??) (original) (raw)

Title: Right Place, Wrong Time (18/??)
Author: Regann
Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter
Rating: PG-13/R
Disclaimer: I don't own anything; I just play with them.
Notes: Sorry about the wait! RL sucks?

Summary: 17-year-old Shawn has a fake ID burning a hole in his pocket, a college party to crash, and a mission to stop being the only virgin in his senior class. Unfortunately, there's this big-earred, good-doing grad student by the name of Carlton who catches him in the act. The unfair nature of cosmic humor being what it is, thus begins something that'll come back to haunt them both over ten years later -- when an adult Shawn Spencer decides to give psychic investigation a try.

Past Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17

Right Place, Wrong Time (Part 18)

Over the years Shawn had developed a decidedly lackadaisical approach to sex, one which boiled down to going after the sure bets and ignoring the long shots. He hadn't worked for sex in years. In fact, the last time he could remember having to work to get someone into his bed had been with Carlton all those years before and even that hadn't been too hard of a sell. That Shawn didn't have much experience was a woo-er didn't make him any less determined, though -- he wasn't giving up on Lassy just yet.

Shawn had been completely truthful when he'd told Carlton that he had long since stopped expecting the detective to figure it out. His sudden epiphany had been unexpected but not certainly unwelcome, especially since the truth had driven him to Shawn's door for a nostalgic make out session. The fact that Lassy had bolted before things had gotten good was frustrating but not disheartening.

Maybe if Lassiter had shown up pissed or horrified or disgusted, Shawn would've just given up on the whole thing and let it all sink back into the past like Gus kept telling him to but Carlton had shown up so far from all of those that he'd been pleasantly surprised once the initial shock had worn off. Shawn couldn't help but be hopeful, not when Carlton's first instinct after finding out the truth had been to come over to his apartment and demand face-time. Shawn knew that Carlton had spent a lot of time with his wife in therapy; after two years of it, talking things out had to be something like foreplay for him.

Coupled with the actual foreplay, it was damn near as close to an engraved invitation he could expect from Carlton Lassiter.

Shawn was still very think-y about the whole thing a day or two later when he finally got around to telling Gus about it. He'd been avoiding the station for those days and his friend had eventually demanded a reason for his atypical behavior.

"Lassiter knows the truth," he explained without preamble.

"What?" Gus's eyes were wide. "How do you know?"

"He came by to see me," Shawn told him.

"He did? When?" Gus asked, still more alarmed than Shawn thought appropriate. "What did he say?"

"Chill, Gus, really," Shawn told him. "It wasn't a big deal!"

"Shawn," he said warningly.

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine. He showed up at my apartment, demanded to know why I hadn't mentioned this all to him before now, and then we talked a little and made out and then, uh, he ran away, bringing the evening to rather unspectacular end."

"You did what?!" Gus exclaimed, wincing. "Shawn!"

"I don't want to hear it, Gus!" Shawn whined, hating that feeling he got whenever Gus lectured at him. At his most disapproving, Gus could channel Henry so perfectly it was scary.

"Bad news, Shawn. Bad news!" Gus told him. "I thought we had decided you messing around with Lassiter was a bad idea!"

"You decided and I agreed with you to shut you up," Shawn explained. "But that was before Lassy showed me that this all wasn't exactly one-sided."

"And you're going to do something about it?" Gus looked like he dreaded the answer.

"Of course I am," Shawn told him, nothing but truth between him and Gus -- at least in a situation like this.

"Because it worked out so well the last two times."

"You don't have to like it," he told him. "But it's not gonna stop me."

Gus sighed. "I know."

"Hey, we're older, wiser and I have a lot more tricks up my sleeves," he assured him. "Lassy won't know what hit him."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Gus admitted.

Luckily for Shawn, Gus couldn't continue with his tirade for much longer because he had to finish the route for his "real" job and by the time he was finished, his friend's ire had long since cooled. Of course, Gus was back to giving him worried looks whenever he thought Shawn couldn't see him but he'd gotten used to that over the years. Still, without any cases and without the option of visiting the station, both Gus and Shawn ended up lounging around the office with little to occupy them except the usual time-wasting antics.

Until his dad showed up with a case for them.

Sometimes Shawn wondered if Henry knew him at all because anyone who'd known him his whole life should've known that telling him to do something usually got them the opposite result. So it should've been obvious to anyone that the last thing he'd been telling Bill Peterson was to go to the police -- especially when Shawn was having to stay as far away as possible at the moment.

The case of the missing, poker-playing Brandon Peterson was a nice diversion from his thoughts, thoughts that were almost exclusively focused on Carlton. Despite the confident tone he'd taken during his argument with Gus, Shawn wasn't so sure he knew what the hell he was going to do to get Lassy in bed, only that he was going to try his damnedest. It wasn't his usual style but Shawn figured that Carlton was worth a little work on his part.

Jules's invitation to the surprise birthday party that she was throwing for Carlton came at just the right moment and Shawn decided it would be the perfect time to finally catch up with him again. There would be other people around but no work to distract them and Lassiter would be pissed enough at Juliet for surprising him that Shawn would likely to escape most of the detective's wrath.

He didn't realize just how true his assessment was until Carlton started brandishing a gun at the lawn full of guests he found waiting for him that evening. The fact that Juliet had invited what looked to be half of the criminals that Lassiter had ever arrested was mortifyingly hilarious, though he doubted either detective would appreciate his opinion on the subject. By mutual cowardice, though, Gus and Shawn had decided to beat a hasty retreat from the scene even though Shawn had wanted to stop and ask Lulu what laws she had broken to get starred in Lassiter's book.

But instead of leaving completely, Shawn sweet-talked Gus into buying him some dinner from a drive-thru window that they ate sitting in the car at a nearby park. If Gus seemed suspicious about Shawn's desire to stay in Lassy's neighborhood, he didn't show it which meant that his best friend was naively oblivious as usual. It was nice that some things stayed the same year-in and year-out, Shawn decided.

"You wanna go back to the office or should I drop you at home?" Gus asked as he finished stuffing the crinkled wrappers from his fast food into the paper bag.

"Neither," Shawn told him, choosing to toss his hamburger wrapper through the open window and into the nearby park trashcan. When he made it, he smirked at Gus who rolled his eyes. "Drop me back at Lassiter's."

"Why?" Gus demanded to know, frowning.

"He's had a bad day, probably needs a friend."

"And that qualifies you how?" Gus sniped.

"Ouch!" Shawn winced for effect. "Harsh, Gus. Very harsh. Just drop me off, please."

Gus shot him a glare but grudgingly started the car. "I'm leaving your ass there," he muttered. "And I'm not waiting. And you better not call me for a ride when you get stranded because I'm not coming back."

Shawn rolled his eyes, unaffected by Gus's mumbling -- which didn't let up until the little blue car was pulling up in front of Lassiter's now-empty yard. Shawn noted that the Crown Victoria was still there, though, and nodded in satisfaction.

"Later, man," he told Gus as he got out of the car. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"I won't be answering," Gus threatened.

"Sure you will, buddy," Shawn argued easily. "Much too nosy not to."

He didn't wait for Gus's reply; he padded up the porch steps and was standing at the front door when he heard the sound of his friend's car pulling away. Even without much eavesdropping, Shawn could heard the clunky sounds of Lassiter dragging something down the hall -- probably a suitcase from his bedroom, he figured, recalling the layout of the house from his past visit.

Instead of knocking or just barging in, Shawn decided to wait on the porch, leaning back against the house, arms folded in his best casual pose. It only took about ten minutes of slouching and waiting before the front door was slung open and Lassiter stepped outside, lugging a suitcase and a garment bag.

"Need a hand?" Shawn offered, stepping forward.

Carlton was obviously startled but he recovered quickly to glare at Shawn. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to help," he said.

"I don't need any help but thanks." The words were sarcastic.

"And..." Shawn continued as if Carlton hadn't interrupted him. "I came to return an old favor and offer you a place to stay for the night."

Carlton stilled, dropping his luggage, as he stared at him curiously. "What old favor?"

"Don't you remember?" Shawn asked, trying to keep the sore edge out of his voice. "The first night we met, you let me sleep in your dorm because I didn't have anywhere else to go. Thought it was time I repaid the kindness."

"Spencer..." Carlton began uncertainly.

"Shawn," Shawn corrected him. "Look, it's your birthday and this sucks and the last place you need to be staying is in some motel room somewhere. I've got a sofa bed and, well..."

Carlton watched him for a minute, blue eyes searching his face. Shawn tried to school his expression but he didn't know how well he was doing -- a disheveled Carlton was a distracting one with his hair all out of place and his tie loose and his sleeves rolled up and Shawn kept letting his mind and eyes wander.

Something must've done it because Lassiter finally sighed. "I guess if you're offering..."

"I definitely am," Shawn assured him, breezily walking over and picking up the garment bag which he swung over his shoulder. "Come on, we're burning daylight."

Carlton was quiet for most of the drive over to his apartment and Shawn wasn't really in the mood to talk since he was preoccupied with thinking. Asking Lassy to stay the night had been mostly a spur-of-the-moment thing that he'd come up with while he and Gus had been running from the criminals but the more he thought about it, the more he knew that it was looking like the perfect chance for him. If the past could be applied to the present, all he'd ever needed to overcome a reluctant Carlton Lassiter was time and Carly's inability to escape.

Shawn settled back into his seat, flicking a sly grin and quick glance in Carlton's direction. He was still quiet, face serious, a little too intent on his driving duties. Shawn didn't know what was going on in that head of his but it was obviously something dismal; still there was a distinct lack of anger that Shawn found surprising. He had expected him to still be spitting nails over the whole fiasco.

"So, uh, how ya feeling?" he asked lamely.

"How do you think?" he shot back.

Shawn raised an eyebrow. "I expected you to be pissed but you're not. Did the Chief slip you a valium or something?"

"No," he answered. "I just...O'Hara's heart was in the right place and -- I hate to move. I really liked the house."

Shawn smiled. "You're just an old softie, Carly."

Carlton shot him a dark look and grunted his disapproval.

There wasn't any more talking after that but they soon pulled up in front of Shawn's building. Once again Shawn commandeered the lighter garment bag and left Carlton to lug the heavier suitcase but the pair quickly made it up to Shawn's apartment.

Things were awkward as soon as they stepped inside, as if Carlton had just remembered what they'd been doing the last time he'd been in that living room but Shawn chose to ignore it, bulldozing through the silence with chatter, a running commentary about the Peterson case, and directions about where Lassiter could leave his bags.

When everything was finally squared away and Lassiter was still standing near the breakfast bar, looking very uncertain, Shawn did the only thing he could think of.

"So, I'm hungry. How do you feel about Chinese?"

Carlton had known as soon as he'd accepted Shawn's offer that it was a bad idea but he hadn't been quite up to facing another night in an anonymous hotel room. The mere thought of it brought back unpleasant memories from the earliest days of his split with Jenny and those were the last recollections he wanted to have on his mind on his birthday.

At the moment, he was having a terrible case of deja vu: he was sitting on Shawn's couch, eating Chinese takeout out of little white boxes, watching a shoeless Shawn deftly shovel rice into his mouth with a pair of chopsticks. It reminded him of memories much more pleasant but more bittersweet than a hotel room would've -- the 4th of July weekend he spent with Shawn so many years ago.

Still, staying at Shawn's had been a bad idea; Carlton felt the truth of that in his bones. The last time he'd been on that same couch he'd let himself get carried away and had had to all but flee before he'd done something stupid like sleep with Spencer. He'd promised himself that night that he'd take his time and think things through, only to do the exact opposite and purposely avoid thinking about Shawn or the situation in the time since.

He was totally unprepared to spend an entire night under the same roof as Shawn Spencer.

"You finished?" Shawn -- Spencer -- Shawn asked, nodding toward the half-empty carton that Carlton hadn't take a bite from for several minutes. "If you are, I can throw it in the fridge, you can eat it tomorrow."

"Uh, sure," Carlton said, handing over his mushu pork. Shawn snagged it up along with his own half-filled carton and headed over to the kitchen. Silence descended over them; Shawn had done the job of keeping up a steady stream of conversation while they'd eaten but he'd obviously run out of inane things to blabber about because he'd fallen silent. Carlton figured it was his turn and groped for some innocuous topic. His mind finally came back to Spencer's retelling of his and Guster's latest case. "So how did you get Peterson's money back?"

"What? Oh." Carlton heard the sound of the refrigerator door closing and then Shawn was coming back around to sit on his end of the sofa. "Well, I won it back."

"How?"

Shawn shot him a look. "How do you think, Carly? I told you I've never lost a game of poker in my life."

"And that's still true, all these years later?" Carlton asked, dubious. It was finally starting to sink in that this man before him was Shawn and that that history existed. It was starting to feel less strange to ask Spencer things about Shawn.

"Of course!" Shawn leaned back, stretching in satisfaction. Carlton recognized it was an expression of smugness. "I've only gotten better with age."

It was one of Spencer's usual flippant remarks but it was infused with just enough innuendo that Carlton looked at him askance. He only received one of those obviously-fake looks of innocence in return.

Conversation died again and not even the television could distract both of them from the growing unease. Finally Carlton sighed. "I don't know about you, Spencer, but I'm wiped. Any chance I can go ahead and crash?"

Shawn stood up, clicking off the television with the remote. "Yeah, sure, no problem. I'll just go grab some extra sheets and stuff." He headed off down the darkened hall, toward what Carlton assumed was his bedroom. "You can pull out that sofa bed if you want or whatever."

He eyed the sofa and decided that he was too tired to bother with pulling out the sofa bed and he'd just make do with the sofa itself. He figured he wouldn't be getting that much sleep anyway, regardless of what he slept on. Given the events of the day and the unusual turn of things during the evening, he expected that he'd probably just toss and turn for a few hours and then head down to the station where he could shower, change and start looking for a new place.

"Okay, I didn't know what you'd want," Shawn began as he stepped back into the living room, his head hidden behind the pile of blankets, sheets and pillows he was carrying. "Like, are you a man of comfort with lots of pillows and fluffy softness? Or are you more of a Spartan type, you know, all bed-of-nails and a rock for your head?" He came around and dropped the armload of bedding on the couch. "So, use whatever."

Carlton didn't want to admit it but he was touched by Shawn's seemingly genuine consideration. "This is more than fine. Thanks, Spen -- Shawn."

He was rewarded with a grin from Shawn for his trouble. "Yeah, no problem, man," he said. They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other before Shawn cleared his throat and Carlton guiltily broke the eye contract. "Well, I'll just leave you to it, then. Um..." He pointed toward the wall switch for the lights. "That's the lights and the doors are all locked and..." Shawn seemed to realized that he was rambling and Carlton was fascinated by the sight of a nervous Shawn Spencer. "I'm just gonna go now. Goodnight."

Carlton watched him beat a hasty retreat, disappearing down the hall with nothing more than a faint "Bathroom's on the right!" before he heard a door slam shut. From past experience, Carlton made short work of making up the sofa to his satisfaction, tossing the extra blanket and sheets into a nearby chair. After flicking off the lights and plunging the room into soft darkness, he removed his tie, his shoes and socks but debated about further undress. In the end, he shrugged out of his shirt and trousers, making do with his boxers and undershirt for nightclothes.

Once he was settled on the couch, his hypothesis was proven correct because he couldn't remember ever being more awake in his life. There was no lights on in the room but the faint glow of streetlamps and traffic lights coming from the front window saved the room from total darkness and Carlton's eyes could make out faint shapes if he concentrated on them. Resigned to a sleepless night, Carlton laced his hands behind his head and lay on his back, eyes staring up at the ceiling. Spending the night on Spencer's couch was not how he'd imagined he'd spend his birthday night and, as strange as it seemed, he couldn't decide if the reality was better or worse than what he'd had planned. A nice dinner with an old college friend, then home alone -- not the wild party that O'Hara had wanted, either, but it would've been enough for him. Carlton was just glad he'd remembered to call Galina and cancel before he'd come over to Shawn's.

He was finally starting to drift off a few minutes later when he caught the faint sound of footsteps -- Shawn, coming down the hall. His bare feet were soft but he was heavy-footed enough that Carlton could hear the slap of his heels against the wooden floor.

He had to raise himself up on an elbow to see over the back of the couch but when he did, Carlton saw Shawn leaning against a wall. Darkness leant him little chance to see Shawn's face but he could make out the outline of his folded arms, could tell that he was clad in a T-shirt and boxers. "Something wrong?" he asked Shawn.

"This isn't how you expected to spend your birthday, is it?" he asked, softly but ironically, his tone classic Spencer.

"No," Carlton admitted, pulling himself up into a sitting position. "But it could been worse."

"Yeah," Shawn snorted. "I could be Lulu."

Carlton, though amused, did not let it show in his voice. "Is there a reason you came out here to wake me up?"

"Yes." Carlton watched Shawn move toward him, until he was leaning over the back of the sofa, the same back that separated them. "Not that you were asleep. I could hear you thinking all the way in my room."

It was the truth so he didn't deny it. "What do you want?"

Shawn leaned in a little, just enough to make Carlton's breath catch in his throat. "You don't have to sleep out here, you know."

If his voice had been false, sultry or even seductive, he probably could've shrugged it off but Shawn's voice was soft, matter-of-fact -- as close to sincere as Carlton had ever heard him in years.

"And things were going so well," he sighed, trying to resist the temptation of what Shawn was offering.

"But things could be so much better," Shawn said, his usual breezy confidence ebbing into his reply. The darkness left Shawn's face in too much shadow for Carlton to read it but the tilt of his head told him something -- he just wasn't sure what. "Like they could've been the other night if you hadn't ran out of here."

"This is a bad idea," Carlton said, as much to himself as to Shawn.

The warning didn't stop him from leaning closer, until they were almost nose to nose. "Well, I think you're wrong," he said, breath hot against Carlton's skin.

He was going to reply -- he wasn't sure with what but Shawn's statement demanded an answer -- but he didn't have the chance because Shawn was kissing him, soft, searching lips and little else as he leaned in over the back of the sofa. He reacted as he always did, instantly, hungrily, wanting more as he reached for him, his hand ghosting over an ear and the skin behind it as Shawn eased back.

Carlton could only imagine the triumphant, glazed-eyed look on Shawn's face but he could hear it in his voice. "See what I mean?"

"I can't do this," he said quietly, wishing he sounded less plaintive and more authoritative.

Shawn stilled and then slumped down with a sigh, his head resting briefly against Carlton's shoulder before he straightened completely. "Deja vu all over again," he said sadly. "What I can't understand is why you have to make this so much harder than it has to be."

"This is real life," he snapped, sitting up completely, swinging his feet to the floor. "Real life is complicated, Shawn. It's not all just about doing what we want and when, regardless of the consequences. It's not that easy."

"That's where you're wrong a million times over, Lassy," Shawn disagreed. Carlton let out a grunt of surprise as Shawn scaled over the back of the couch, landing in a heap of limbs on the cushion where Carlton's legs had been. "Everything about this is easy. The place is easy, the time is easy..." Shawn closed the distance between them, a welcomed but unfamiliar weight settling against him. "I am so, so easy. All you have to do is say the word and I could be alot easier, too." He brushed a kiss against Carlton's jaw, one hand sliding down the front of Carlton's T-shirt. "The only thing complicated in this situation is you."

It sounded suspiciously like something a 17 year old Shawn had once told him but he'd been right when he said he'd improved with age because Carlton was suddenly having a difficult time remembering why he'd been resisting the first place. He had wanted Spencer long before he liked him and he'd dreamed about Shawn for years, bearing the guilt it drummed up in him every time he let himself fantasize about the kid he'd tried to forget. Now, he was being offered everything he'd been wanting wrapped into one very attractive and willing package and Carlton was beginning to think that it was probably the best idea he'd ever had.

He'd thought that before, of course, about Shawn and regretted it later but, at that moment, he didn't really care about the past.

Before he'd actually come to a decision in his head, Carlton had Shawn pinned under him, tongue plundering his mouth as Shawn grappled with pulling his undershirt off of him. They finally had to pull their mouths apart so that Shawn would yank the shirt from Carlton's body and Carlton leaned down, mouth to Shawn's ear. "What's the word?"

Shawn looked at him for a moment, almost confused, before he started grinning. He kissed Carlton once more before he began pushing against his bare shoulders until he was no longer trapped beneath him. "I think that'll work," Shawn told him, still grinning, and at such proximity Carlton could see the slight glistening of where his tongue had swiped over his lips, and could almost make out a flush beneath Shawn's tan; it was a good look on him.

They stumbled toward the hallway, around the couch, both of the more concerned with keeping their hands on each other than actually reaching the bed. Carlton wasn't complaining even when his back hit the wall again, his hands busy stripping Shawn of his shirt. Shawn paused in his exploration of Carlton's skin only long enough for the shirt to be pulled over his head before his hands were back on him, skimming through chest hair on a downward path.

"Shawn," Carlton growled against his mouth. "Bedroom?"

"This works for me," Shawn breathed, his fingers playing with the band of Carlton's boxers. "I can make this work."

"No," Carlton objected laughingly, equal parts amusement, affection and exasperation. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed during sex; things had been tense with Jenny long before he'd moved out and there hadn't been much humor in his relationship with Lucinda.

Shawn looked like he wanted to say something -- probably something that would make Carlton so wild that he'd end up agreeing to having sex in the hallway -- but Carlton cut off by dragging their mouths together again, pouring everything he'd felt for Shawn in any carnation into the kiss.

"Bedroom, now," Carlton ordered, his voice unusually low and rough.

He felt Shawn shiver in his arms and his eyes glazed for a second before he fixed Carlton with a very filthy grin. "Yes, sir," he teased, grabbing him by the arms and pulling him along as they reached the slightly opened door. "Come on, Carly. Time to make this birthday memorable."

As Carlton pulled Shawn into his arms once again as they cleared the threshold, he didn't doubt that this birthday would be his most unforgettable.

To Be Continued...