Title: What We Want - posted January 16, 2010
Author: Lacey McBain
Word Count: ~4400
Summary: Of course Carter noticed the boots.
Author Notes: Set after episode 1.5, "August", skip
where Carter sees Jaimie's boots at Dean's place, and realizes they've
been sleeping together.
Written for smallfandomfest
prompt: Carter/Dean, angry sex.
Beta: Much thanks to obscuranb
for listening and laughing in the right places.
What We Want
"We don't know what we want, but we are ready to bite
somebody to get it."
Of course Carter noticed the boots.
Actually, Dean was surprised when Carter didn't
say a word to either of them that day. There was the glance, the
faintest recognition registered and filed away as Dean held his breath
and Jaimie, oblivious, pushed on with the discussion, absently swinging
her boots off the end of the table like a giant fucking flag. Carter
let it go, moved on with the op, and Dean figured that was the end of
it. Between the kidnapping investigation and the reappearance of
Jaimie's boyfriend, there really hadn't been much time for a proper
chewing out, and Dean figured if Carter wanted to blast them on it, he
would've done it already.
So, Dean felt pretty safe tripping
over to Jaimie's apartment after they wrapped. Carter was debriefing
Captain Maynard, then doing whatever it was Carter did after an op.
Disappearing into a bottle of some kind, Dean supposed. Usually they
didn't hear from him until he needed them again. Ty had gone home to
his wife—Dean had dropped him at the door with a shoulder punch and a
stirring of envy.
But then a half hour later, Jaimie had shut
the door in his face with a look that told him everything he needed to
know. Three weeks of uncomplicated fun, rough up-against-the-wall, "fuck
me harder, baby"
sex was done. Finito. Kaput. This time it wasn't him running from
questions about commitment or "why don't you call me?", and yeah,
Jaimie'd been clear from the start she didn't want anything serious,
particularly not with him. Dean had the feeling he was a little too
much like some of the guys she'd left behind in her old life—whatever
it had been.
He'd meant it when he'd said he just wanted to
talk. He wouldn't have turned down a blowjob, or riding her hard and
fast, but honest-to-God watching Ty walk up his suburban driveway and
kiss his normal suburban wife had made something in Dean ache a little,
and if anyone would understand that empty, not quite part of the
regular world feeling, he figured Jaimie would. They were two of a kind.
he should've known she'd take her opening with the button-down
Assistant District Attorney. His conservative suit and matching tie,
his middle-class good looks and good family; Dean got what she saw in
him, got what she wanted, and couldn't fault her for trying, but he
knew she was living a lie. Expunging the records didn’t make her any
less the girl who used to have a habit, or the girl who'd been happy to
handcuff him to the bed and scream herself hoarse.
paying attention as he ambled back down the stairs and out into the
darkness. He was too busy being pissed off for no good reason at
someone who'd done nothing but stick to the terms of their deal—no
Which was why he was now up close and personal
with the concrete wall of Jaimie's building, and the guy holding him
knew what he was doing because Dean was stuck fast with his arms hooked
behind him, and his feet spread too far to be useful.
you want?" he said, twisting his face to the side, but all he got was a
slap to the back of the head. Hard enough to squash his nose into the
concrete, but not hard enough to rattle his brain. Huh.
"You're really an idiot, you know?" Carter said.
repressed the temptation to break Carter's hold, knowing it would
probably end with him looking more like an ass than he already
did—either because he'd be taking down a guy who had a good fifteen
years on him, or … because he'd get taken down by a guy with a good
fifteen years on him.
"You seriously gonna bust my balls for talking to Jaimie after hours?"
"Talking. That what you kids are calling it these days?"
come on, man," Dean said, still talking to the wall, Carter's grip not
wavering an inch. "I was up there, like, five minutes. Give me some
Carter snorted. "She turn you down?"
you, I just wanted to talk, but she was busy," Dean said, and the laugh
that crept out of his throat sounded bitter even to him.
"At least one of you found some sense."
arms were suddenly free, and Carter was walking away even as Dean
turned around. He stared at the back of Carter's leather jacket in
"That's it? You slam me into a wall, lecture me, and walk away?"
Carter reached the black Lexus, and the lights blinked twice as he
clicked the fob. "I'm your boss. It's my job."
that, Carter. If you had your own life, you wouldn't be skulking around
in alleys checking on ours." Dean knew he was pushing it, but he didn't
care. Carter had the door open now, but didn't get in, just leveled a
pissed off stare in Dean's direction. Good, Dean thought, and kept
right on going. "Ty know that you keep tabs on him and his pretty wife?
Maybe you sit outside and watch them have dinner? Maybe a little
dessert?" Dean thought the leer was a good touch, and it did the job.
Carter was back in his face in three steps, a fist clenched in Dean's
shirt, and the muscles in his jaw were tight and angry.
never know when to quit," Carter said, and this close Dean could smell
the scotch on Carter's breath, and hated himself a little for being
right about Carter's after-ops routine.
But Carter was right about him too, and he didn't know when to quit, or
couldn't make himself care enough to bother.
think maybe Jaimie can do better than me? Maybe a nice upstanding
husband; you were awfully quick to cast her as your trophy wife today.
First time I've ever seen you smile, man, when you put your arm around
Maybe he wanted Carter's fist to slam into his face. It
wasn't sex, but at least it was feeling something, and Dean spat out
the blood from a torn lip, and smiled.
"Well, you're the boss."
backed away, rubbing his knuckles, and underneath the anger Dean
thought he looked a little lost. They were all so fucked up. He leaned
against the wall and pushed at his bloody lip with his tongue, watching
Carter's taillights get lost in traffic.
Maybe he'd still have a job tomorrow, maybe not. Right now, he really
must have driven around for a while because Dean was sitting at the
office sipping scotch for a good twenty minutes before Carter rolled in.
"What, you take the long way home?"
figuring on company." Carter threw his jacket on the desk and picked up
the bottle from where he'd left it. "Who said you could drink my
Dean raised his glass. "Oh, is this yours? It's nice.
Smooth." He took a sip and let the liquid sit on the back of his
tongue. "I never figured you for the good stuff, Carter. Always thought
you'd be a Jack man myself."
Carter poured himself a drink. He
looked at Dean, picked up the bottle and joined him on the couch,
topping up Dean's glass as he sat down. "It was a gift."
Dean's eyes widened. "Seriously? What's the occasion?"
swallowed a mouthful of scotch, and leaned back into the couch. "Did
you think I wouldn't find out, or did you just think I wouldn't care?"
Dean shook his head. "You're like a fucking pitbull with a perp's leg.
Can't you let anything go?"
a long moment, Dean thought about tossing back the whole glass and
getting the hell out before this ended in the two of them trying to
beat the crap out of each other, but it seemed like a waste of good
"I'm responsible for—"
"Jaimie's a grown-up. Nobody's getting taken advantage of. It's two
"Yeah, I'm sure that's what it is."
swallowed what he'd been about to say along with a mouthful of scotch.
Of course Carter wouldn't believe Jaimie had been as hot for it as he
had, that it had been her idea in the first place. They'd both known it
was a bad idea, but that didn't stop them from doing it. Or from doing
it again. And again.
"You know the rules, Dean. Personal attachments make you a liability."
the same old song with Carter, and Dean was sick of it. The job
demanded everything, and Carter somehow managed to expect even more.
Dean slammed his glass on the table and turned to look at his boss.
really want to go there, Carter? Really? Okay, what about Ty? Melissa?
We already know that's a liability, yet he's still here."
"For the time-being, but maybe not for that long."
was news to Dean. Ty hadn't said anything to him about wanting out,
wanting a change, and they'd been working together a long time. It
pissed him off that Carter knew and he didn't, but then again,
everything Carter said tonight made him want to hit him and not stop.
Carter didn't answer the question, just kept on talking as if Dean
hadn’t said a word.
"Ty's got a good thing. Can't blame him for not wanting to risk it, but
for now, he's hanging in, making it work."
can't put him under and expect him to get with a woman if that's what
the job takes; he won't do it." Dean knew if he was making the
decisions, Ty would've been gone as soon as he'd married Melissa. "All
he wants these days is a clean bust. No risk, no danger. You put him
back in uniform, he'd probably be happy."
"You think so?" Carter asked, swirling the liquid in his glass.
Dean said truthfully. "It's what Melissa wants. Ty's always liked the
game, but she's got his balls in a vice. What's he gonna do?"
Carter said, thoughtful, and Dean thought this was the closest they'd
had to a real conversation in a long time—more evidence that their
working relationship was truly spectacularly screwed.
Carter poured Dean another finger of scotch, pushed the glass towards
him with the edge of the bottle. "No point wasting it."
hear of saving something for a rainy day?" Dean asked, but he took the
drink that was offered. They didn't get a lot of rainy days in their
business; happy futures were for other people. They had late nights and
pimps and arms dealers and coke heads. Every day was another chance to
get shot or beat up or worse, and sometimes they didn't make a tiny bit
of difference, but Dean still wouldn't want any other job. Whatever the
He took a breath, and dived in again. "Look, I know you
worry about us," and he punched Carter in the shoulder when he rolled
his eyes at him. "You do, and I get that's why you're pretty much an
asshole, but you really think me and Jaimie screwing around is going to
mess us up?"
"Yeah, I do."
"Come on, man, get real. If
anything, it's going to make me pay more attention to what happens to
her." Dean didn't want to admit it, but he already knew what three
perfumes she wore, the days when she washed her hair or didn't by the
scent of her shampoo, how she liked her coffee. He told himself it was
being a good operator, noticing the details, but it had happened
without him even having to think, and that wasn't the job at all.
that's a problem." Blue eyes were looking straight through Dean, and he
leaned back and swiped a hand over his mouth. Carter was fucking
uncanny about reading them all, always had been.
"Why's that a
problem?" Dean wasn't sure he'd ever understand where Carter was coming
from. It was like he'd shut off a part of himself and there was no way
he was letting anyone in again. "It's part of the job to care about
what happens to the team, or have you forgotten that?"
Carter swallowed, but didn't look away. "The job comes first."
Dean took a drink, and he fucking didn't care if he sounded petulant.
"If it were Ty, you wouldn't be acting this way."
you were boning Ty, I damn well would. In fact, it'd probably be easier
if you were fucking Ty. Him, I know would dump you on your sorry ass if
you stepped out of line."
Dean laughed because it was too
goddamn funny not to. Carter obviously thought Jaimie was the one who
needed protecting here. Like her second-chance virtue was worth
something in their jaded world. Some day he was truly going to have to
hack Carter's service record and psych evals. It was bound to be
"I hate to fuck with your idea that
Jaimie's some sort of innocent, but she's the one made the invitation,
and she's the one who cut me loose, Carter, not the other way around.
Boyfriend's back, and she's happy to pretend nothing ever happened.
Harmless fun. What's a few orgasms between friends?" Dean wasn't used
to being the one getting used in that kind of relationship, but he
supposed it was karma after all the women he'd promised to call and
"You don't have friends."
"Neither do you. Guess I learned from the best." He finished his drink
and set the glass on the table. "Thanks for the drink. It's been …
Carter stared at him like he was missing the point,
and Dean was getting tired of all the bullshit. If he didn’t head out
soon, he was going to end up saying or doing something really stupid.
Dean, you’re not listening. Jaimie can’t be a friend, certainly not one
with benefits. She's a cop, just like you, and I've got to know the two
of you can do the job without letting anything get in the way."
looked doubtful, and Dean felt anger welling up like his broken lip and
bruised ego. It was fine when he'd thought Carter was being protective
of Jaimie—stupid and ass-backwards, but fine, because at heart Carter
should've been somebody's dad instead of a police lieutenant, and he
was goddamn awful at admitting anyone mattered. But this was something
different. Carter's eyes said he didn't trust him on this. Not to keep
it in his pants, or do the job, or be professional, and that was a
completely different thing because as much as Dean might be a screw-up
in relationships that didn’t involve guns, he was a fucking great
undercover cop and he knew it, and Carter damn well knew it too.
shook his head and turned toward the exit. “Fuck you, Carter.” He got
halfway there, then strode back. Carter met him where the single light
faded into shadows, and for a moment they stared at each other,
breathing hard, and Dean wondered who was going to throw the first
punch. Maybe it was time.
He looked Carter in the eye, and laid
it out for him. “You know what? You’re wrong. Dead wrong. You think
this works because we’re outside the department, because we’re looking
at the law and only the law, no ties to anyone. But that’s crap. The
only reason this works is because we’ve got ties. Maybe not to
the department, but to each other. We trust each other. If I didn’t
care about Ty and Jaimie and even you, you bastard—”
smiled, the same kind of smile he used on drug cartels and murderers
he’d just busted. “You think that’s enough? You think if we hug it out,
we’re better cops? By that logic, we should all be getting it on for
the greater good.”
Dean shook his head in disbelief. “Your head is a scary place.”
leaned forward, and Dean willed himself not to back away because Carter
never would. “Yeah, maybe that's what we should do. Call it
team-building or trust exercises, or whatever the hell the psych guys
are labelling it these days. A good fuck might make you listen up when
Ty tells you something's not going to work, or when I tell you to keep
your head in the game. Would that help? If we were fucking, would you
care that you're risking your life when you act like a cowboy out
“Is that what you want?” Dean asked, and he was already
getting hard thinking about the answer. Carter was angry, not
for-the-job angry, but deep-down pissed off and ready to come out
swinging, and Dean felt the anticipation of a fight all the way down to
“You knew the rules coming in. You don’t want to follow them, you can
a fucking hypocrite.” They were almost the same height, and Dean didn’t
give a damn about personal space at the moment because Carter could
piss him off like nobody’s business. “You’ve got nobody, so you think
we should all suffer right along with you. When’s the last time you got
laid, Carter, huh?” Dean put a hand on Carter’s arm, not surprised when
he shook it off and took a step back. “When’s the last time you let
somebody who wasn’t trying to kill you or con you get this close?” Dean
took another step, and Carter matched it like they were doing some kind
of dance. “Maybe you should worry less about my sex life and more about
Carter looked away, just for a second, and Dean
pushed closer, lowering his voice to something dark and dirty. “You’re
so damn jealous you can’t even see straight. It all too much for you,
sitting here in the dark and thinking about me and Jaimie doing it? You
want it to be you?”
“Don’t push me,” Carter said, his voice
strained, muscles tight, and through the tension Dean could see the guy
who always had his back, who’d protect his ass to the fullest extent of
the law, and then some, because Carter cared about him, all of them,
probably more than he cared about himself most days. It was like a
revelation, and Dean couldn’t believe he’d never realized how Carter
tried to keep them at a distance because he was so damn afraid of
getting hurt again. It was there in his eyes, in the very fact he was
retreating when Dean had never known him to back down from anything.
stubborn son of a bitch,” Dean said, and this time when he reached for
Carter’s arm, he anticipated the shift, and held on, locked his other
hand on Carter’s bicep.
Dean expected the shove, two-handed and
hard, sending him three steps backwards into the nearest wall, but he
hung on, dragging Carter with him, and it was no effort at all to hook
an arm around Carter’s neck, a leg around his calf, and hold him there,
angry and caught.
“You don’t want to do this,” Carter murmured,
low in his throat, and Dean’s body, never too fussy about who was
pressed up against him in the dark, immediately disagreed. Apparently
he wanted this more than he’d thought; he’d just always figured Carter
was completely out of bounds, and, well … straight.
should stop telling me who I can sleep with.” Dean shifted his weight,
pulling Carter with him, a thigh moving between his legs, and Dean
wasn’t the only one who was hard. That close, in the half-dark, with
Carter’s uneven breaths on his face and silent need in his eyes, it
felt like permission. “Clearly, you don’t know what the hell you’re
“Shut up,” Dean said, and kissed
him hard, hard enough to convey how absolutely necessary this was, and
Carter didn’t so much kiss back as bite him, drawing blood from his
split lip, then soothing it lightly with tongue before opening up and
kissing him properly, wide lips and warmth, wet and needy, and Dean
felt every inch of Carter’s bigger frame trapping him against the wall,
and it was all good.
Holding Carter wasn’t necessary anymore.
Dean was damn sure he wasn’t going to run, not with one hand running
over his abs to twist his nipple, make him arch away from the wall with
nowhere to go but closer into Carter, and the other hand working open
Dean’s pants with desperate efficiency. He felt almost dizzy, Carter’s
tongue fucking his mouth, expert and experienced, and maybe it had been
a long time, but that hadn’t affected Carter’s ability to focus or do
the job, and right now Dean figured he was going to embarrass himself
like a horny teenager in under five minutes if Carter didn’t stop doing
that thing with his tongue.
Dean wasn’t the best undercover
operative in L.A. for nothing, and while he tilted his head to give
Carter better access to his neck—Jesus Christ, he was going to have
stubble burn and hickeys to explain tomorrow—Dean undid Carter’s pants
and shoved them down, briefs and all, not caring they hindered Carter’s
movements or looked ridiculous, just wanting to feel that heavy flesh
in his hand. Carter was hard and leaking, and gasped when Dean stroked
him tentatively, then again, and soon it was a race to get their
clothes out of the way, stumbling, still kissing or biting, or whatever
the hell they were doing with their mouths that felt so fucking good,
back to the couch. There was a momentary struggle to determine who came
out on top, but Dean couldn’t honestly say he cared at this point, and
let Carter roll him on his back, straddling him with their cocks lined
up, slick and lovely, Dean’s hand helping keep them tight, while Carter
ground their hips together, finding a rhythm that made Dean arch and
Carter swear, an eloquent stream of expletives peppered with Dean’s
name, and he laughed because it was weird and goddamn sexy at the same
time. He shut Carter up with a bite to his shoulder, a line of kisses
up his throat, then there was nothing except heat and the slide of
flesh, grunting and rutting against one another until first Dean, then
Carter, came, sticky and satisfied, still reeling from the shock.
was breathing hard. He could feel Carter’s shaky breaths against his
chest, their groins warm and wet with mingled cum, and he tentatively
ran a hand through Carter’s hair, ridiculously thick for a guy pushing
fifty, and maybe this was the stupidest career move he’d ever made, but
maybe it wasn’t.
It took a minute for Dean to realize Carter was
mumbling into his chest, and Dean rolled his eyes and resisted the urge
to slap his boss senseless because this was exactly the reason none of
them knew what the hell was going on in Carter’s brain. He didn’t tell
them anything important that they couldn’t figure out on their own, and
Dean opted for biting Carter’s ear—gently—until he lifted his head and
looked him in the eye before dropping back to Dean’s chest, muttering,
“We’re so well and truly fucked,” and Dean knew Carter didn’t mean it
in the good way.
He knew laughing wasn’t the appropriate
response, but he couldn’t make himself stop, and with his legs and arms
wrapped around Carter, there really wasn’t anywhere for him to go that
didn’t involve leveraging both of them onto a cold, hardwood floor. So
Carter propped himself on one elbow and said, “Why the fuck are you
laughing?” and Dean reached up and kissed him, soft this time and deep,
so maybe Carter would get that being close didn’t automatically mean
either of them was going to get hurt or need to start looking for a new
They might have slept after that. Dean lost track of time
until dawn was creeping across the floor and his back was aching from
the stiff leather couch and 200 pounds of Carter still mostly draped
“Hey, sun’s coming up,” Dean murmured and Carter
nodded against his sternum and rolled off, stretched and headed for the
bathroom. He turned around once, gave a look that was halfway between
an order and an invitation, and Dean grinned and scrambled off the
couch saying, “yes, sir, coming sir,” until Carter bit his lip again
and shut him up. Dean didn’t have a clue what this was or what it could
be, but it was part of why this unit worked, and he wasn’t stupid
enough to question it when Carter was murmuring filthy promises in his
ear under the pounding water.
They got dressed and Dean started
cleaning up the mess from last night, picking up clothes and glasses
while Carter did something that involved shuffling papers and tapping
occasionally at the computer keyboard. He was humming—a halting and
off-key rendition of something Dean couldn’t place, but suspected was
from an era of music he didn’t listen to. Dean had to bite his tortured
lip to keep from grinning and making a snide comment that would either
end in getting his jaw cracked or more sex. At this point, he figured
the punch was more likely, and there was no way he was going to be
responsible for screwing up Carter’s decent mood. It was such a rare
Dean picked up the almost empty bottle of scotch, and finally thought
to ask, “What was the occasion?”
Carter looked up, his face more open than Dean had ever seen it. “It
was my birthday.”
It figured, Dean thought, and he shook his head at Carter, who shrugged
it off and said, “It was better than most years.”
blinded him with a stupid grin, quick and honest enough to make Carter
laugh. “Okay, okay, get the hell out of here,” he said, but Dean merely
planted himself in front of the desk, full of bravado and hope.
Yeah, things were going to be just fine.
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