn’t some divorce-related crisis, Henry. Fuck, marrying her was supposed-“ Carlton cuts himself off, downs the beer the waitress just delivered to the table, and drops his head into his hands. “I thought, she was smart, she was pretty, she didn’t take any shit. It could work, right? I’m just stupid and confused. That’s all.”
Henry’s just as lost as he was a few moments before. He considers his options. They haven’t ordered food yet. He’s got plenty of cash in his wallet. He stands up, hefts Carlton up by his elbow, and drops more than enough cash on the table to cover their beers and general attitudes. “I think we’ve reached the point where this isn’t a good conversation to have in public.”
Carlton doesn’t argue. Standing up has made him lightheaded, and he’s mostly limp as Henry drags him from the bar. They make it outside, the cooler air hits Carlton like a brick, and he nearly face plants as his stomach rolls, and he has to force himself not to be sick.
“Easy,” Henry mutters, massaging between Carlton’s shoulder blades and throwing a death glare at a couple of twenty-somethings who look ready to laugh. He looks away as Carlton composes himself and waits until the grip on his forearm slackens before hauling the man to his feet. “I don’t think you should be driving.”
“You drank, too.” Carlton swallows hard to fight off the next wave of nausea and shakes off Henry to wobble over to his car. He presses his hands against the trunk and breathes deep to try and clear his head. “We can’t drive.”
“I had a beer and a half.” Henry argues, but he knows it’s pointless. Carlton’s the kind of cop who will go out to dinner, have a glass of wine, spend an hour walking and still take cab from the restaurant. “Look,” he says after a moment, “I live six blocks up the street. If we walk on the beach, we won’t even have to worry about traffic.”
Carlton considers it while his head finishes spinning. There’s no way he’s driving, and he doesn’t want to go back into the bar and wait on a cab. He looks at Henry, who’s standing with his arms crossed and his head tilted to the side. “Do you have booze?”
Henry huffs a laugh. “You’ve met my son. You tell me.”
“Okay, then.” Carlton heaves himself off the car and stumbles forward until Henry grabs his arm and propels him towards the stairs that lead down to the beach.
“You may as well take off your shoes now,” Henry advises before they descend. “Once we hit the sand, there’s no hope.” Henry waits for twenty long seconds as Carlton looks at his feet, and the highly polished, precisely tied shoes that are on them, and then looks at Henry. “I’m doing this once.” Henry says as he bends down and tugs at the laces. “Next time, you pack appropriate footwear.”
Carlton laughs just a little. It’s a dry sound. “Yeah, I don’t plan to do this ever again.”
Henry levers himself to his feet, Carlton’s shoes in one hand. “Which part? The ridiculous amounts of drinking or the marriage?”
“The marriage.”
“Good. Because I do have a great deal of booze.”
This time, Carlton’s laugh has a little life in it. “Glad we got that straightened out.”
“I also have food,” Henry says as they start down the stairs, his hand back at Carlton’s elbow. “Which you’re going to need if you plan to keep your liquor down.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Henry eyes him as they make it to the bottom of the steps. “You don’t eat when you’re stressed.”
Carlton stops walking and jabs two fingers into Henry’s chest. “Don’t do that. Don’t say something about me that you don’t know like you actually know it. Just…” he drops his hand from Henry’s chest. “Just don’t.”
There’s an awkward pause, and Henry fights with himself for a moment before giving Carlton a nod. “Sorry. You’re right. That’s not fair.”
“How do you do that?” Carlton asks in a way that makes it clear he doesn’t actually want the answer. “You and him, and you just act like you know everything before anyone else. Like someone slid you a script the rest of us aren’t seeing. I’m a good cop, damnit.”
Henry doesn’t have it in him to remind Carlton that they’ve been over this particular bit of ground already. The man is upset and exhausted and on the way to a bender that Henry is certain will be epic, if only because he knows the size of his own liquor cabinet. “Did you really marry her because you thought she would change you?” He asks to change the subject. They will, he know, be repeating the same conversations all night. The idea of Carlton Lassiter as a self-hating queer is much more interesting to Henry than Carlton Lassiter as a pissed-off cop.
“I thought…” Carlton’s voice drops low, almost to a whisper, and it gets contemplative. “I had a list of things I had to do to be accomplished in life. I wanted to be a cop. I wanted to be a detective. I wanted to be the head detective. I needed a wife. I wanted a husband. I thought swapping one for the other wouldn’t be so difficult. Victoria wasn’t ever particularly sexual. She liked to be told she was smart and charming and attractive, and I could do that. Sex was never the issue. It was just…”
“After a while, everything you know is true about yourself breaks through,” Henry says quietly. “And the next thing you know your marriage is shattered, and all you can do is watch the pieces fly away.”
“I tried to drag the pieces back. God, but I tried.” Carlton stops and looks out at the water. He looks over his shoulder at Henry, who’s stopped as well and doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere until Carlton moves. “This is pretty fucking clichéd, huh? Two lonely people wandering the beach bitching about how they fucked up their lives?”
Henry can’t disagree. “There are worse clichés.” He steps forward, grabs a handful of Carlton’s still-knotted tie, and pulls him down until they’re kissing. Henry feels Carlton flail, and he takes his hand off the tie in case Carlton wants to pull away. There’s a moment where Carlton just stands there, and Henry’s about to back off, but then he’s being grabbed by the front of his shirt and hauled forward with more strength than he would have guessed.
It’s a long, brutal kiss, Carlton’s fingers scrabbling around the fabric of Henry’s shirt and nearly pinching him a few times. Henry giving as good as he’s getting, biting at the edges of Carlton’s mouth and getting one hand up into Carlton’s hair. Their teeth click a few times, and it’s only after their noses collide fairly hard that they break apart, gasping hard and staring at one another.
“I don’t-“
“Wing it,” Henry says before Carlton can start up with excuses. “You just spent three years married to a woman for no other purpose than to fill a template. Take a fucking break and wing it.”
“I…” Carlton looks completely flabbergasted. His hair’s sticking up in tufts, his lips are shiny and slightly swollen, and he just looks all over dazed. “Okay.” He says after a minute. “Okay. Have you-“
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Carlton steps forward again, presses himself against Henry, and looks him right in the eyes. “Okay,” he repeats, and then he’s kissing Henry again, all tongue and suction, and Henry nearly loses his footing as they continue to stumble towards the house.
They make it, somehow, and they’re in the door, Henry’s hands all over Carlton and Carlton moaning into Henry’s mouth. Carlton has bony hips and pointy elbows and he nearly takes out Henry’s eye with the corner of his jaw. He’s all angles, and there’s no padding against them. His chest hair is thick, and his eyes are so blue Henry’s almost convinced that the color’s being faked. “Your eyes,” he mutters as he fights with Carlton’s belt.
“They’re blue,” Carlton says shortly as he gets the buttons open on Henry’s shirt.
“They’re-“ Henry cuts off when Carlton’s hand slides into his shorts and past his boxers and wraps around his cock.
“I’m not here to talk about my eyes.” There’s a low, dangerous growl to the words, and Carlton presses up against Henry hard, his bony hips and elbows making Henry squirm. “And you’re not here to talk about them either.”
For just a minute, Henry is fully concentrated on how Carlton is squeezing and pulling at his dick, but he manages to gather his scattered wits and lead Carlton towards the bed with a shove of his chest and fingers digging into his arms. “I can do this without talking. Can you?”
“I’ll manage.”
And they hit the bed together, Carlton’s pants still on, and Henry’s shorts sliding down his legs. There’s a brief scuffle as they strip down, and then Carlton’s flipped them over, slid down Henry’s chest and sucked the head of his cock into his mouth.
Henry makes a sound that’s almost a shout and gets a hand into Carlton’s hair. The other hand fists in the sheets, and Henry finds that he can only look down occasionally because Carlton’s eyes, whether they’re going to talk about them or not, are hot and intense and watching him at every single moment. Henry settles for closing his eyes and arcing his hips and grunting between his teeth as Carlton slides his mouth down a little further and sucks harder. Henry groans at that and tugs at Carlton’s hair hard enough to make the man slide his mouth off of Henry’s dick and give him a look.
“What?” Carlton’s fingers curl around Henry’s sac, and he grins a bit at the stuttered gasp that Henry presses out. “There a problem?”
“I didn’t-“ Henry grunts again when Carlton’s nails press against his scrotum just a little. “You’re sure-“
“I’m fully aware of what I’m doing,” Carlton says, and that’s the end of the argument as he takes Henry’s cock back into his mouth and sucks him until he screams and bucks and comes.
It takes Henry a couple of minutes to get his breath back, and by the time he does, Carlton is laying next to him, eyes on the ceiling and face giving away his doubts with the way his mouth is flattening out. Henry turns onto his side, manhandles Carlton so that they’re facing, and wraps his hand around Carlton’s dick. “You don’t just surprise a man with a blowjob and think he’s going to recover right away.” Henry grins at the way Carlton’s mouth quirks in something that’s almost a smile, and then laughs when the smile turns into an ‘o’ of surprise as Henry starts stroking.
Carlton, it turns out, is something of a screamer, moans turning into yelling which turns into shouting which turns into a full, short scream when he comes. His nails are digging into Henry’s shoulder, and the way he rubs himself against Henry after the glow fades makes Henry feel like a man with a very large cat.
There’s silence as they lay in Henry’s bed, sweat cooling, and endorphins starting to crash. Carlton breaks it. “Six years.”
“Mmm?” Henry asks, mentally debating whether or not he wants to get up and find food.
“The last time I slept with a man, it was six years ago.”
“How was it?”
Carlton chuckles a little. “Great.” And then he’s laughing full-out, mouth wide open as he howls with desperate amusement. Henry just watches him and wonders what he looks like when he’s actually happy.
Henry sits up and stretches, glancing at Carlton over his shoulder as the laughter starts to fade. “Beer?” He offers.
“Food,” Carlton counters. “Then beer. Maybe.” Carlton sits up as well. “Thanks, Henry,” he says to the opposite wall.
Henry shakes his head at the whole insanity of the situation. “No problem.” He stands up and walks into the kitchen and calls out for pizza. When he hangs up the phone, Carlton’s leaning in the doorway of the kitchen wearing his slacks. “Going somewhere?”
Carlton looks momentarily confused. “I wasn’t planning on it, but if you-“
“Take off your pants,” Henry orders as he crosses the room. “We’ve got twenty minutes until the pizza gets here.”
“What are we going to-“
Henry grins when Carlton snaps his mouth shut. “Exactly. Six years is a long time. There’s a backlog.”
“I-“
Henry kisses Carlton hard and pushes him back towards the bedroom. “Nineteen minutes.”
“I-“
“If you’d rather-“ this time it’s Henry who’s cut off, Carlton’s mouth hard on his, Carlton’s hands grabbing at his hips and pulling him towards the bed.
“I think this’ll work just fine,” Carlton says as he shoves Henry down on the bed.
Henry chuckles and watches Carlton slide out of his pants. “Glad to help.”
EDIT:hobbit_feet, I apologize for blaming you for all this. Seems I got you and dragonessasmith confused when making the list. You may open mocking now.
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Pysch
Pairing: Henry/Lassiter
Rating: R
Summary: Drinking, talking, sex. In that order.
Disclaimer: Lies! All of it! Unpaid lies!
Author's Notes: For
dragonessasmith, who requested it. See what happens when I say no? And surprisingly little sex. But there is some! Much love to amazonqueenkate who gave it a look over.He signs the divorce papers with enough force to indent the next three sheets on paper in the pile, folds them, sticks them in the addressed envelope, and throws the whole mess into a mailbox on his way out of the station.
And then he goes out for a drink. Because Carlton Lassiter does not fail, but when he does, it only seems fair that he gets to get rampagingly stinking drunk. There’s a new bar down on the beach, some building that’s barely a shack. Carlton’s driven by it a few times, just to get a look at the place, and he goes there now because the crowd will probably be tourists and old men. If he gets as stinking blind drunk as he plans, it means no one at that particular bar will know that he is a police officer with a stick up his ass.
He’s right about the crowd, with the exception of a group of women attending a bacholerette party. Victoria had had something similar, detailing the really ridiculous bits for him the first day of their honeymoon, and Carlton had laughed and kissed her and-
He is not having these thoughts. He is here to drink. Carlton Lassiter has failed, and Carlton Lassiter will drown himself in a puddle of beer if that’s what it takes to start wiping the whole idiocy of his marriage from his memory.
“What’ll it be?” The bartender’s young, maybe borderline illegal, and Carlton considers carding him, just out of spite.
“Beer.”
“We’ve got-“
“Beer.”
The bartender’s eyebrows go up. Carlton matches him. The bartender nods. “Beer. Got it.” He turns away.
Carlton polishes off the first beer in four large swigs. He finishes the second in six. The bartender puts the third down in front of him, and a hand comes from the side to grab it. Carlton clenches his fingers around the wrist and turns slowly on his stool. “If you know-“
“Carlton,” it’s Henry Spencer, and he’s giving Carlton a serious look. “You okay?”
“Peachy, thanks.” The ‘s’ slides out of his control, and it takes Carlton a moment to reign it back in. “I’m not drunk.”
“Of course not.” Henry gives a glare to the man on the next stool, and the man practically scampers away. “You’re just enjoying a night out.”
“I don’t need sarcasm.” Carlton pries his beer from Henry’s hand. “And I don’t need a Spencer around this time.”
Henry’s eyebrows go up. “This time? You regularly get drunk like this?”
“I mean…” Carlton presses his lips together and gives Henry a dark look. “Never mind.”
“Well, you’ve been drunk before, that much is-“
“Look,” and Carlton trips over the ‘k’ but doesn’t notice. “You are not a cop anymore. I am off-duty. That thing that crawled out from some moldy sweatsocks and calls itself your son is not here to embarrass or annoy me, and I just want to drink some beer.” Carlton takes another drink of his beer in defiance, and gives Henry the best glare he can under the circumstances.
Henry signals the bartender, orders a beer of his own, and taps his fingers on his cardboard coaster before finally asking, “So, how long since you signed the papers?”
Carlton manages to turn his head just enough that the beer he sprays does not hit Henry. He coughs, swallows, and gives Henry a hard look. “You are not psychic.”
“No, I’m not.” Henry’s beer lands on his coaster and he takes a drink. “I’m just divorced.”
“Congratu-fucking-lations to you.” Carlton toasts him with his beer and finishes it off. The bottle thunks against the countertop, and he raises his hand to signal for another. Henry’s hand presses on his wrist. Carlton shakes his off. “Mind your own business.”
Henry presses harder and forces Carlton hand down. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you your business or how to handle your situation-“
Carlton snorts. “Sure you’re not. Spencer men don’t stick their noses where they shouldn’t be.”
“Hey!” Henry’s tone is sharp. “Look, Shawn’s a pain in the ass; I’ll grant you that without a fight, but you came in here, and I just happened to be around, and I’ve done to my liver what you’re about to do to yours. This has nothing to do with butting in. This is solidarity.”
”Yeah. I’m sure. You’re the Spencer who’s all warm and fuzzy. That’s why your son is such an attention whoring little bastard, and why you two-“
“And we’re officially done here.” Henry stands up and grabs his beer, the anger clear in his tone and the clench of his fingers on his bottle. “You want to drink yourself into a black out, have a good fucking time.”
Carlton Lassiter is not a man with friends. He’s too competitive, too serious, and Henry’s taken him fishing. He reaches out and grabs Henry’s sleeve before he can walk away. “We made it six months,” he says instead of an apology. “To the day, it was six months before she told me to deal with my shit and get out. Her exact words. Deal with my shit. Get out.” Carlton stares at Henry. His vision’s going a bit fuzzy, but he can see the way Henry’s face relaxes just a little into a grimace that looks like it’s worn into the edges of Henry’s mouth.
“Let’s get a booth. Get some nachos.” Henry twists his arm around to grab Carlton’s elbow and steadies him as he stumbles off the barstool. “We’ll compare scars.”
Carlton wants to fight. Wants to point out that he is a cop. A cop, goddamnit, and he can handle his emotional fuckery, thanks so much. Except that Carlton’s more than aware that he can’t handle shit right now. She’s gone. She’s really fucking gone. And he’d been so certain.
“I don’t fail,” he says once Henry sits him in the booth and slides in across from him. “I am an exempla-“ he pauses, his mouth not wanting to keep time with his words, “exempl-“ he tries again. “I’m a damned good cop.”
“I know,” Henry says.
“My clearance is the best in the department.”
“I’ve heard.”
Carlton points a finger at Henry. It shakes slightly. “Even before-“
“I know.” Henry holds up his hands in defense. “Look, Shawn’s a jackass. We’re not debating that. You were talking about your wife.”
“Ex-wife,” Carlton spits out and glares at the table. “Fuck.” He says with less venom. “I’m a good cop. I work hard. I believe in what I do, and I…”
Henry sips his beer and watches the way Carlton presses his palms against his cheeks. “What’s Victoria got to do with you being a good cop?” He can’t put together the two, unless Carlton thinks a good cop needs a good wife. Hell, it’s how Henry ended up married. It’s not an uncommon thread with cops.
“I’m gay,” Carlton says flatly. “I’m a cop, and I’m gay, and I thought that I wasn’t, but I just, I am.”
There’s a long moment of silence while Henry forces his chin not to drop. “Look, I know divorce is hard on a man. Believe me, I know, but this is a little drastic.”
“This isn’t some divorce-related crisis, Henry. Fuck, marrying her was supposed-“ Carlton cuts himself off, downs the beer the waitress just delivered to the table, and drops his head into his hands. “I thought, she was smart, she was pretty, she didn’t take any shit. It could work, right? I’m just stupid and confused. That’s all.”
Henry’s just as lost as he was a few moments before. He considers his options. They haven’t ordered food yet. He’s got plenty of cash in his wallet. He stands up, hefts Carlton up by his elbow, and drops more than enough cash on the table to cover their beers and general attitudes. “I think we’ve reached the point where this isn’t a good conversation to have in public.”
Carlton doesn’t argue. Standing up has made him lightheaded, and he’s mostly limp as Henry drags him from the bar. They make it outside, the cooler air hits Carlton like a brick, and he nearly face plants as his stomach rolls, and he has to force himself not to be sick.
“Easy,” Henry mutters, massaging between Carlton’s shoulder blades and throwing a death glare at a couple of twenty-somethings who look ready to laugh. He looks away as Carlton composes himself and waits until the grip on his forearm slackens before hauling the man to his feet. “I don’t think you should be driving.”
“You drank, too.” Carlton swallows hard to fight off the next wave of nausea and shakes off Henry to wobble over to his car. He presses his hands against the trunk and breathes deep to try and clear his head. “We can’t drive.”
“I had a beer and a half.” Henry argues, but he knows it’s pointless. Carlton’s the kind of cop who will go out to dinner, have a glass of wine, spend an hour walking and still take cab from the restaurant. “Look,” he says after a moment, “I live six blocks up the street. If we walk on the beach, we won’t even have to worry about traffic.”
Carlton considers it while his head finishes spinning. There’s no way he’s driving, and he doesn’t want to go back into the bar and wait on a cab. He looks at Henry, who’s standing with his arms crossed and his head tilted to the side. “Do you have booze?”
Henry huffs a laugh. “You’ve met my son. You tell me.”
“Okay, then.” Carlton heaves himself off the car and stumbles forward until Henry grabs his arm and propels him towards the stairs that lead down to the beach.
“You may as well take off your shoes now,” Henry advises before they descend. “Once we hit the sand, there’s no hope.” Henry waits for twenty long seconds as Carlton looks at his feet, and the highly polished, precisely tied shoes that are on them, and then looks at Henry. “I’m doing this once.” Henry says as he bends down and tugs at the laces. “Next time, you pack appropriate footwear.”
Carlton laughs just a little. It’s a dry sound. “Yeah, I don’t plan to do this ever again.”
Henry levers himself to his feet, Carlton’s shoes in one hand. “Which part? The ridiculous amounts of drinking or the marriage?”
“The marriage.”
“Good. Because I do have a great deal of booze.”
This time, Carlton’s laugh has a little life in it. “Glad we got that straightened out.”
“I also have food,” Henry says as they start down the stairs, his hand back at Carlton’s elbow. “Which you’re going to need if you plan to keep your liquor down.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Henry eyes him as they make it to the bottom of the steps. “You don’t eat when you’re stressed.”
Carlton stops walking and jabs two fingers into Henry’s chest. “Don’t do that. Don’t say something about me that you don’t know like you actually know it. Just…” he drops his hand from Henry’s chest. “Just don’t.”
There’s an awkward pause, and Henry fights with himself for a moment before giving Carlton a nod. “Sorry. You’re right. That’s not fair.”
“How do you do that?” Carlton asks in a way that makes it clear he doesn’t actually want the answer. “You and him, and you just act like you know everything before anyone else. Like someone slid you a script the rest of us aren’t seeing. I’m a good cop, damnit.”
Henry doesn’t have it in him to remind Carlton that they’ve been over this particular bit of ground already. The man is upset and exhausted and on the way to a bender that Henry is certain will be epic, if only because he knows the size of his own liquor cabinet. “Did you really marry her because you thought she would change you?” He asks to change the subject. They will, he know, be repeating the same conversations all night. The idea of Carlton Lassiter as a self-hating queer is much more interesting to Henry than Carlton Lassiter as a pissed-off cop.
“I thought…” Carlton’s voice drops low, almost to a whisper, and it gets contemplative. “I had a list of things I had to do to be accomplished in life. I wanted to be a cop. I wanted to be a detective. I wanted to be the head detective. I needed a wife. I wanted a husband. I thought swapping one for the other wouldn’t be so difficult. Victoria wasn’t ever particularly sexual. She liked to be told she was smart and charming and attractive, and I could do that. Sex was never the issue. It was just…”
“After a while, everything you know is true about yourself breaks through,” Henry says quietly. “And the next thing you know your marriage is shattered, and all you can do is watch the pieces fly away.”
“I tried to drag the pieces back. God, but I tried.” Carlton stops and looks out at the water. He looks over his shoulder at Henry, who’s stopped as well and doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere until Carlton moves. “This is pretty fucking clichéd, huh? Two lonely people wandering the beach bitching about how they fucked up their lives?”
Henry can’t disagree. “There are worse clichés.” He steps forward, grabs a handful of Carlton’s still-knotted tie, and pulls him down until they’re kissing. Henry feels Carlton flail, and he takes his hand off the tie in case Carlton wants to pull away. There’s a moment where Carlton just stands there, and Henry’s about to back off, but then he’s being grabbed by the front of his shirt and hauled forward with more strength than he would have guessed.
It’s a long, brutal kiss, Carlton’s fingers scrabbling around the fabric of Henry’s shirt and nearly pinching him a few times. Henry giving as good as he’s getting, biting at the edges of Carlton’s mouth and getting one hand up into Carlton’s hair. Their teeth click a few times, and it’s only after their noses collide fairly hard that they break apart, gasping hard and staring at one another.
“I don’t-“
“Wing it,” Henry says before Carlton can start up with excuses. “You just spent three years married to a woman for no other purpose than to fill a template. Take a fucking break and wing it.”
“I…” Carlton looks completely flabbergasted. His hair’s sticking up in tufts, his lips are shiny and slightly swollen, and he just looks all over dazed. “Okay.” He says after a minute. “Okay. Have you-“
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Carlton steps forward again, presses himself against Henry, and looks him right in the eyes. “Okay,” he repeats, and then he’s kissing Henry again, all tongue and suction, and Henry nearly loses his footing as they continue to stumble towards the house.
They make it, somehow, and they’re in the door, Henry’s hands all over Carlton and Carlton moaning into Henry’s mouth. Carlton has bony hips and pointy elbows and he nearly takes out Henry’s eye with the corner of his jaw. He’s all angles, and there’s no padding against them. His chest hair is thick, and his eyes are so blue Henry’s almost convinced that the color’s being faked. “Your eyes,” he mutters as he fights with Carlton’s belt.
“They’re blue,” Carlton says shortly as he gets the buttons open on Henry’s shirt.
“They’re-“ Henry cuts off when Carlton’s hand slides into his shorts and past his boxers and wraps around his cock.
“I’m not here to talk about my eyes.” There’s a low, dangerous growl to the words, and Carlton presses up against Henry hard, his bony hips and elbows making Henry squirm. “And you’re not here to talk about them either.”
For just a minute, Henry is fully concentrated on how Carlton is squeezing and pulling at his dick, but he manages to gather his scattered wits and lead Carlton towards the bed with a shove of his chest and fingers digging into his arms. “I can do this without talking. Can you?”
“I’ll manage.”
And they hit the bed together, Carlton’s pants still on, and Henry’s shorts sliding down his legs. There’s a brief scuffle as they strip down, and then Carlton’s flipped them over, slid down Henry’s chest and sucked the head of his cock into his mouth.
Henry makes a sound that’s almost a shout and gets a hand into Carlton’s hair. The other hand fists in the sheets, and Henry finds that he can only look down occasionally because Carlton’s eyes, whether they’re going to talk about them or not, are hot and intense and watching him at every single moment. Henry settles for closing his eyes and arcing his hips and grunting between his teeth as Carlton slides his mouth down a little further and sucks harder. Henry groans at that and tugs at Carlton’s hair hard enough to make the man slide his mouth off of Henry’s dick and give him a look.
“What?” Carlton’s fingers curl around Henry’s sac, and he grins a bit at the stuttered gasp that Henry presses out. “There a problem?”
“I didn’t-“ Henry grunts again when Carlton’s nails press against his scrotum just a little. “You’re sure-“
“I’m fully aware of what I’m doing,” Carlton says, and that’s the end of the argument as he takes Henry’s cock back into his mouth and sucks him until he screams and bucks and comes.
It takes Henry a couple of minutes to get his breath back, and by the time he does, Carlton is laying next to him, eyes on the ceiling and face giving away his doubts with the way his mouth is flattening out. Henry turns onto his side, manhandles Carlton so that they’re facing, and wraps his hand around Carlton’s dick. “You don’t just surprise a man with a blowjob and think he’s going to recover right away.” Henry grins at the way Carlton’s mouth quirks in something that’s almost a smile, and then laughs when the smile turns into an ‘o’ of surprise as Henry starts stroking.
Carlton, it turns out, is something of a screamer, moans turning into yelling which turns into shouting which turns into a full, short scream when he comes. His nails are digging into Henry’s shoulder, and the way he rubs himself against Henry after the glow fades makes Henry feel like a man with a very large cat.
There’s silence as they lay in Henry’s bed, sweat cooling, and endorphins starting to crash. Carlton breaks it. “Six years.”
“Mmm?” Henry asks, mentally debating whether or not he wants to get up and find food.
“The last time I slept with a man, it was six years ago.”
“How was it?”
Carlton chuckles a little. “Great.” And then he’s laughing full-out, mouth wide open as he howls with desperate amusement. Henry just watches him and wonders what he looks like when he’s actually happy.
Henry sits up and stretches, glancing at Carlton over his shoulder as the laughter starts to fade. “Beer?” He offers.
“Food,” Carlton counters. “Then beer. Maybe.” Carlton sits up as well. “Thanks, Henry,” he says to the opposite wall.
Henry shakes his head at the whole insanity of the situation. “No problem.” He stands up and walks into the kitchen and calls out for pizza. When he hangs up the phone, Carlton’s leaning in the doorway of the kitchen wearing his slacks. “Going somewhere?”
Carlton looks momentarily confused. “I wasn’t planning on it, but if you-“
“Take off your pants,” Henry orders as he crosses the room. “We’ve got twenty minutes until the pizza gets here.”
“What are we going to-“
Henry grins when Carlton snaps his mouth shut. “Exactly. Six years is a long time. There’s a backlog.”
“I-“
Henry kisses Carlton hard and pushes him back towards the bedroom. “Nineteen minutes.”
“I-“
“If you’d rather-“ this time it’s Henry who’s cut off, Carlton’s mouth hard on his, Carlton’s hands grabbing at his hips and pulling him towards the bed.
“I think this’ll work just fine,” Carlton says as he shoves Henry down on the bed.
Henry chuckles and watches Carlton slide out of his pants. “Glad to help.”
EDIT:
hobbit_feet, I apologize for blaming you for all this. Seems I got you and dragonessasmith confused when making the list. You may open mocking now.
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on 2008-02-29 05:21 am (UTC)Heehee.
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on 2008-02-29 05:25 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-02-29 06:02 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-02-29 06:05 am (UTC)You don't want to see Henry naked, really? I maintain the costumers really do him an injustice and make him look like he's not in shape when he really is.
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on 2008-03-01 07:29 pm (UTC)*shudders* That's probably true, tho...
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on 2008-02-29 06:58 am (UTC)Carlton manages to turn his head just enough that the beer he sprays does not hit Henry. He coughs, swallows, and gives Henry a hard look. “You are not psychic.”
“No, I’m not.” Henry’s beer lands on his coaster and he takes a drink. “I’m just divorced.”
Just perfect.
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on 2008-02-29 07:35 am (UTC)I am so glad you enjoyed it, and I'm so glad it sounds right! They were a ball to write. I just had to remember that Henry, no matter what, is cranky 99% of the time.
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on 2008-02-29 07:30 am (UTC)Good golly gosh. That was hot.
I went:
D:
:O
8U
|3
Just like that.
You're so cool~
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on 2008-02-29 07:36 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-02-29 07:32 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-02-29 07:37 am (UTC)::stares at your icon::
I think that is my very favorite Psych-Out.
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on 2008-02-29 07:43 am (UTC)*stares with you* I think I might be falling in love with Tim, just a little....
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on 2008-02-29 03:17 pm (UTC)Mmmm...Tim. He needs a fanclub.
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on 2008-02-29 12:44 pm (UTC)I have to admit, the Henry/Carlton pairing occured me after 'game, set, muurder', but...you have been better than I'd ever be!
Now, I'll just have to find the courage to write the extra-angsty Shawn/Gus I'm planning since, like, FOREVER. *sighs*
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on 2008-02-29 03:21 pm (UTC)Ooh. Angsty Shawn/Gus? DO IT!
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on 2008-02-29 03:30 pm (UTC)First, because is a F*ING hard one, second, because I'm Italian and in Italy the fandom simply doesn't exist, third, because I don't think my English is good enough to write a fic that hard in it.
And mainly because now I'm way too happy to write an angst XD
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on 2008-02-29 02:53 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-02-29 03:23 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-02-29 03:42 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-02-29 08:09 pm (UTC)To your Kindle, you say? I feel incredibly important now. :)
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on 2008-02-29 04:18 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-02-29 08:11 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-02-29 08:12 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-02-29 07:22 pm (UTC)You have done this very very well, and this is very very awesome.
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on 2008-02-29 08:13 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-02-29 10:39 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-02-29 10:46 pm (UTC)I maintain my belief that the lack of seeing Henry as hot comes from the fact that the costumers dress him like a man on a permanent cheap vacation. :)
[And if your complaint is Lassiter, I do not get it at all. He is delicious. Like Gus's head.]
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on 2008-02-29 11:40 pm (UTC)It's just a camoflage of really ugly shirts and behavior that doesn't let us forget that he is supposed to be retired and sensible and also old distracting us from the fact that he appears 20 years younger in the flashbacks.
I know this academically, but it is still a surprisingly effective technique.
I think more Henryfic could make for a very good exploration of his character that the show is not ready to give us. I'm just ready for the sex (yet).
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on 2008-03-02 03:34 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-03-02 04:14 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-03-02 07:06 am (UTC)(I also realized/remembered that everything I've ever read by you is really awesome, so I should friend you for easier access to awesome. So I did. Hi.)
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on 2008-03-02 07:08 am (UTC)And welcome aboard! ::gift basket::
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on 2009-03-10 02:36 am (UTC)