Carlton feels jittery and irritable all day Friday, and he knows why. He's only talked to Spencer twice since dinner on Tuesday, and hasn't seen him at all. Spencer is due at his house at eight and Carlton is anxious.

This is Spencer, he reminds himself over and over. Annoying, pesky Spencer. Still, when he gets home after work, he spends an hour reorganizing his shelves and wiping down surfaces before he gets in the shower.

Spencer always looks as though he stepped out of some kind of trendy menswear catalog, but Carlton pretty much only has work clothes, and his selection is limited. He omits the jacket, since Spencer seemed to like that on Tuesday.

At eight, Carlton hears the high-pitched whine of Spencer's bike, then abrupt silence as the engine cuts off. Spencer knocks a moment later.

"Hi," he says, when Carlton opens the door. He's wearing his usual thirty-odd layers and carrying a paper bag.

"You went a little strong on the cologne," Carlton says, standing back so Spencer can come inside.

"I know," Spencer says regretfully. He scrubs at his neck with the sleeve of his jacket. "I was nervous and oversprayed." He sets the bag on the table.

"What'd you bring?" Carlton asks.

"Thai. That okay?" Spencer chortles. "Thai good, you like shirt?"

Another non-sequitur. Carlton supposes he'll have to get used to those. That, or start watching a lot more TV.

He chooses to ignore it. "You don't want to go out?"

Spencer snorts. "Are you kidding me? And spend the entire evening competing with Frank Sinatra music and waiters with the worst timing ever? No way." He opens the bag and begins removing styrofoam containers, one after another. "I want you all to myself, Lassie."

Carlton takes a moment to reflect that this is rather flattering, then busies himself taking plates out of the cabinet.

They eat on the couch with the TV on and muted. They talk about work and it's easy and comfortable, and Carlton almost forgets that Spencer is one of the most irritating people on the planet. Because when he's here, when it's just him and Carlton, he loses that adolescent bravado. He's actually...rather pleasant.

Then Carlton mentions Emily, and it's an accident, really, they just happened to be talking about pharmaceuticals and Guster, but he sees the damage immediately. Spencer's expression darkens and he looks away. Falls suddenly quiet.

"I'm sorry," Carlton says immediately.

"No." Spencer waves a hand, obviously trying to be dismissive and blasé and failing miserably. "It's fine." He puts his plate on the coffee table beside Carlton's. And Carlton can't, for the life of him, think of anything to say.

But he knows how Spencer feels.

"It gets better," he offers, and Spencer looks at him.

"I finished high school a while ago, Lassie, and I didn't start dating men until well into my twenties," he says.

Carlton rolls his eyes. "I meant how you feel about the case."

"I know." Spencer sighs. "It sucks right now, though." He shakes his head once, hard, like a dog trying to clear water out of its ears. Then he looks at Carlton and waggles his eyebrows. "Monday helped," he says.

"I bet." Carlton snorts.

Spencer widens his eyes and angles his chin toward his chest. "I wouldn't mind being distracted again," he says.

"Are you batting your eyes at me, Spencer?" Carlton says.

A grin. "That depends," Spencer says. "Is it working?"

Carlton scoots toward Spencer. "Maybe," he says.

Spencer scoots toward Carlton. "I'll try harder."

They're inches apart now, thighs touching, and Carlton breaks first. Closes the distance between them and kisses Spencer.

Spencer's arm comes up and wraps around Carlton's shoulders.

"Guess it worked," he murmurs against Carlton's mouth. Then he's parting Carlton's lips gently with his tongue and Carlton feels a bolt of electricity shoot from his mouth straight to his groin. He reaches for Spencer's shirt. Fumbles with the buttons at the collar.

"Spencer," he mumbles. "Why do you have to wear so many layers?"

Spencer pulls away long enough to quickly undo the top two buttons. Then he crosses his arms, grabs his shirttail, and strips off the button-down shirt and both T-shirts underneath.

"I get cold," he explains.

Carlton thinks of the night in the hotel in Boston. Of Spencer strutting around shirtless and laughing. Of how much he wanted to put his hands on that smooth, tanned skin.

And now he can, and is, and can do so as much as he wants to.

He wraps his hands around Spencer's waist, his mouth on collarbones and shoulder and throat. He hears Spencer moaning, curling both hands into Carlton's hair.

When he reaches for the buttons of his own shirt, Spencer bats his hands out of the way. "Let me," he growls. He unbuttons the shirt with lightning speed. Pushes it out of the way. Carlton tenses and groans as Spencer trails his lips over his shoulder.

Spencer stands up abruptly. Reaches for Carlton's hands and pulls.

"Bed," he says urgently, and Carlton obliges.

Once they're in the bedroom, Spencer is stepping out of his socks. Unbuckling his belt. Carlton is still, tense, heart pounding in his throat. Wanting Spencer. He is so hard he is aching.

Spencer's eyes are glowing like coals as he unbuttons his jeans and slides them over his hips. Then they're off and he's kicking them aside and Spencer is completely, entirely naked in front of him.

Carlton looks because he has to. Can't help himself. Trail of chestnut curls starting at Spencer's navel, traveling downward and widening, and oh, Carlton can see why Spencer is so damn confident all the time.

And then Spencer is stepping toward him, taking Carlton's right wrist, guiding Carlton's hand to his erection.

When Carlton's fingers wrap around Spencer, when he feels him pulsing and hard beneath smooth skin, Carlton feels as though he might pass out.

"See?" Spencer's voice is low, raspy, his lips against Carlton's. "You have quite an effect on me, Detective."

Carlton can't talk. He just nods.

Spencer puts his hand over Carlton's. Pumps. Slowly. Eyes on Carlton.

Carlton catches his rhythm and a moment later, Spencer lets go. Puts both hands on Carlton's shoulders. When Carlton' movements quicken, he lets out a shuddering moan and closes his eyes.

Carlton kisses him, then pushes him against the wall and drops lightly to the floor.

"You don't have to - " Spencer starts to say, but he breaks off when Carlton leans forward and puts his mouth on Spencer's cock.

"Oh, Lassie," he breathes, and he is salty and sweet and Ohh.

Carlton focuses because he hasn't done this in a long, long time and he wants to do it right. He moves his mouth and his hand together, taking his cues from Spencer's moans, from Spencer's hands tight on his shoulders. He closes his eyes and tries to memorize this moment. Spencer's scent. Taste. The sound of his voice.

It doesn't take long before Spencer's breathing quickens, gets shallower. "Lassie," he says. His voice is strangled. "You should probably - " and he's trying to pull back and Carlton mumbles "uh-uh" and grabs Spencer's hips.

"Lassie," Spencer says, sounding a little desperate now. He tries to pull away again, and when Carlton yanks him closer he gives up and a second later he's coming, groaning and shaking and hot in Carlton's throat. Carlton swallows, coughs, swallows again. Waits until Spencer is softening against his tongue before he pulls away.

He wipes his mouth on his hand and looks up.

Spencer is leaning heavily against the wall, his arms slack at his sides, and he's gazing at Carlton. His eyes are soft, his expression wondering. He reaches out and touches Carlton's cheek.

Carlton stands and Spencer pulls him in and kisses him, mouth open and soft, his fingertips light on Carlton's chest.

"You're still dressed," he murmurs, eyes still closed.

"Not entirely." Carlton takes Spencer's hand and puts it on his stomach. He walks backwards, slowly, leading Spencer to the bed. Pushes Spencer down onto it.

Spencer pushes back until he's sitting against the headboard. He watches Carlton, his eyes going from Carlton's face to his tented fly. "I hope you're about to change that," he says.

Carlton's limbs feel loose and warm. He unbuckles his belt. "Yeah," he says. He unbuttons his pants and pushes them down, taking his boxers with them, freeing his erection.

Spencer stares, lips parting.

"I no longer believe in recovery time," he says. He reaches for Carlton. "Come here."

Carlton crawls onto the bed next to Spencer and pushes back the sheets. Spencer's hands are on him, running up and over his chest and stomach. Carlton groans and leans his forehead against Spencer's, eyes closed. His breath catches when Spencer's fingers trace lightly over his hip.

"I..." Spencer says. "I admit, Lassie, I prefer you like this to yelling at me in the interrogation room." He grazes Carlton's lips with his as his hand finds Carlton. Carlton hisses against Spencer's mouth and his hips jerk involuntarily.

He opens his eyes, sees Spencer's dilated pupils. "I'll still yell at you in the interrogation room," he manages to say.

Spencer's hand is moving and Carlton grits his teeth. He feels the pad of Spencer's thumb against him, smearing drops of moisture across the head of Carlton's cock, and he clenches his jaw.

"I'm counting on it," Spencer says, and his voice is rough but his hand is gentle. Carlton feels his heartbeat in every inch of his body, he's hypnotized by the warm pressure of Spencer's hand on him, by the tiny gold and brown flecks in those hazel irises, by the heat of Spencer's breath on his face. He's so entranced by how good Spencer feels against him that it startles him to realize he is on the verge of orgasm.

Spencer lips curl, hint of a smile, and his pace quickens just a little. Just enough to send Carlton over the edge. He comes, shaking, hears himself groan through clenched teeth.

When he can finally open his eyes, he sees Spencer's triumphant expression.

"You always look that smug after sex?" Carlton asks.

"Usually." Spencer looks down and Carlton follows his gaze. He flushes with simultaneous embarrassment and satisfaction to see himself splashed up Spencer's stomach. "Be right back."

He hops out of bed. Disappears into the bathroom. Carlton hears the water running and in a moment he's back, stomach clean and damp.

He slides back into bed. "Hi," he says, tucking himself in next to Carlton.

Carlton curls his arm, pulling Spencer against him. "Hey."

Spencer tips his head back, looking up at Carlton with big eyes. "Does this mean I can stay?"

Carlton reaches up and flicks Spencer's ear.

"Yeah," he says. "You can stay."

fin