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It was the worst favor that Carlton Lassiter had ever had to ask for.

The case that he and O’Hara had been working for the last week or so had been a real doozy. A loose tiger had escaped and maimed a man in the woods. It was a gruesome scene to be sure—Guster had nearly ralphed on the body when he’d seen it. But Carlton thought it was also a little bit cool, since he had never worked on an animal maiming case before (although O’Hara repeatedly reminded him to contain his excitement at the prospect).

The mystery of where the hell the tiger had come from came through a tip from none other than fake psychic Shawn Spencer, who informed Carlton and O’Hara of the illegal animal smuggling ring in the form of a psychic limerick that involved Spencer channeling the spirits by placing both of his palms on Carlton’s chest— for some reason. He didn’t really know why most of Spencer’s psychic visions ended up requiring physical contact with Carlton, normally in the form of groping, and he really never was in the mood to unpack how it personally made him feel. 

At the center of the smuggling ring were Paul Bernard and Paul Newsome, a married couple who just so happened to share the same name— which didn’t really matter, but it weirded Carlton out just the smallest bit. He’d never want to date someone with the same name as him. But that wasn’t important. The point was that in order to expose the couple and get them to confess to having brought the tiger into the country, they needed to send an officer undercover. And who else but the head detective would be perfect for the job?

Carlton was elated when he’d first volunteered. The chance to uncover an animal smuggling ring and single-handedly show them the cold, hard fist of Lady Justice? It seemed as though it was practically made for him. He was even in the same age range as the Pauls, so it would be easy for him to blend in socially with the couple.

There was only one little snag in that plan. The more they observed the Pauls, the more they noticed that the only people they tended to offer their services to directly were married couples. Something about wanting to give the animals they smuggled good homes with two loving parents. So, the chief insisted that if Carlton were to pose as a prospective buyer, he would need to have a fake spouse to accompany him. Peachy.

His options were extremely limited. He refused to go undercover with anyone he wasn’t familiar with, because he’d rather go in himself than go in with anyone that he didn’t trust. O’Hara was a no for an obvious reason. That would be like going undercover as a married couple with Lauren, for God's sake. McNab had been an option that he’d considered for a moment despite the fact that he barely trusted the man’s police work, but he decided against it because of the fact that he was practically the worst liar that Carlton had ever seen, so handling an undercover mission as anything other than something such as a waiter was highly unlikely to be successful. He’d even gone so far as considering Guster, the assistant of his least favorite fake psychic. But Guster was too emotional, and he needed somebody who was good under pressure.

And so, with a recommendation from O’Hara that went somewhere along the lines of ‘I think you and Shawn could play a very convincing couple’, with an underlying meaning that Carlton didn’t want to interrogate any further, Carlton found himself unfortunately standing outside the door of the Psych office, trying to force himself to actually enter and ask the horrible, terrible, dreadful favor of Spencer.

On paper, Spencer looked as though he would be the perfect candidate for the job. He was well acquainted with the practice of pretending to be something that he wasn’t, due to the whole fake psychic shtick that he constantly bothered Carlton with. He was incredibly charismatic, which he hated to admit, but was just an objective fact. He could charm almost anyone— anyone besides Carlton, of course. And it didn’t hurt that Spencer was objectively conventionally attractive.

Whatever. Spencer would just sit there and be quiet the entire time, and Carlton would do all of the talking. They’d get the Pauls to confess to having brought the tiger into Santa Barbara, and then they could book them. Easy Peasy. 

So why was he so nervous? He felt like there was a knot sitting in the pit of his stomach, constricting around itself as he wiped his slightly sweaty palms on the front of his blazer. He had no idea how long he’d been standing in front of the front door of the Psych office, contemplating the terrible favor that he was about to ask Spencer. It could have been seconds, or minutes, or maybe even hours. Probably not hours, but who knew?

Just when he was about to man up and actually go inside, the door swung open, which would’ve whacked Carlton in the face if he hadn’t had quick enough reflexes to step back. He saw the stupid grin of the very man he’d just been trying to force himself to talk to at the door. 

“Lassie!” Spencer gave him an expectant look, with an expression that made Carlton fear that Spencer had been watching him, stepping to the side and gesturing for him to go inside. He did, somewhat cautiously, walking over and standing next to the desk that he assumed was Spencer’s due to the toys littered on it. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Is Guster around?” Carlton looked around the office, hoping that the pharmaceutical salesman wasn’t waiting around some corner, ready to pop out and derail his already shaky plan a little more. Privacy was best for this, after all.

“Nope. He’s off doing boring work stuff,” Spencer complained, waving the idea off with a flippant hand gesture as he closed the door to the office. Carlton studied the items on the desk. A name placard, a few loose fidget toys, a rubber band ball. Pretty standard stuff that he could’ve guessed would have been there. “You come here to talk to him? Or did you come all the way here to talk to lil’ ol’ me? I have to say, I’m honored.”

Spencer placed a hand to his chest as he rounded his desk and sat down in the chair, leaning back and pulling the expression he always did, squinting his eyes and looking at Carlton. The face that he always claimed was his psychic investigation face, but which Carlton always saw as more of a studying people face. He did something somewhat similar when he was trying to investigate a potential criminal. He didn’t like being on the receiving end of the expression. But, he had to push forward, and Carlton had already decided how he was going to phrase the request to have the highest chance of working to Spencer’s childlike need to always be the center of attention.

“How would you like to go undercover?” Carlton punctuated the request with a small smile, and Spencer immediately sat forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on one of his hands. As easy as placing cheese in a mousetrap, he could tell that Spencer had already been thoroughly convinced.

“Undercover? Like, for what?” Spencer grinned eagerly, a twinkle in his eye. “Okay, okay—I already have my alter ego picked out. I’m Jeremy Crimm, a black market organ seller who harvests organs for my own pleasure. I don’t even transplant them, you know? I just keep them. Maybe jar them. You want to buy a liver?” He pointed at himself. “I’m your guy.”

“...What?” Carlton stared at the man, puzzled at just what the hell he was saying. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

“My undercover alter ego?” Spencer scrunched up his expression, as if it was obvious. He sat back up and rested his arms on the armrests, tapping them unconsciously.

“No, it’s not.” Carlton shook his head. He’d barely even started asking, and Spencer had already started making the ordeal about as annoying as he possibly could. Great, just great. “You don’t even know what the case is yet, so–”

“Ooh, let me guess.” Spencer did the stupid psychic gesture that Carlton hated, placing his hand to his temple and closing his eyes, deep in thought. He opened them after a few moments. “Tiger case?”

“Mhmm,” Carlton regretfully confirmed as he rolled his eyes, not enjoying the fact that Spencer was correct—as he somehow always was. No, not always, he mentally corrected. Just sometimes. Occasionally. It seemed Spencer was so good at inflating his own ego that it even subconsciously affected Carlton at times.

“The very same one that you refused to let me help on?” Spencer furrowed his brows, seeming to enjoy the fact that he was being asked for a favor. Jesus–he really did just have to be annoying about everything, didn’t he? Even being asked a favor.

“Yes,” Carlton responded through gritted teeth, gripping the edge of Spencer’s desk to stop himself from clenching his hand into a fist. He was seconds away from scrapping the whole thing and walking away.

“The one that I helped with, anyway, which led you guys to the illegal animal smuggling ring? That one?”

“You know what, maybe I should just ask Guster.” Carlton turned around and started to walk out, knowing he had no real intention of asking the pharmaceutical salesman. He just wanted to remind Spencer to behave himself, that he was the one extending the opportunity. Even if Spencer didn’t know the full extent of what he was being asked to do yet.

“Wait, hold on– no.” Spencer wheeled himself out from his desk and pushed himself over to Carlton’s side. “C’mon, I was just joking, Lassie. Tell me about this awesome undercover thing you want me to do.”

Carlton stopped walking and turned to face Spencer. 

“Fine.” He looked down at Spencer, who cocked his head and looked at Carlton with what he assumed were the man’s best puppy dog eyes, pouting his lip and all. “It’s involved with the animal smuggling ring. Lucky guess.”

“Ah-ah-ah!” Spencer waggled his finger in Carlton’s face, who took a step back, looking at the offending finger with distaste. “Spirits told me. Get it right if you want my help.”

“Spencer, you think I want to pretend to be married to you? Because I don’t.” Carlton scoffed, and Spencer’s eyes instantly widened. 

Oh. He’d meant to approach the issue much more tactfully. Ease into it. Maybe butter Spencer up a little bit. But nope, he’d just blurted it out. The silence hung in the air for a moment as Carlton wiped his still-sweaty palms on his pants again, feeling incredibly awkward.

“We’re gonna be married?” Spencer’s eyes were still wide, and he bit the inside of his cheek in contemplation for a moment. 

Carlton resented the entire situation he found himself in, and the lack of control he had. Now, if Spencer said no, it would feel a lot more like rejection rather than having a favor turned down. Even though it wasn’t a real proposal— God no. But he didn’t have to be genuinely proposing in order to be genuinely rejected by Spencer. 

“What sort of ring am I going to have?”

“Huh?” Of all the questions he was expecting to receive, that wasn’t one of them.

“What sort of rings,” Spencer repeated as he smiled, leaning back in his chair and throwing his legs up onto the desk they were now situated by, which Carlton assumed was Guster’s desk. “I mean, gold, silver, rose gold? Are we tacky and have those rings with the gems in them? I mean, like, no offense, but those sorts of rings piss me off. Or wedding bands? Tattooed wedding bands?”

“What? I don’t know– why does that even…?” Carlton shrugged confusedly. “I didn’t think to ask Vick—also, it doesn’t matter. I just need a fake spouse for this undercover assignment to pretend to be a prospective pet buyer, and get them to confess to the tiger smuggling. Specifics aren’t too important.”

“Oh, they’re very important,” Spencer pushed back fiercely. “Am I Mr. Shawn Lassiter? Or are you Mr. Lassie Spencer? Did we hyphenate? Or, did we keep our last names? Did we switch?”

“What gay couple switches?” Carlton looked at Spencer curiously, seeing a shit-eating grin form on his already giddy smile, and Carlton caught the second, potentially sexual implication of what he’d just said. “Last names, that is. Of course.”

“Uh-huh. Sure, Lass.” Spencer nodded knowingly, as if he caught onto some sort of innuendo that Carlton had not been intending. “But if you’re going to be marrying me, you have to put some work in. Just how easy do you think I am?”

Carlton bit back the ‘very’ that sat on the tip of his tongue, grimacing.

“Whatever. Are you willing to do it or not, Spencer?” He sighed.

“Why do you need me for this anyway?” Spencer raised an eyebrow curiously. Carlton paused. It was a fair question, considering the somewhat intimate nature of the request, but he’d been hoping to avoid it for simplicity’s sake. “You seem to hate me, but here you are, proposing to me. And might I add that the fact you didn’t get down on one knee is very hurtful. But, legit, why?”

“Lack of options,” Carlton answered truthfully, and he could’ve sworn he saw a faint flash of disappointment on Spencer’s face before his normal expression returned. “Plus, a recommendation from O’Hara.”

“Oh?” That seemed to pique Spencer’s interest.

“She said she thought you’d be good for the job,” Carlton explained. He realized a little too late that it sounded as though he was saying O’Hara thought he and Spencer would be a good couple, which was laughable. Sure, she made the odd implication that it wouldn’t be so crazy for them to get together every now and then, but Carlton had faith that her recommendation that he ask Spencer for help on this undercover assignment was purely objective and work-related. Well, almost full faith. “No idea why she thought that, but I trust her.”

“Hmm. Well, Jules knows best.” Spencer nodded his head thoughtfully. “We still need to narrow down our marriage details, though. Where did you propose? I’m assuming you were the one who proposed because you’re such a control freak. Personally, I think a picnic proposal is so romantic. You know what I’m saying? But—”

“Spencer,” Carlton interrupted as he put his hand up, tired of listening to all of Spencer’s romantic marriage fantasies with half-intentional barbs at him thrown into the mix. “This will all get ironed out with the chief before we go in. I’m leaving.”

Spencer pouted, crossing his arms, and Carlton turned to walk out. 

“Well– C’mon, you at least have to tell me the color of the floral arrangements at our wedding,” Spencer called after Carlton, and for some reason, he actually stopped watching and paused to think. 

He supposed it was the least he could do, considering the massive favor he was asking of the man, however ridiculous the request was. And weddings were something that, shamefully, he did tend to give a lot of thought to in his free time. Mostly when he was younger, and when he was still imagining the chance of having the picture-perfect family like he saw on the TV shows. But even at the present, whenever he found himself a little too bored and feeling a little too dangerously sappy or vulnerable to his emotions, he’d find himself designing what could one day be a wedding that he’d share with somebody.

“Cool tones. Blues and lavenders,” Carlton finally responded, watching Spencer give a nod of approval out of the corner of his eye before he walked out of the office, taking a breath of the spring air and steadying himself on his feet.

It was the worst favor he’d ever had to ask of another person. And the worst part wasn’t even over yet.

He’d have to pretend to be married to the man. To Shawn Spencer, the man who actively defrauded the SBPD, and who made it his personal mission to humble Carlton at every opportunity. Who looked at the rules that Carlton lived his life by as challenges, as hurdles he was meant to leap over. They were polar opposites in practically every aspect.

The knot in Carlton’s stomach tightened around itself just a bit tighter, a mix of anxiety and another, unnamed emotion, but he kept walking anyway.

About a week later, after several meetings where the specifics of their fake relationship were ironed out, Spencer and Carlton finally had a meeting with the two Pauls lined up. They would go over for a meeting at 7 PM, have drinks, then dinner, and pretend to be a prospective couple looking to obtain a Burmese Python.

“I’m just saying, I don’t know why we need to be trying to get a python of all things,” Spencer continued, perching himself on the edge of O’Hara’s desk after Carlton had just pushed him off of his own desk. “Can’t we just get something normal? Like a polar bear cub?”

“In what world is a polar bear cub considered normal,” Guster questioned. He’d been dragged to the station with Spencer as something he demanded was absolutely necessary. His emotional support dog, only in human form. Which, as Guster had argued, was just called emotional support. 

“I don’t know. They’re sort of cuter than snakes,” O’Hara added thoughtfully, clearly a little uncomfortable with Spencer sitting on her desk, but not willing to kick him off of it. “Don’t you think, Carlton?”

“Hmm?” Carlton snapped his head up, having really only been half listening to the conversation as he reread the file on the two Paul’s for what must have been the hundredth time. He wasn’t scared, of course not. He didn’t get scared. He was just a little bit nervous, which was a perfectly natural and healthy emotion for him to be having. “Yeah, yeah, sure.”

“Lassie. C’mon.” Spencer hopped off of O’Hara’s desk and walked over to Carlton, snatching the file out from under him and holding it over his head, out of Carlton’s reach from his chair. “We’ll be fine. Just relax, bro.”

“See, that is what I’m worried about.” Carlton threw his hands up in the air, making a swipe for the file as he did so, which Spencer continued to lord over his head like a victory prize. “You can’t call me bro, or Lassie, or Lassie-face, or any of your other stupid nicknames while we’re there.”

“Fine, Carl,” Spencer corrected, rolling his eyes. “You know that people who are in happy marriages tend to have nicknames for each other, right?”

“Well, Victoria and I called each other by our first names,” Carlton countered. He thought his experience should hold some weight as the only person in their group of four who had ever been in a marriage. 

“And do you think that’s the best example of a happy marriage?” Carlton glared at O’Hara, who ducked her head and looked as though she immediately regretted the question. 

“Nowhere in this assignment does it say we have to be a happy marriage.” Carlton stood up from his chair and finally snatched the file away from Spencer, who had been momentarily distracted by all of the movement in the station as officers began to get set up for their parts in the undercover mission. 

“Well, we have to be healthy enough to make them think we’d be good snake parents,” Spencer countered. “Would you want to put our Burmese Python through a divorce? Then, when we send it to Burmese Python camp, we’d just get Parent Trapped. Do you want that?” 

“What on earth are you talking about?” Carlton sighed wearily, rubbing his eyes. 

“Parent Trap,” Spencer stated as though it was obvious. “Wow, you really don’t do anything besides play with your piece and work, do you?”

“No, I’ve–” He groaned. He’d only been interacting with Spencer for about 5 minutes since he’d stumbled into the station—30 minutes later than the time that the chief told him he was supposed to be there—dragging Guster around like an unwilling purse dog, and he had immediately made antagonizing Carlton his chief goal. He didn’t know how he was going to survive an entire evening of pretending to be enamored with him. “I’ve obviously seen Parent Trap. I mean the part about…”

He cut himself off, realizing he was getting too caught up in Spencer’s elaborate scenarios again. 

“Never mind. Whatever.” He waved the entire conversation off with a vague gesture as he sat back down at his desk and reopened the file on the Paul’s, still hoping to cram in some last-minute studying.

It was roughly 6 PM, so Carlton knew it was only a matter of time before McNab arrived with the suits that he’d procured for the evening, along with the matching rings. Technically, he didn’t need to buy new suits just for the evening. But he didn’t trust that Spencer owned anything that didn’t come in flannel, and he thought matching suits would look nicer and more cohesive anyway. He’d also left the existence of the matching suits to be a surprise for Spencer, so he didn’t have to deal with a million inane questions about them beforehand.

And, right on cue, there was McNab, approaching his desk with a dry-cleaning bag in either hand.

“Sir, I’ve got the suits for you here,” McNab started as he placed the dry-cleaning bags on the edge of Carlton’s desk, digging around in his pocket. He pulled out two small boxes with velvety exteriors and placed them right next to the dry-cleaning bags. “And here are the rings. Anything else you need?”

Spencer examined the dry-cleaning bags, his gaze shifting between the bags and Carlton.

“What’re these supposed to be?” Spencer pointed at the bags. The boxes were self-explanatory enough. Carlton waved McNab away with a simple gesture.

“Our suits,” Carlton explained. He stood up and took the fabric of the loose, green flannel that Spencer was wearing in his hand, tugging on it slightly. “You didn’t think you were wearing this, did you?”

“Oh, uhm–” Spencer stared down at the point of contact, where Carlton had started absentmindedly rubbing the soft cotton fabric of Spencer’s shirt between his thumb and index finger, and it occurred to Carlton that tugging on Spencer’s shirt was maybe a little less than appropriate. He didn’t know why he was doing it, so he let go. “Yeah— I guess not? But a heads up would have been nice, man.”

“I’m sure it would have been.” Carlton stood up, giving the file a final once-over before he closed it and handed it to O’Hara, who stuffed it into her file cabinet. He pocketed the two velvet boxes in his blazer pocket, handing the two dry-cleaning bags to Spencer, who draped them over one of his arms. “Let’s go, we’re changing.”

“What? Lass, I—” Carlton started leading Spencer away from Guster and O’Hara, who were looking at the duo curiously. He had one hand on either of his shoulders as he guided him to the conference room, which was the most convenient and private location for them to change other than the bathrooms. He was already irritated enough that his plans for getting ready had been thrown off by Spencer appearing late, as well as McNab taking forever to bring their outfits. That was the only reason why he was bossing Spencer around— it wasn’t as though he liked it or anything. “We’re changing here? Like… together?”

“Why not?” Carlton walked both of them into the conference room, closing the door behind the both of them and locking it. He walked around the room, shutting all of the blinds, until there were no openings where anyone else could see inside the conference room. “It’s easy. Besides, we’re two grown men who are supposed to be pretending to be married in an hour. It’s hardly more intimate than that.”

Spencer mumbled something that Carlton didn’t quite catch as he placed the two dry-cleaning bags on the conference table, not knowing which one was his. Carlton picked the bag that was placed on the left— the one with the blue undershirt. It was a nice navy suit that he thought complimented him generally well. Spencer picked up the other bag, opening it and laying the clothing out on the table as Carlton hung his bag on a chair on the opposite side of the room from Spencer and began loosening his tie. 

“Spencer, go through our marriage again,” Carlton ordered as he loosened his tie, placing it on the table as he began working the buttons of his dress shirt. He kept his gaze pointed firmly at the floor— not looking at Spencer. Not that he would want to look at Spencer in the first place. In fact, he didn’t even know why not looking at Spencer had to be a conscious choice that he was making.

“Seriously? C’mon, man, you know I’ve got that on lock,” Spencer complained. He paused for a second, presumably parsing to see if there was any sort of sign in Carlton’s expression that he was going to just let Spencer coast by. “Fine. We’re Spencer and Carl Lassiter. Which, by the way, why do I have to be Spencer? What a lame name.”

“Because it’s easier for me,” Carlton answered simply as he hung his blazer on the back of a second chair, taking off his dress shirt with it. He was left in the white tank top that he always wore as an undershirt. “I always call you Spencer, so I don’t have to think about it too much.”

“Not easy for me.” Carlton spared a glance at Spencer from across the room, who had already shed all of his upper clothes and was standing there, shirtless. “Imagining I’d name some jerkoff named Carl. What’s it even supposed to be short for, Charlotte?”

Carlton didn’t know if he’d ever seen Spencer shirtless. Although he typically seemed scrawny, Carlton had grabbed him by his upper arm enough times to know that he did have some slight muscle. He was lean, the sharp lines of his body complementing each other in the dim light of the conference room. The one accessory that was still present was the necklace that he always wore, sitting at the base of Spencer’s neck. It really highlighted Spencer’s collarbones. The ones that Carlton always dug his fingertips into whenever he was irritated by the man a little bit too much, a firm grip that was always intended to get across to Spencer just who was in charge between the two.

He realized that he’d been staring for way too long only when Spencer chuckled quietly, a proud smile tugging at the corner of his lips as Carlton snapped his gaze back towards the floor.

“If this was just some elaborate plan to ogle me, Lassie…” Carlton felt his cheeks heating up as he pulled the blue undershirt from the dry-cleaning bag, sliding his arms through the sleeves, almost tearing the fabric with his haste. “Gotta admit, it was a pretty smart plan. But you could’ve just asked–”

“Shut it,” Carlton interjected, thoroughly flustered. “Keep going. Details about the marriage.”

“Alright, alright, fine.” Spencer sighed, and Carlton glanced at him again, watching him slip out of his jeans, and— yeah. He had to make a very conscious effort not to look now. “Carl and Spencer Lassiter. We’ve been life partners for 5 years, only got married last year. We’re looking to start a family with a little Burmese Python. You’re a lawyer, and I’m the sexy Maggie Gyllenhaal to your James Spader.”

A choked noise sounded from somewhere in Carlton’s throat. He didn’t care to think too much about the implications of that comparison. He didn’t even know that that was the sort of movie that Spencer watched.

“You’re my assistant, yes.” Carlton had finished buttoning his shirt, slipping the last button into his sleeve collar before shoving on the navy blazer over it. He was thankful that he had the foresight to wear the matching pants with him to work, so he didn’t have to change out of his pants in front of Spencer. It was a little egotistical and nonsensical to imagine that Spencer would be looking at him the same way that Carlton had been inexplicably looking at Spencer. “What did you do before we went to meet with the Pauls?”

“Wha– come on. That doesn’t seriously matter.” Spencer scoffed.

“It does,” Carlton argued, finishing the final touches on his suit change and grabbing his tie from off of the table, slipping it under his collar and expertly tying it again. “Go ahead.”

“Fine. I was doing your mom.” Spencer snickered, as if what he just said was hilarious.

“My mother is a lesbian, Spencer.” Carlton rolled his eyes, his childish humor not quite landing.

“Fine. Doing your sister,” Spencer pushed further.

“Don’t you dare even–”

“Fine. Doing your dad,” Spencer tried again.

“My father is dead.” Carlton dragged a tired hand down his face as he pulled a chair out from the conference table and sat down, turning to face Spencer, who was just finishing up with buttoning his shirt and sliding on his matching navy blazer.

“Fine. I went to the bank. Then, I went to get groceries. Then, I came home and waited for you like an obedient housewife.” Spencer recited the story monotonously with a dull expression, and Carlton was glad that he could at least remember what they’d previously agreed upon. Was it overkill? Maybe. But he’d rather be safe than sorry.

“Good.” Carlton nodded his head in approval as Spencer grabbed the tie that had been in the bag, looking at it as though he didn’t know what to do with it. He busied his hands with it for a few moments, doing things that made it almost look like he was about to start doing something, before stopping and restarting the whole fidgeting with his tie. Carlton raised his brows, a slight smirk growing on his face.

“Spencer,” He started. “Do you… Do you know how to tie a tie?”

“What?” Spencer laughed. “Of course I– well, I mean, what does know really mean? Truth is relative, I think Ghandi said that.”

“Sure.” Carlton hummed as he sat up from his chair for some ungodly reason, grabbing the tie and slipping it under Spencer’s collar. “Here— stay still.”

Spencer, to his credit, actually listened to Carlton’s directions. He didn’t miss the way a red tint rose to Spencer’s cheeks, although it might have been more just the distance than anything. There was a distinct closeness between the two. He could faintly feel Spencer’s breath tickling the hairs on his neck, making them stand up.

“You, uh– y’know, you seem pretty stressed about this whole thing, Lass.” Spencer laughed nervously as Carlton evened the tie on both sides, making sure it would be the perfect length. “Is there a reason to be nervous about this? I mean, like, something you aren’t telling me. There isn’t some sort of poisonous shark pit that they throw undercover cops into, is there?”

“The sharks would be venomous, not poisonous. Or they’d just tear you apart with their teeth. No venom required,” Carlton corrected for absolutely no reason. “And, no. It’s just an important case, that’s all. I don’t want to mess it up.” He paused, worried he might be being a little bit too vulnerable. “I don’t want you to mess it up.”

“I’m not going to,” Spencer insisted, and Carlton expected there to be some sort of a joke following it, something about how Carlton would be the one to mess it all up, but there wasn’t. It was just that. A quiet assurance that he wouldn’t mess up.

“I know you won’t.” Carlton finished tying Spencer’s tie, tugging on it one final time, accidentally pulling Spencer towards him as he did so. They were close, maybe too close. “Just so long as you be good and listen to me. You can do that.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement. ‘You can do that.’ 

Because the truth was, despite how anxious he had been, this was one of the few things that Carlton trusted him to do. Lie, and do it convincingly. He ran his hands up and down the fabric of the tie. His gaze fell on Spencer’s hazel eyes, which were looking up at him. They were strikingly clear, and Carlton couldn’t quite bring himself to look away.

“Yeah,” Spencer finally responded after a long pause, voice low. “I can be good.”

Carlton swallowed dryly, the weight of the words that Spencer had just said settling somewhere that he rarely allowed himself to examine. In the same way that all the rest of his confusing, angry feelings for Spencer felt. Deep in his gut, poking and prodding at him. He’d long given up on trying to examine his feelings on the man. But that— what Spencer had just said- it poked at him again and again.

It wasn’t just that. It was all of it. Their distance. His hands on Spencer’s tie. Him staring at Spencer shirtless. The fact that he and Spencer were about to pretend to be married, for God’s sake.

His eyes darted down to Spencer’s lips, subconsciously, and suddenly it all clicked into place. The sudden, horrifying realization. 

He was into Shawn Spencer.

The shock jolted his system, causing him to pull on the tie still in his hands, choking Spencer in the process. He let the tie go, leaving Spencer grasping at his neck and gasping for air after having his air supply just cut off. 

“Damn it,” He muttered as he whirled around, leaving Spencer grasping at his freed windpipe in the conference room and directing himself straight towards O’Hara’s desk.

“I know, they’re just so–” O’Hara cut herself off from her conversation with Guster, turning towards Carlton. “Oh! You and Shawn finished changing? Does that mean you’re ready to–”

“O’Hara. Word. Now.” Carlton glared at Guster, who read his expression and scurried away to the vending machines. 

“Are you… Okay, Carlton?” She cocked her head as she studied him with a concerned expression.

“What did you do,” He hissed as he closed in, not daring to let a soul who wasn’t him and his partner hear this conversation. Or, well, it was shaping up to be less of a conversation and more of an interrogation. “You recommended that I go and ask him, and now all of a sudden, I’m– I’m–” 

“Oh…” O’Hara nodded knowingly. “So you…? Okay. Okay! This is great.”

“This is not great.” Carlton shook his head, pointing an accusing finger at O’Hara. “You did this. You, uh– manipulated me. And that’s something you don’t do. You don’t manipulate your partner.”

“Hmm. Did I?” O’Hara laughed. “I feel like I didn’t tell you anything you didn’t already know. Or, well, didn’t show you.”

“Good Lord.” Carlton sighed.

“So…” O’Hara looked at him with waiting eyes, as though she were urging him to go on. “Did you guys kiss? Or–”

“No,” he interjected. “No, as in no, we didn’t kiss, and no, I’m not talking with you about this anymore.”

“But I just need to know—”

“No, you don't.” Carlton dug the two velvet ring boxes out of his pockets, placing them both on the desk. 

He flicked open the first box, reading the engraving. The initials CJL adorned the rings. His initials— Carlton Jebidiah Lassiter. Or, well, for tonight, he supposed it was Carl Jebidiah Lassiter. That ring was Spencer's. He left that one on O’Hara’s desk, pocketing the other one. It was a matching ring for Carlton, with the initials SDL. Spencer ‘Danger’ Lassiter. 

“Make sure Spencer puts that on when he comes out of the conference room,” Carlton muttered as he patted the box once, taking the box with his own ring in it and slipping it back into his pocket. He’d put it on later. What he really needed in the moment was to get a brief moment of fresh air— that being the fresh air that came from the 5-foot walk from the doors of the police station to the undercover van where he would be mic’d up. But that was less of the point. The point was more distracting himself from Spencer with what he always used as his distraction. Work.

Even if that work involved pretending to be married to the man that he had just had a very unfortunate realization about his feelings for. But he was good at separating life and work, right? He could manage it just fine. So fine. So so so so so so so fine.

He gritted his teeth and walked away from O’Hara’s grinning face at her desk, looking as though she had just successfully placed another piece in some weird sort of puzzle.

“Y’know, I don’t even really know why you call this an undercover mission,” Spencer mused as Carlton drove the both of them to the mansion where their meeting was scheduled. “Thinking about it now, I sort of feel like you oversold the job here.”

“We are under the cover of fake personalities. Undercover.” Carlton had barely spoken since both of them had gotten into the car. It was some fancy rental car, and the controls still felt a little foreign to him. Although his focus on not crashing the car was not the only reason for his lack of conversation.

“Hmm.” Spencer scoffed, thoroughly unconvinced. “I sort of thought this was going to be real undercover. Deep stuff, you know? The kind of thing that would leave me with that brooding, dead inside look in my eyes. Like you have!”

“What?” Carlton shot him a sideways glance. “Sometimes I think you talk just to say things.”

“Well, yeah.” Spencer huffed a laugh. “Did it take you that long to catch on?”

Carlton sighed as he turned another corner, driving down the final stretch of road towards their destination, a little irritated at how bad of a job the cover van was doing at following them covertly. He had no doubt McNab was driving it.

“But— I sort of thought it would be a little cooler than just one meeting, right? That’s barely even undercover!” Spencer threw his hands up. “The way you were acting about it when you approached me, I could’ve sworn you were going to ask me to film a porno for an undercover assignment in a sex dungeon.”

“Can you just shut up?” Carlton tapped the wheel of the car. “I’m trying to focus on driving. And unless you want to stop being Maggie Gyllenhaal and start being Deborah Unger, I need to do that, got it?”’

 As he finally pulled up to the gate of the mansion, he shot Spencer a silencing glare as he rolled his window down. A gruff voice came from a speaker, asking for their purpose.

“It’s Carl and Spencer,” Carlton started, attempting to sound warm and pleasant, and like a normal person. “We’re the prospective parents, here to see the Pauls.”

The speaker crackled for a moment. The gruff voice was replaced with a lighter, more welcoming one.

“The Lassiters! Oh, we have been waiting for you! Come on in.” 

The gate opened up, and Carlton drove forward, rolling the window up so he could have final words with Spencer before he had to assume the role of his husband.

“They’re peppy,” Spencer commented as he rolled his neck, making a disgusting popping noise that made Carlton want to throw him out of the car. “Are they the fun sort of gay? Or are they like you?”

“That’s offensive,” Carlton grumbled. “I’m not any sort of gay.”

“Please.” Spencer scoffed, gesturing towards Carlton. “You don’t exactly scream heterosexual.”

“You know what I mean–” Carlton argued, fingers tightening around the wheel. “I don’t classify myself. Labels aren’t important. I like personality– you know what? I don’t have to explain myself to you. My sexuality is of no importance to this case, so I don’t know why we’re talking about this.”

“Alright, dude, relax.” Spencer laughed as Carlton pulled his car into the massive driveway where he assumed he was supposed to park. “I wasn’t interrogating you.”

“I’m relaxed enough,” Carlton snapped back, the tension in his body practically bleeding through his voice. If he was trying to pretend to be relaxed, he was doing a pretty bad job.

“You sure?” 

For some reason, Spencer decided that was the time to reach over and place a hand on Carlton’s shoulder. He had to fight every urge in his body to jump at the touch. His eyes caught on the simple silver ring with his initials engraved on it. Spencer was wearing his initials, and that was a fact that was in no way helping with his nerves and the butterflies swimming in his stomach. He wished those butterflies would drown in the acid of Carlton’s vitriolic hatred of Spencer, but it seemed they weren’t going down without a fight. 

“You need me to give you a massage?”

What.

“What?” Carlton shook the hand off his shoulder, disgusted at how his body didn’t seem to get the whole disgusted memo and dared to miss the touch. 

“C’mon! We’re married. Married people give each other massages,” Spencer reasoned. “Maybe even happy ending massages.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Carlton stopped the car, the jolt nearly choking Spencer with his seatbelt. Carlton felt a little guilty about the fact that he’d already managed to choke the man twice that evening. 

“Stop it,” He hissed. “Alright. The mic is concealed in my tie. People will be listening to us. If I mention needing to go home to see my sister, that’s our safeword. You’re going to behave yourself, Spencer.”

“Wow. Behave myself. Safeword?” Spencer laughed as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “What are you, my dom?”

 “Shut it. I’m opening the car door now. We are Carl and Spencer Lassiter. And you will be normal. Got it?”

He opened the door before Spencer could make some stupid comment, walking to the other side of the car and opening Spencer’s door for him as well.

“Wow, a gentleman,” Spencer giggled as he stepped out, and Carlton tried to ignore how the small compliment made him feel. It was work. He was working, and it was just— just not personal.

“I know how to treat a man,” Carlton simply responded, trying to remove all emotion or hints of affection from his voice as he immediately moved to place a hand on the small of Spencer’s back and lead him towards the entrance. “Especially my husband.”

He didn’t miss the way Spencer reacted to his touch. It was barely noticeable, but something shifted in his demeanor. His back straightened out a little more, as though he were trying not to allow himself to feel too comfortable with the touch. A subconscious reminder to himself that it was all fake. Which was good. It was all fake.

It was work, after all.

… That didn’t mean that Carlton couldn’t take a little pleasure in treating Spencer how he deserved to be treated. 

It was a quick realization that popped into his head, almost unwillingly. If he was going to pretend to be married to the man, it would only be logical that he use it as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get some of his unwanted, new feelings out. It was a little bit selfish. Fine, maybe a lot bit selfish— using an official police sting to play house with a man he’d only recently discovered that he harbored feelings for.

But the way Spencer’s gaze was pointed to the ground, the way he fidgeted with his ring as Carlton’s hand stayed firm against the small of his back, told him that Spencer didn’t hate it all that much. 

When they reached the entrance, Carlton didn’t even have a moment to take a breath and steady himself before the door swung open, and he was greeted with the smiling face of who his research had told him was the younger of the two. Paul Bernard. 

“Oh, you two! Come on in, come on in!” He had the kind of warmth in his entire demeanor that Carlton never would have expected from a dangerous animal smuggler. He looked a little bit like the human version of a teddy bear, about Spencer’s height, but a little more plump, with dark brunet hair pushed back. Carlton gave a brief glance to Spencer, and the look he shot back told him he was thinking the same thing about how off-type the man in front of them seemed to be. “It’s been forever since we’ve had guests— oh, and so formal, too?”

Bernard talked animatedly as he walked down the hallway, and Carlton and Spencer stepped inside, following as they both surveyed their surroundings. Carlton was aware that his hand was still on the small of Spencer’s back, and he could tell that Spencer was still aware, too. Which was fine. It didn’t seem to be distracting either of them from their work just yet.

The house was atrociously decorated. Not to say that the decorating was bad– although it very much was. But just the sheer amount of different mismatched items strewn about every single turn made Carlton feel as though he had just stepped into some strange hippie antique store. Every single decoration seemed to clash with every other one. He had to resist the urge to click his tongue in distaste.

Otherwise, there wasn’t really anything in the home that screamed loose tiger escaped from here. Although it would make sense that if something like that had occurred, they would have covered it up. Best not to scare off future clients with the murder that had been plastered across the headlines for the last week or so.

“Fur on the tapestries,” Spencer muttered into Carlton’s ear, gesturing his eyes to a gaudy multicolored tapestry. “Might be important. Or, y’know, just random.”

Carlton hummed approvingly.

“Good job, Spencer.” He didn’t miss the slight flicker in Spencer’s eyes when he muttered the praise.

Finally, after walking for what seemed like forever, Bernard finally led them to a large, open room, the first one of their journey through the house so far that seemed somewhat well-decorated. The furniture matched, at least, which was more than could be stated for most of the other rooms.

Bernard sat down next to a man whom Carlton recognized as the other Paul, Paul Newsome, and gestured for Carlton and Spencer to sit at the loveseat opposite them. The room was cozy, with a fireplace and tall bookshelves decorating the walls of the room. The loveseats were a deep red with a velvety texture that Carlton had a strong distaste for, but that he couldn’t really do anything about, so he sat down, allowing his hand to finally leave Spencer’s back as he did so. Spencer wordlessly sat down to the right of him. Carlton placed his hands on his knees to avoid having to come in contact with the texture. He could deal with it in small doses, such as with the rings of their boxes, but when it was anything more than minimal contact, it just made his skin feel irritated.

It was weird. Looking over at the man, Spencer almost looked… focused? He rarely saw the man when he wasn’t trying to quip some dumb pun or trying to wreck every single principle that Carlton had built his life on. He was examining the room, casual enough that anyone who wasn’t intimately familiar with the way that Spencer conducted his investigations wouldn’t notice. But Carlton did.

He almost wanted to give the man a begrudging smile when Spencer looked over at him, seeming to notice the way that Carlton was looking at him with barely-concealed awe. But then, Spencer took advantage of the split second of Carlton letting his guard down. He grabbed Carlton’s right hand, which was still resting on his knee, taking it into his own and interlacing their fingers, holding it properly. 

“So,” Newsome started. “Welcome to our home.”

He looked taller than Bernard, at least when they were both sitting. His hair was black and slicked back, and he had a subtle five o’clock shadow. He wasn’t a bad-looking man by any means. He was dressed less formally than Spencer and Carlton were— and for that matter, so was Bernard. Bernard wore a pink dress shirt, and Newsome a deep purple one, complimented by them both wearing neat-fitting khaki pants. He didn’t radiate that same warmth that Bernard did, but he didn’t seem terribly cold either. Just more reserved.

Carlton realized he’d been analyzing the man for too long and not responding when Spencer squeezed his hand once, bringing him back to attention. He was desperately trying to ignore the fact that Spencer was holding his hand, because he knew that it would only throw him further off of his game, when his impromptu feelings realization had already done that enough.

“Ah, yes,” Carlton responded awkwardly, nodding. “Nice home. Very nice. Good.”

What the hell was he? A caveman?

Spencer laughed openly, playfully batting Carlton’s shoulder with his free hand like he’d been dealing with that level of stupidity from his partner for years.

“Pardon my husband. He can be a little bit robotic,” Spencer explained cheerily. “But he means well. Just awkward. Right, hon?”

The nickname hon caught Carlton briefly. They had specifically stated that they weren’t going to use pet names because they simply weren’t necessary. Names were enough. But it seemed Spencer was just going to ignore him.

“Yes, yes,” Carlton agreed. “I can be a bit… straightforward. Or so I’ve been told.”

He gauged the reactions of the Paul’s, and they were laughing along with Spencer, loud and familiar, as if they were all a group of close friends who were having a reunion, and not as though they had just met. It made Carlton feel a little bit out of place. He’d always sort of envied Spencer’s ability to blend in and make himself so immediately palatable to those around him. Carlton never had that ability. He had one setting, and most people viewed it as unpleasant. 

“Well, don’t you worry about it.” Bernard smiled, doing a playful dismissive gesture. “Paulie here is the same way! A little off, that’s all.”

“Well, I’m not that bad.” Newsome gestured to Carlton before seeming to realize the very rude implication he was making, and retracting his gesture. “Sorry. I didn’t mean, ehm… You know what I meant.”

The three laughed, and Carlton continued to feel smaller and more out of place. He didn’t know what he meant, unless what he meant was taking offense to having any of his social behaviors being compared to Carlton.

He felt another squeeze from Spencer’s hand and looked up. Spencer had a strange expression on his face, his head cocked slightly, and an eyebrow raised. If it were anyone else, he might have even read it as some form of concern. He rolled his eyes, biting back a grimace.

“It’s fine, really,” Carlton assured.

“So, anyway,” Spencer continued, attempting to steer the topic away. “We’re here for a reason, aren’t we?”

“Oh! Of course.” Bernard nodded eagerly. “Sorry. I can get so ditsy sometimes, you know? It’s just, it’s so rare that we get company that we can actually relate to, so it’s only natural we want a little chat first, right?”

A door opened, and a tall, strong-looking man walked through, holding two wine glasses and handing them both to Spencer and Carlton, respectively. He had tan skin and long hair pulled back into a ponytail, as well as a black beard. All in all, he was very conventionally attractive.

“Oh, and this is Bruno!” Bruno gave a small wave as Bernard talked. “He’s our bodyguard. But if we’re nice to him, we can sucker him into a few favors, such as grabbing some wine for our guests. Right, Bruno?”

Bernard gave a small wink to Bruno, which Carlton definitely took note of as something that looked slightly more than playful. Spencer squeezed his hand again, as if to say, ‘I saw that too.’ 

It was beginning to occur to Carlton that he couldn’t take much more of this oddly domestic sign of quiet recognition from Spencer before it completely stopped him from being able to do his job to his fullest ability. He'd been so cocky just a few minutes ago when he put his hand on Spencer's back, and where was he now? Having trouble focusing on an assignment because his hand is being held. His enjoyment of the situation earlier had been derived mostly from the control he held. Now, he held no control. It was clear that Spencer was much better suited for this than him. There was a quick churning in his stomach that briefly overshadowed his fuzzy, warm feelings towards Spencer.

He straightened his fingers and gently moved his hand, trying not to draw too much attention to it. He wiped it on his suit, as if he could excuse it as nothing more than his hands being sweaty. Which they were, so it wasn't a complete lie.

Spencer paused, furrowing his brows and doing that thing where he studied Carlton’s expression, trying to read his mind. He did his best to blank his expression as best as he could, removing all traces of emotion— or, God forbid, affection. None of that.

Bruno went to stand in the corner of the room, over by the tallest bookshelf with wood-engraved oak panels in the corner of the room, the opposite side of where they were positioned. He didn’t seem particularly bothered by the presence of Carlton and Spencer. Carlton put his hands back on his knees, still wanting to avoid the texture of the velvet.

“So, where were we?” Bernard took a sip of his wine, which had already been sitting in front of him when they entered the room. Carlton put his glass down on a small decorative coaster on the end table. He hoped that they’d just be able to get down to business soon, so they could go ahead and wrap everything up and leave as quickly as possible. “Oh. Carl, what do you do for work?”

Damn. Bernard was a little bit like Spencer, easily distracted and all over the place. He was glad now that he’d taken the time to go over their backstories.

“I’m a lawyer.”

“Oh? What sort?” Newsome raised an eyebrow. “I have a cousin who works as an injury attorney.”

“Well, I’m a—”

“He’s a public defender,” Spencer introjected, beaming as he somehow found a way to initiate physical contact with Carlton again, placing his hand on his thigh, too high. His fingertips were brushing the inside of Carlton’s upper thigh, and it took everything in his power not to either rip Spencer’s hand off of him or to one-up him by sticking his hand somewhere far more inappropriate. “He just loves defending those criminals, you know? Always talking about how fucked up the justice system is.”

Spencer threw his head back and laughed, and the Pauls laughed as well. Carlton grimaced. Of course, Spencer had to say that. It wasn’t enough to defy everything that he stood for; Spencer had to drag him down to his level. He hated it. Maybe this was his way of getting back at Carlton for pushing him away earlier. Maybe he just wanted to demonstrate that he took some sick pleasure from the queasy feeling that came from Carlton's lack of power. Maybe he was just a nut case.

His displeasure with the whole situation only seemed to give Spencer even more glee as the hand on Carlton’s thigh tightened, his fingers skating a fraction of an inch higher, testing Carlton's boundaries. The Pauls didn’t seem to notice, as they were too busy whispering small comments to each other that Carlton was inclined to assume were some sort of critique of his and Spencer’s relationship.

He finally managed to meet Spencer’s eyes, hoping to give him a glare that would tell him to back off and focus on the task at hand. More specifically, to stop focusing on Carlton so he wouldn't be forced to focus on Spencer. 

What he found instead when he looked into Spencer’s eyes was something different. He had a lazy grin on his face, his eyes darting down to the hand that he still had placed on Carlton’s thigh and back up to him. He raised an eyebrow, widening his grin a little further, exposing his canines. He chuckled, low, nothing like how performative he had just been for the Paul’s. That was different. That was tactical, and this…

This was a challenge. 

It was a terrible idea. Truly, truly terrible. A challenge. On an undercover mission. On an undercover mission where Carlton was actively mic’d up, and O’Hara, McNab, the chief, and probably Guster were actively listening in on their conversation. A bad, bad, bad, bad, bad idea.

But. On the other hand… On the other hand, that Carlton definitely should not have been listening to… It was a way to take back some of the control he had been so sorely lacking that evening. He could demonstrate that, if Spencer wanted to challenge him, he could easily win and get the bad guys as well. He knew he was playing with his own feelings, as well as potentially Spencer's. But since when did he let feelings get in the way of damn good police work? A flirt now and then didn't make him a terrible cop. Just so long as he kept it under control, it would all be fine. And the best way to do that was to play into Spencer’s little game and give him some of the attention he so clearly needed.

He grabbed his wine glass, taking a sip and making sure to make eye contact with Spencer as he licked his lips afterwards. He hoped it came off as more attractive and flirtatious than it felt for him to do it. He hoped that was a good enough sign that he was willing to play into Spencer's weird little game.

“I just believe that the justice system needs to be addressed properly.” He raised his arm from where it had been resting and moved his hand to the back of Spencer’s neck, pinching slightly with his grip. “The law is a powerful thing, after all. It needs to be exacted properly.”

“How admirable,” Newsome praised, and Carlton couldn’t tell if it was sarcasm or not. The brief flicker of annoyance on Spencer’s face and the tensing of his neck muscles told him it probably was. “And Spencer? How about you?”

“He’s my personal assistant,” Carlton responded robotically, like the information had been programmed into him. “Helps me with organization and the like.”

“Oh? I wasn’t aware that was the sort of position that needed an assistant. It can’t be that hard, can it?” Newsome chuckled, and Bernard playfully swatted his arm. God, this dude was just the worst, wasn’t he?

“Paulie,” Bernard warned playfully.

“Spencer is an aspiring lawyer. He thinks that helping me will help him eventually be good enough to go into my profession.” Carlton dug his fingertips deeper into the back of Spencer’s neck, not missing the slight exhale of air that Spencer let out in response. This was his comfort zone. Having the control and reminding Spencer who was in charge. “I’m not so sure, but…”

“Well, not if I’m leading by your example,” Spencer prodded back, pushing his hand just slightly further up Carlton’s thigh, letting his fingers dance lower and lower on Carlton's inner thigh. “Remember that innocent man you let get put away for breaking and entering just last week? What a shame.”

Spencer tutted, and the Pauls exchanged nervous glances, as if not sure how to respond. The image of a ‘picture-perfect family ready to adopt’ that had originally been planned was quickly dissipating. 

Gone was the healthy marriage of Carl and Spencer Lassiter, and in its place was the incredibly strained dynamic of a detective and his fake psychic associate who were stuck in some weird challenge to see who could grope the other the most before… well. Before something. It was a challenge, but he didn't really know what the purpose was. He just knew he didn't want to lose it.

“So,” Bernard continued after a tense moment of silence. “How did the two of you meet?”

“Through work,” Carlton responded.

“Well, in a way,” Spencer added, giving a quick glance to Carlton that let him know that he was definitely up to something. “I wasn’t your assistant yet. That didn't happen until a good bit after our first real case together, right?”

“You…” Carlton’s puzzlement quickly turned to a mix of surprise and disbelief when he realized with a startling clarity what Spencer was about to imply. “Nope.”

“C’mon, this is our story!” As if that wasn’t bad enough, Spencer leaned in and pecked a small kiss on Carlton’s cheek. He had to try his best not to let out a noise of disgust, or worse, approval.  “He’s just so self-loathing.”

“No, honey,” Carlton hissed, as if it were an insult. “Let’s not do this.”

“He was my lawyer!” Carlton’s hand was probably digging so deeply into Spencer’s neck that it was going to leave bruises— a thought which he had to push aside for a later time if he wanted to retain any sense of self. “And what a good one he was, huh? I mean, I’m here now!”

He privately wondered if his nails were deep enough to draw blood from how far they were dug into Spencer's collar. Probably not. Damn Carlton and his bi-weekly manicures.

“Oh, wow. That’s, uhm…” Bernard laughed shyly as Carlton glared daggers at Spencer. By whatever metric their stupid challenge was being scored, he was definitely losing. And he would be damned if he was going to allow himself to lose complete control of the room in an undercover investigation and lose to Shawn Spencer.

“Yes, yes. You were being charged with… what was it?” A grin began to pull at the corner of Carlton’s lips. “Stalking? Ah, I hardly remember anymore.”

“Wait.” Spencer scrunched up his face, realizing that Carlton was beginning to take back a little bit of an advantage. He leaned back in, keeping his hand on Carlton’s thigh but wrapping his other arm around Carlton’s right bicep. “You don’t want to tell this story. Do you, baby?”

Carlton did his best to brush off the sultry tone that Spencer had just used to whisper in his ear as he continued. 

“We didn’t get together when I was defending you, did we?” Carlton cocked his head and pretended to be thinking. “No, you were outside my house for a month. Every night, just you and that beat-up car and those binoculars. You know, I was flattered.”

“Good. It was supposed to be flattering.” Spencer dug his nails into Carlton’s bicep. “Used to watch you work out. For a public defender, you sure are into fitness, huh?”

“I think you appreciate my strength,” Carlton quipped back with a biting tone. “I can handle you better that way.”

Carlton had gone way past the point of worrying about the fact that practically everyone he worked with was listening. Only one thing mattered now, and it was winning. He didn’t particularly know what winning entailed, besides the fact that it meant not losing to Spencer. All sense of control over himself had gone along with his control over the investigation. So why not, really? He had nothing to lose besides his dignity, and his brain was refusing to allow him to acknowledge that very real potential consequence at present.

“Oh, so I need to be handled now, do I?” There was a slight undercut of venom in Spencer’s voice, and Carlton almost felt the urge to be concerned. But then Spencer leaned in further, close enough that Carlton could feel his breath on his neck, and whispered: “You aren’t doing a very good job.”

“Well, ehm–” Carlton cleared his throat and tried to clear his mind. The Pauls were staring at the duo in a mix of disgust, intrigue, and fear about whatever the hell was going on between them. The bodyguard was still standing in the corner of the room, stoic as ever, arms crossed and trying to act as though he weren’t watching the whole display. “You know, when I finally decided to give him the time of day, it was only because of his desperation. He was just so desperate for somebody to give him some kind of attention, so I gave in.”

“Well, that’s very…” Newsome searched for words, but found none. He looked extremely uncomfortable. Good, a part of Carlton thought. He’d made several backhanded comments towards him that evening, so it was only fair that now it was Carlton’s turn to make Newsome uncomfortable. 

“Cute story, right?” Spencer laid his head on Carlton’s shoulder. “Now, how about that time you punched me in the face, Carl? You want to tell them about that?”

Carlton sputtered.

“Okay, well, there was context,” He immediately tried to defend, just feeling the self-satisfied energy radiating off of Spencer as he did so. He realized he couldn’t particularly tell the room why he had punched Spencer in the face, even though it had been perfectly justified. Well. Somewhat perfectly. It was justified enough.

That should have been a reminder, more than anything, that people were listening to him. He was on a work assignment. And if his brain wasn’t so fucking preoccupied with the way that his skin burned under Spencer’s touch, and the way it felt to have Spencer’s hair tickling his neck, he would have been thoroughly humiliated. He was surprised Vick hadn’t sent people in and called the whole thing off yet.

Spencer’s hand moved once more to move up Carlton’s thigh, and the second he felt Spencer’s fingertips nearly brush his crotch, he realized that he had to get his shit together, immediately. He shrugged Spencer’s head off his shoulder and pushed him off, towards the other side of the loveseat.

“Wow, and now you’re pushing me. Who could’ve guessed!” Spencer threw his hands up in exasperation. “You know, sometimes I wonder why I even married you.”

“I wonder the same thing,” Carlton bit back, crossing his arms. “I knew I shouldn’t have settled. I probably could’ve been happy.”

“Me too!” Spencer scoffed. “You know, if I had it my way, I would be married to Pierre Desperaux right now.”

“Don’t you even–” Carlton gritted his teeth. The art thief always irritated him, especially considering the fact that Spencer seemed so entirely enamoured with him that he refused to be of any help to the police when that man was involved. In retrospect, some of those feelings of animosity Carlton felt towards him, specifically after Spencer had butted his way into the case, were probably unresolved jealousy. “You know, I don’t even know why we came here. God knows a snake isn’t going to fix this broken marriage!”

“Aha, I knew that was the real reason you wanted this python.” Spencer poked Carlton’s chest with his finger. “You wanted to baby-trap me! You couldn’t knock me up, so you figured an illegal animal was the next best thing?” 

“It’s a reptile,” Carlton corrected. He was getting so lost in their fake-arguing that it was hard for him to recognize the logical side of himself. None of this was real. He and Spencer weren’t married— they weren’t even dating. None of this was real. He was wearing a mic, and it was all being recorded for an eager audience of coworkers. Spencer delighted in seeing Carlton stew in his anger at the situation, poorly stopping himself from outwardly laughing. “God, you are just so–”

Carlton balled his hand into a fist, pursing his lips and stopping himself from saying whatever it was he was going to say.

“So what?” Spencer raised an eyebrow. “C’mon, don’t tell me you’re shy now. They already know all of our business! What am I? So annoying? So rude? So tactless? So handsome? So talented? Or am I just so, so, so, so, so terrible that you can’t even—”

In one movement that was, admittedly, less coordinated than Carlton had wanted it to be, he grabbed Spencer’s jaw from both sides, smashing their lips together and practically falling on top of Spencer as he did so.

It was meant to be quick. Just a quick method of shutting Spencer up, and retaining some sort of pride that he hadn’t let himself be completely trampled over in whatever game they were playing. He intended to pull back after a few seconds. He really, really did. 

He didn’t.

He couldn’t imagine how he’d ever intended to pull back from a sensation as beautiful as kissing Shawn Spencer.

Spencer melted into the kiss almost immediately, entangling one hand in the back of Carlton’s hair and placing the other on Carlton’s jaw, pulling him closer than he already was. He could feel the slight burn of Spencer’s stubble, and he chased the sensation like a drug that he’d just found he was completely and totally addicted to. 

Spencer was a drug. Completely and utterly intoxicating. And even more beautiful. If Carlton could have brought himself to do more than just desperately kiss Spencer like it was the last thing he’d ever do, he would have opened his eyes and tried to memorize how the man looked. He could picture it in his mind, his hair sticking out and his pupils dilated. He was beautiful. He couldn’t believe he’d never realized he wanted to do this with Spencer until just a few hours earlier. 

“Gentlemen.” Bernard’s voice cut through the silence of the room (save for the quiet moans of Carlton and Spencer) as he cleared his throat. “I have tried to be civil with the both of you, but who the hell do you think you are?”

Carlton pulled himself off of Spencer, a bit awkwardly, considering how tight they had both just been gripping each other. He sat back up, placing both of his hands on his knees, still avoiding the velvet texture. He situated himself completely on the other side of the couch as Spencer, avoiding any touch so he could actually pay attention and attempt to salvage what was very clearly an unsalvageable mission.

“You two are by far the most toxic couple I have ever seen!” Bernard glared daggers at the both of them while Carlton tried to wipe the drool from the corner of his mouth as subtly as he could. “You’re arguing one minute, fondling the next! You are belittling each other, and pushing each other, and talking about punching each other, and then you’re sucking on each other's tongues!”

“Well, in our defense–” Spencer started.

“No! No defense for you.” Spencer pursed his lips. “I cannot believe that we were so eager to give you guys the sweetheart that is Trevor. But no more! You guys can get the fuck out of our house right now.”

Carlton and Spencer looked at each other apprehensively, not sure what to do.

“Pfft. Not like you can talk,” Spencer joked as he barked a laugh, before turning to Carlton. “Bruno and Paul are knocking boots. Did ya know that? Not very healthy, don’t you think?”

That shut Bernard up. He immediately began fidgeting with his hands, looking between Bruno and Newsome. Newsome didn’t look particularly at ease either, for reasons that Carlton figured might have just been more than the revelation that his husband was having an affair. Unless it was him that Spencer was talking about? Or… oh. 

“Which Paul?” Carlton furrowed his brows. He had caught on to what Spencer was implying now, and he hoped to God that he was right. For now, Carlton was content with pretending to be clueless so that Spencer could do his thing. 

“Well, both of them, obviously!” Spencer grinned as he stood up, cracking his knuckles and preparing to do his big reveal that he always did whenever he solved a case. He walked over to Bruno, whose gaze was pointed firmly at the floor, arms still crossed. He patted him on the back. “How do you do it, man? Hooking up with two married men, and keeping it a secret from both of them that you’re sleeping with the other? Impressive, I must say.”

The Pauls, for their part, were directing their anger directly at Bruno, as if he were the one who had caused them both to cheat. Carlton thought it was a bit unfair. 

“I– I didn’t mean to!” Bruno’s stoic demeanor immediately shifted as he put his hands out in front of him in surrender, looking at the both of them with pleading glances. “It was just all so sudden, and when you two… You know? Uhm… But you guys– yeah! I’m… yeah.”

Newsome whipped his head to look at Bernard.

“Is this why you weren’t watching Toby last week?” His tone was much more accusatory than it was questioning. 

“Well…” Bernard looked away sheepishly. “It’s not as if you’re completely innocent either!”

“You let a fucking tiger escape, Paul,” Newsome hissed, and Carlton and Spencer gaped at each other from across the room in surprised excitement. Carlton had all but given up on the idea of this evening turning out to be anything but a broadcast of the loss of his dignity. “He killed somebody, just because you wanted to get fucked by Bruno? Jesus Christ, that’s–”

“How was I supposed to know he’d kill somebody!” Bernard placed a defensive hand on his chest. He whipped his head over to look at Carlton, expecting to see some sort of disgust on his face. He didn’t seem too bothered by the fact that Carlton wasn’t all too surprised. “Oh, don’t act like you’re perfect, Mr. Robot. Some of us make mistakes!"

“So that’s why your house was so hideously decorated,” Spencer exclaimed. “I knew gay guys were good designers! You just had to replace it all because of the tiger. Got it, got it.”

“What?” Newsome looked offended. “How dare— We’ve had that decoration for years, for your information.”

“Well…” Carlton scratched his jaw, having nothing more to contribute. “My sister’s going to be expecting me and Spencer home soon, so…”

“Your sister?” Spencer looked at him questioningly, as though he had completely forgotten their safety phrase. “Oh. Right. Yeah. Your sister. She’s, uh– soon? Very soon?”

“Well, I don’t know when she’s expecting us back, but I hope it’s soon.” Spencer walked over from where Bruno had begun crying, extricating himself from that situation with about as much grace as he could have.

“What the hell are you guys–”

Before Newsome could finish his thought, a loud bang of a door could be heard.

“SPBD. This is the police. We have you surrounded, gentlemen.” 

Carlton recognized the voice coming from the door as O’Hara’s. That made him the slightest bit more grateful, because it most likely meant that the chief wasn’t with them. 

“Come out with your hands up!”

“Oh my– they’re fucking cops,” Bernard exclaimed angrily, pausing for a second before deciding that it was the proper time to try to execute a lunge at Spencer, who was standing there like a deer in headlights. He charged forward like a linebacker, a dangerous determination in his eyes.

“For God’s sake, Spencer.” Carlton grabbed Spencer’s wrist away just before Bernard could tackle him to the floor, leaving Spencer almost landing on top of Carlton’s lap. “Have some self-preservation instincts, will you?”

“I wasn’t expecting him to tackle me, man!” Spencer stood back up, reaching his hand out to Carlton to help him up. He turned back to Newsome. “Also, uh… he’s packing. And I don’t just mean in his pants. He’s got a gun, suckers. So… maybe don’t try anything more with me?”

Bernard was sprawled out on the ground, more willing to hide from the shame than to get up and reckon with his failed attempt at attacking Spencer. Carlton took Spencer’s hand, stood up, and made the bold choice to wrap his arm around Spencer’s waist. He didn’t really have an excuse anymore—their cover had been blown. But Spencer leaned into the touch anyway.

“Can we open the door for our friends now? Or am I going to have to deal with the two of you myself?” Newsome and Bruno gave slight shakes of their heads, and Carlton turned to Spencer. “Get the door? I don’t trust these scumbags out of my sight.”

Spencer nodded and disappeared through the infinite non-ending hallways, and Carlton removed his pistol from the holster he had on his ankle and held it on the three men, none of whom seemed to have the spirit to attempt to fight with Carlton. He was a little afraid that they’d start fighting with each other, but he hoped they’d save that for once they got to the station.

Within a minute or so, Spencer had led the officers back through the hallways, who immediately rushed to cuff Bruno and the Pauls. O’Hara was there, as well as McNab, and a handful of other officers who were very obviously making a concentrated effort not to look Carlton or Spencer in the eyes. Wonderful. It was going to be hard for him to regain his reputation at work, but that was a problem he’d save for his next shift.

O’Hara joined Carlton where he was standing, over by the fireplace. 

“So.” She grinned at him, nudging him with her elbow. “How are you feeling? Did it go alright, or–”

“I know you heard everything,” He muttered, opting to look at the criminals being cuffed rather than O’Hara to hide his humiliation. The downcast second-hand shame of all of the officers in the room was already enough for him at the moment. He didn’t need to be coddled. “You don’t have to pretend.”

“Yeah… I did.” She shrugged sheepishly. “Just thought you might like it if I pretended I didn’t hear you making out with—”

“—Okay, we weren’t making out—”

“—Well, it sounded like—”

“—How do you know what making out sounds like?”

“I’m a grown woman, Carlton!” O’Hara turned a few heads when she exclaimed that a little louder than Carlton assumed she’d originally intended. “I just wanted to say, one officer to another… congratulations. That was a very excellent confession you two managed to get, I must say.”

“It was really all him,” Carlton admitted, trying and failing to hide the admiration in his voice.

“Wow,” She said, stunned. “You, Carlton Lassiter, are giving Shawn credit for something?”

“Oh, shut up.” He rolled his eyes.

“C’mon!” She pouted. “I don’t mean to mock. Or, well, I do a little bit… But I think you two make a good duo. Maybe an even cuter couple.”

“That’s–” Carlton watched as the officers took the three men away, and figured that was as good an excuse as any to get O’Hara to go away. He normally didn’t mind talking to her about his dating life… but this was different. And he needed to deal with it on his own first. “Oh, look. They’re leaving now. Looks like you have to leave, too. How unfortunate. Bye.”

O’Hara furrowed her brows.

“Fine. But we will be talking about this tomorrow!” She pointed a warning finger in his face before walking away, leaving Spencer and Carlton alone in the room.

Carlton didn’t say anything. He was sort of waiting for Spencer to say the first thing. Anything, really. 

“So…” Spencer fidgeted with his wedding ring as he took a step forward. “…That was really hot, right? Like, insanely hot. I’m not just imagining things?”

“Well…?”

That was not how Carlton was hoping to approach the conversation. He was hoping for something, maybe the slightest bit more subtle.

“I mean, come on, Lassie? The hand on my back? The hand on my neck? It’s a miracle I didn’t pass out, because Jesus—”

“Are you going somewhere with all of this, Spencer?” Carlton ran a tired hand down his face, hoping it would hide the flush on his cheeks.

“Hmm. You know where I want to go with this? The kiss. Because, Jesus Christ, that kiss was–”

“Spencer, I was there.” Carlton groaned.

“Okay, Lass, your tongue has been inside my mouth. I think calling me Shawn would be appropriate now,” Spencer— Shawn teased.

“Fine. Shawn.” Carlton sat down on the edge of the loveseat, and Shawn sat beside him, their knees touching. “If you’re going to keep talking about how hot this night was, I don’t have anything super productive to add to the conversation.”

“Well, productively adding that you thought it was hot would be a start,” Shawn suggested playfully. “C’mon. Please?”

Shawn batted his eyelashes. Carlton sighed.

“Fine. Yes. This evening was ‘hot.’” 

“See! Was that so hard?” Shawn reached out his hand for a fist bump, which hardly felt appropriate. He put his hand down after not having had it returned for a few seconds. “C’mon, son.”

“Are you planning on actually saying something?” Carlton sighed again, exasperated and a little wound up. “Or just more nothing.”

“Yeah, just—” Shawn took a breath in. Carlton observed the way his chest rose and fell with his breath. He hadn't really taken a proper second to observe Shawn since they'd both sat down. He looked sort of nervous as well, lacking the signature grin he always had whenever he messed with Carlton. His hands were messing with the buttons of his dress shirt, pushing the button in and out of the cuff. “Give me a second, yeah?”

“Of course,” Carlton agreed, nodding.

They sat in silence for a moment, Carlton allowing Shawn to collect his thoughts while simultaneously stopping his own thoughts from spinning out of control. 

“You kissed me,” Shawn finally stated.

“Yes. I did.” Carlton nodded his head in agreement. “Was that… is that a problem?”

“No,” Shawn rushed to say. “In case you didn't get that from the ‘insanely hot’ part, it was way more than just okay.”

“Yeah.”

“It was cool for you too, right?” Shawn searched his expression briefly. “I mean— you didn't just do that because you felt pressured? Or for the case or… yeah. Because you started kissing me and then I started kissing back, and it's possible I wasn't supposed to kiss back, or– whatever.”

“No… You're fine.” 

They sat in silence for another tense moment. Carlton wished that he were actually saying things with substance, rather than just one-word responses.

“Okay— listen, Lassie. You're hot. Like, really hot. Ridiculously hot. And super sexy.” Shawn paused, and Carlton felt his mouth go dry. You think he’d have gotten sick of the compliment by now, but somehow, he hadn’t. Shawn was lucky Carlton was willing to put up with his lack of material. “But you’re also… funny and shit. Sometimes, if you try. You’ve got a surprising knowledge of perverted movie references. And you’re super talented with a gun. And you care a lot about your job, and about Jules, and…”

Carlton was nodding along, allowing Shawn to take the pauses he needed.

“I mean— you pulled me out of the way earlier. And I know that was for sure you just looking out for your undercover partner, but…” Shawn shrugged, looking down briefly. “I don't know. Maybe it's stupid, probably is. But… It sort of felt amazing to think you cared about me. And I sort of think you're amazing. Whatever.”

Carlton's cheeks were certainly shining a particularly embarrassing shade of pink. He struggled to find something to say, anything to say that wouldn't give the impression that he was totally repulsed by Shawn. He was never the best with words or with expressing his feelings, even on the best of occasions. But with an interaction like this, he had no idea how to articulate himself in a way that wouldn’t leave him sounding idiotic.

“Yeah. You're… you too.”

You too? What kind of an idiot was he?

“What I meant to say,” He hastened to add, clearing his throat, “is that you're amazing as well. Astounding, really. Everything you do is so impressive that sometimes I wonder if you really are a psychic.”

Carlton paused.

“Which you aren't,” He asserted.

“Sureee.”

“And, you drive me so insane, and you stand in the face of practically everything I stand for, and not to mention your defrauding of the SPBD…”

Carlton was getting a little worked up. He had to course correct before it just became a rant about everything that Shawn did that annoyed him.

“But you're passionate about what you do. Just like I am. And you aren't bad with a gun…” Carlton shrugged. “It doesn't hurt that you aren't bad looking, either.”

“Hot,” Shawn corrected.

“Why on earth do you keep trying to get me to admit that you're hot?” Carlton rolled his eyes.

“Because I know it's true,” Shawn replied smugly. “And getting you to confirm it wouldn't be so terrible.”

“Forget this. All of this. You're insufferable,” Carlton complained, crossing his arms.

“Hmm…” Shawn nudged Carlton’s side. “I think you like it.”

“Nope,” Carlton refuted with a notable lack of his usual bite.

“I think you like-like it,” Shawn prodded further, earning a scoff from Carlton.

“Definitely not,” He fibbed. Well, the part about not like-liking it was true, because he wasn't five years old. But, he did like Shawn. A lot. Maybe an embarrassing amount, now that he thought about it.

“Well, that's unfortunate.” Shawn crossed his arms and slumped back against the couch. “I was really hoping to get another kiss tonight. Ya’know, like, a real one. Not just one of those TV-Tropey ‘shut you up and then you accidentally melt into it’ kisses.”

“Well…” Carlton reached over to Shawn tentatively, placing a hand on his jaw, allowing the pad of his thumb to trace the sharp lines of his face and faint remains of stubble. “That can still be arranged.”

“Oh… can it?” Shawn sat up, his stupid signature smirk illuminating his face. “Well, that's, uh… Yeah. That's great. Perfect, actually.”

Carlton looked down at Shawn's lips, who gave a small nonverbal nod to Carlton. That was all the confirmation he needed before he moved forward and pressed his lips against Shawn's.

In a lot of ways, it was similar to the first kiss. It was still just as intoxicating, and still sent sparks running through Carlton's body. 

But it was also much more gentle than the first kiss. The first kiss had been one of desperation and passion. And while there was definitely passion involved now, it was more comfortable than it was desperate. The first time they had kissed, it had been unsure and savoring a sensation neither of them was sure they would ever get to experience again. This was different. 

They hadn’t explicitly stated it out loud, but there was a silent, mutual understanding between the two of them that this was a gesture that intended to imply that this would be the first kiss of any between the two of them in the future. That was, if Shawn would allow it. 

There was a small buzz from somewhere that Carlton couldn’t see, and Shawn pulled his hand away from where he had rested it on Carlton’s shoulder, going to dig around in his pocket.

“Shit–” Shawn pulled out his phone, with the hideous bright green Psych phone case. “Sorry. Gus texted.”

Carlton raised his eyebrows. 

“You had your phone on you?” Carlton pulled his hand away from Shawn’s jaw, exasperated and grateful for the lack of competent safety measures in the home that had allowed them to get away with so much of their recklessness that evening. “What if they had searched you? Jesus, Shawn, you–”

“I’m astounding, yes, I get it,” Shawn joked as he opened the text.

“I was going to say sophomoric,” Carlton muttered. 

“Oh. Oh shit.” Shawn’s eyes widened as he looked to Carlton. “Okay. So… your mic is still hooked up?”

“Are you– Jesus Christ.” Carlton tugged at the knot of his tie, pulling the concealed wire free from it and staring at it with disgust. He brought it closer to him. “I hope you perverts are happy with the show you got.”

He knotted the wire and the small, adjoining box into a messy ball of cords and shoved them into his pocket. 

“Yeah… That’s probably for the best.” Shawn nodded his head. “So… yeah. Gus says he heard the whole thing. Thought it was super gross, but he’s happy for us! I think.”

“You think?”

“Well, he told me that he wasn’t going to give me a ride home,” Shawn admitted. “Which is either him being a dick or him saying that you should give me a ride home. Or that I should give you a ride at home, if you know what I–”

“Shawn.” Carlton gritted his teeth, trying to hide how that comment flustered him. “That’s… no.” 

There were many practical reasons why that was impractical. For one, they both had work the next day. Well, Carlton had work, and Shawn had whatever it was that he and Gus did when they weren’t at the station. Also, his place wasn’t as clean as he’d want it to be were he having company over, and there was no way he was going to be caught dead spending a night at Shawn Spencer’s place.

There was also the fact that this entire evening had exhausted him, emotionally and literally. And if he were to spend the night with Shawn, he’d want to be at the top of his game, just to make sure he could treat him right.

But he didn’t say any of that. He just stayed silent for a moment.

“Well…” Shawn leaned against Carlton’s side, resting his head on his shoulder again. “I haven’t eaten yet. Was sort of expecting they’d have some fancy foods here. Filet Mignon. Or, the 4 cheese Hot Pockets. We were supposed to have dinner, weren’t we?”

“I think their hosting abilities were a little bit halted due to our, uh… display,” Carlton remarked. “We barely made it through drinks before exposing affairs and getting confessions.”

“And swapping spit,” Shawn added helpfully.

As if on cue, his stomach growled. Carlton hadn’t acknowledged his own hunger until that very moment. For food, not… yeah. Whatever.

“There’s this really good Mexican place I like over by the station,” Shawn suggested. “We could go grab a quick meal?”

“Sounds great.” Carlton stood up, holding his hand out to help Shawn up, who ignored it and stood up on his own. 

“Oh my God,” Shawn laughed as he stood up, looking at Carlton’s clothing, and then his own. He pointed at himself, then at Carlton, grinning. “We look like we just came from our own wedding.”

“Hmm.” Carlton held his left hand out, looking at the ring. “We sort of do.”

“Should we get married?” Shawn smiled. “Joking, obviously. I’m not nearly drunk enough to suggest that seriously yet.”

“Yet?” Carlton raised an eyebrow as they walked away from the disgusting velvet couch, Shawn leading the way since he seemed to have memorized the way through the home.

“Oh, they have these crazy fruity pineapple drinks at Sweaty Pablo’s,” Shawn mentioned.

“Sweaty Pablo’s? What sort of– are you just taking me to a bar?” 

“Yup,” Shawn confirmed. “Taking you to a bar, getting you insanely drunk, and then tricking you into getting married. That’s my whole plan, dude. Didn’t you know?”

“No, no, I don’t think I did.” Carlton shook his head. “Where are we supposed to find cool-toned floral arrangements at this time of night, Shawn?”

“Damn it,” Shawn swore, as if his plans had seriously been ruined. “Guess we’ll have to settle for warm tones. Bummer.”

“Settle it is.”

“Oh, by the way, I bet Gus 100 bucks that I’d end up going home with you tonight. That’s why he was so insistent on being in the van for the whole thing,” Shawn added calmly, as if that was nothing. “So I can pay for drinks.”

“You— what?” The idea that all of this had been some sort of premeditated plot from Shawn was both incredibly ridiculous and also made so much sense, knowing Shawn. “Jesus Christ.”

“What?” Shawn shrugged. “It’s a win-win. You’ve got a smoking date tonight, I’ve got a smoking date tonight, and our tab is being covered by the credit card I stole from Gus earlier.”

Carlton tried to find it in him to be mad at the whole situation. He really did. But, for some reason, he couldn’t force himself to believe that the way the evening had ended was anything other than absolutely amazing.

“Yeah,” Carlton finally agreed after a moment of silence. “Win-Win.”