Disclaimer: I own nothing. (Haha that's so right!)

This is my first Psych fic and since I am confident I am not capable of writing clever Shawn/Gus dialogue I choose to put Carlton into a situation in which he won't be around them - at least for awhile, my opinion may change - no promises there. This fic is rated M for a reason so if you don't like reading explicit (but hopefully tasteful) sex-scenes and / or major Whumpage of the main character, I'd advise you not to read on.

I have never written Whumpage (or any fighting scene for that matter) before so I sincerely hope I'll do the genre justice. This chapter only leads into it, there will be a lot more in future chapters. I have no experience in writing Lassiter (apart from some RP) so I do hope he won't come across as OOC. If he does, please let me know!

There probably won't be any romance. I'd be too jealous, I just don't like reading about (or seeing) Carlton with other women and I'm quite certain no one is interested in reading a story about him and me haha!

Also, a warning: I don't have a fully worked out idea of where this is going exactly yet, just bits and pieces that still have to be ironed out. Feedback is very welcome, as well as reviews - I like reviews, they keep the muse inspired. :)

Carlton opened the front door of his house and walked in after a long day at work. He was craving for a hot shower. Not only did the steamy water clean him physically, it was also his favourite way to give himself back some energy after a day such as today.

Not that it had been a trying day, on the contrary. Most of the hours he had spent sitting behind his desk, doing paperwork and studying evidence of the cases he was working on. The last couple of hours he went over these cases with O'Hara and Sullivan, the new detective who would cover for him the following week. It was the lack of fieldwork that was straining, he needed an outlet or else his energy ran flat. The lunch break he spent at the shooting range had picked him up a little though not enough to last the entire day.

He entered the living room and put his keys on the kitchen table before opening the fridge. It was nine-thirty and he'd already had dinner at the police department. He wasn't crazy about take out food but with the irregular life he was leading he didn't have much of a choice. Not that he had an elite taste in food, certainly not, but a healthy home cooked meal went a long way. His piercing blue eyes gazed at the contents of the cold white box, searching for the beverage he had put his mind on. A pleased muscle jerked up the corner of his mouth and his hand closed around the bottle of Guinness. This bottled version may not be as good as the delight from the tap, but it certainly tasted better than most other beers - in his opinion.

On his way to the couch, Carlton switched on his Hi-Fi set and the soothing sound of The Voice enlightened the room.

With a tired sigh, the six feet tall man sat down and took a sip of his beer. His eye fell on the fishing equipment tidily packed in the corner of the room. Last week he had booked a fishing trip that would start tomorrow because Chief Vick had ordered him to take some time off. Lately he had been more tensed than usual and it had caused a lot of 'situations' both at the police department as well as in the field. She had given him the choice between taking a vacation or being suspended for over-excessive use of armoury and he had reluctantly agreed to the leisure.

Sipping at his beer, he listened to the music. From Here to Eternity never failed to stir his emotions. He should get up and skip the rest of the song but he lacked the energy to do it. Instead, he felt himself fall into an irreversible state of self-pity.

Now I'm alone,

With only a memory,

My empty arms,

Will never know why.

Angry, for allowing himself to fall victim to his feelings, Carlton put the beer on the table in front of him and got up. It was time to hit the shower and then he would go to bed. This day had dragged on long enough.

Still hearing the music coming from the living room, Carlton switched on the tap; the noise of water falling on the cubicle floor drowning the haunting words. With a grim expression on his high-cheekbone face he took off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. The movement was caught by the mirror. Carlton glanced at his image. He knew he was considered to be an attractive man, well-built and agile, so it bothered him that he was unable to hold the attention of any woman remotely interesting. It wasn't that he was looking for a meaningful relationship – after Victoria he knew his career would always be in the way – but there were times when he longed for some tenderness or even a knowing smile from someone who loved him unconditionally. There was an emptiness in the place that used to house his foolish heart, frightened to be rejected again yet unable to kill the hope for the love of a woman who accepted him for who he was; a straight-forward, rational, strategic loner who secretly wanted nothing more than to be loved.

He removed his pants and neatly hung his clothes over the chair in the corner before stepping in the shower.

Closing his eyes, he enjoyed the hot water crashing down on his naked body. He reached for the shampoo, washing both his hair as well as his torso with it. His long fingers thoroughly massaged the gel into his curly chest-hair, scrubbing his sensitive nipples erect. The soap slowly dripped down his athletic body, lingering on his muscled thighs before the white foam found its way down his long legs. As he washed away the shampoo, Sinatra's lyrics popped up in his head again. This endless desire ...

"Oh, Victoria!" he thought with an aching that came from deep inside. He didn't love her any longer but the wound she created had never properly healed. He felt how the ache turned into a longing to be close to someone – anyone. There was only one way to keep himself from ending up a pathetic mess and that was to take back control of his emotions – and to do that he first had to take matters into his own hand.

Carlton seized his elegant member, already hardened by the prospect of the orgasm ahead. Gently he stroke his shaft, softly brushing the tip of the pinkish head with his experienced thumb. An involuntary moan escaped his lips. He felt his muscled bottle of lust grow to its full size, eager to finish what Carlton had started.

He flipped through the images stored in his mind and found one that pleased him. A brown-haired girl sitting on her knees, wearing a short skirt and a revealing top, bending towards a camp-fire to blow at the flames. It had been years since he had seen the photograph in a magazine and it had caused him a lot of joy ever since. Imagining himself in between the girl and the fire, her rosy lips closed around his arousal, his strokes became more rushed. He searched the support of the tiled wall as his breath grew shorter and his moans more regular. He could almost feel her velvet tongue licking up and down his rock-hard erection as if it were a delicious lollipop. Her hot mouth sucking his head ...

With a hard groan Carlton's mind went blank. All that existed was the urge to come. He vigorously rubbed himself until he felt the release was near. With one last stroke his pride erupted and the warm liquid leaked in his hand before the hot water washed it away. There were a couple of more jerks before he rested against the shower wall. He felt content.


A sound.

Carlton opened his eyes and simultaneously reached for the gun underneath his pillow. He registered two men in his bedroom; one at the foot of his bed and one at his left. Both were dressed in black and had covered their faces with masks. They were holding ropes. The one closest to Carlton must have noticed his movement for he quickly transformed his hand into a fist. Carlton knew the impact would be painful so he braced himself, confidently closing his fingers around his Glock .20.

The granitic fist hit him mercilessly on the nose. He could hear the cartilage shatter as he tried not to cringe while razor-sharp pain travelled through him. Only for a short moment he forgot about his gun and that single mistake cost him his freedom.

"Teach him!" It was the one at the foot speaking and he sounded angry. The one who had broken Carlton's nose didn't waste any time. Before he could recollect himself and pull the gun out, his face had another encounter with the fist. He screamed out in pain, instinctively curling up to soothe his face, losing the grip on his gun in the process. Blood was gushing down his nostrils. What the hell is happening! Get your act together, Carlton! He pushed away the deep pit that had started to grow in his stomach and yelled out to his attackers, "You are assaulting a Detective of the Santa Barbara .." Strong fingers took hold of his hair and slammed his head to the bedpost with such force, Carlton lost track of what he was trying to say. The Fistman chuckled, "No one cares, dude." Through his blurry vision, Carlton could make out the figure of a muscled man, cockily crossing his arms in front of his impressive chest. Carlton tried again. "You are under arrest ..."

Two hands snatched his legs and pulled him to the floor in one draw as if he were a worthless rag doll. He quickly protected his head with his arms to brace himself for the fall and to limit the amount of head injury he would endure so he would have a clear mind when he would be able to take back control of the situation. With a hard smack he hit the floor on his back. A loud moan escaped him. Don't show them you're in pain, you fool! But that wasn't easy. As soon as he was down, an iron boot kicked him in the stomach and as soon as he shrank another boot kicked him in the back. Off and on it went like a game and he was the ball to keep it going.

"You .. will regret this!" Carlton grunted in between kicks. He could hardly breathe and he was certain he had just felt one of his ribs snatch in two. There was no answer, just laughter. He had no clue of the time that had passed, it could be minutes yet it felt more like hours. Suddenly he was hauled up and thrown back on his bed.

This was the chance he had been hoping to get. Only inches away his gun was still laying underneath his pillow, unexposed to the eye of his attackers. Adrenaline pumped through him as he reached for his escape and the sweetest relieve took hold of him when his fingers closed around his beloved weapon. In a fluent movement he turned, aiming the Glock at the Fistman but as soon as he had a clear aim he realised the two men had been expecting him to get his hopes up and had probably waited for him to grab his gun.

This realisation confused him but he didn't let it throw him off.

"Freeze!" A moment passed by when he frowned at the men in front of him. Something was off, he just didn't know what. They looked right back at him as if they were waiting for something to happen. Well, he wasn't going to wait with them, that was for sure. "Hands up where I can see them!" The men exchanged a look before raising their hands.

He never noticed the third man. He probably had been standing in the shadows all along. The sudden movement coming from his right distracted him and that was all it took for the third man to swing a club to his head and knocking him out.