Leaving the Past Behind
Author: Lianne Burwell
Rating: PG-13 B/I, M/K
Archive: to AllSlash, ArchiveX and my page. Anyone else, ask first
Series/Sequel: Maybe. Maybe not.
Spoilers: Undercover
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. I'm just having fun with them. No profit is being made.
When Walker and Trivette left, the adrenaline burst faded and Carlos started worrying. Maybe he should have accepted their offer to pull him out. He'd been undercover for a very long time. Hell, he knew better. By every definition in the book, he'd been under *too* long. But he was so *close*. Like he'd told Walker, just a little longer and he'd be able to identify El Vaquero, head of the drug-smuggling operation that he'd worked so hard to expose. Just a little longer. He could stand it for just a little longer.
A little longer of pretending to be slime. A little longer of turning a blind eye while drugs were sold and people disappeared. He'd done his best to ignore that, but it was going to be harder after what he'd seen earlier.
And a little longer of letting Johnny Primo feel him up under the pretense of welcoming hugs and brotherly pats on the head, the back, the butt. Every time he met with the man, he came away feeling like he'd been rolling in manure.
Carlos glanced over at the fridge and the beer he knew was in there. The urge to get blind drunk was powerful -- and he probably would have if Walker hadn't come by before he'd opened the bottle he'd pulled out as soon as he got home -- but he knew he didn't dare. If Johnny decided to stop by, like he had in the past, or call, Carlos couldn't afford to be drunk, even if it would help him forget. Instead, he grabbed a bottle of juice and headed to the bathroom for a long hot shower.
* * * * * * * * * *
The shower helped. Not a lot, but it did help. Carlos dried off and pulled on a pair of old sweatpants and a t-shirt, then headed back to the main part of the loft. He glanced at the kitchenette, but rejected the thought of food. He should eat, but his stomach rebelled at the thought. While he didn't feel nearly as dirty as before, every time he closed his eyes he could still see Johnny hitting that kid, Johnny pulling his gun, Johnny shooting the kid dead in his office at the club.
Carlos winced. He wanted to go back to his normal life fast, but even more, he wanted to bring down El Vaquero. He wanted to stop at least one of the drug pipelines coming into Dallas. Maybe it wouldn't make much of a difference in the long run, but it would make a difference to *him*.
The sound of the freight elevator pulled him out of his daze and he grabbed for his gun, praying that it wasn't Johnny. The last thing he wanted was to fend off Primo while making it seem like he didn't notice what the man was up to. That speech about trust made him wonder if Johnny was suspicious of him, and he didn't really want to have to let the man have his way just to keep him happy.
Soon. It would be over soon.
Carlos flattened himself against the wall in the same place he'd stood earlier, waiting for the elevator. That time it had been Walker and Trivette, looking for a report. Maybe they'd forgotten something. The elevator gate opened, and a single figure stepped through. Carlos lowered his gun with a relieved sigh. It wasn't Walker or Trivette. This person was blond and blue-eyed, with a wiry build; nothing like either ranger *or* Johnny. This was better. It was Trent.
"Isn't it a little late for you to be out, little boy?" he asked in a deliberately light tone.
Trent turned and flashed him that beautiful lop-sided grin. Carlos could feel himself relaxing already.
Sometimes he thought that Trent was the only thing keeping him sane through this operation. His friend had come by frequently, dragging him out for meals, drives and just general 'get away from the stress' outings.
Then Trent's expression turned serious as he got a good look at Carlos. "Are you alright?" he asked, obviously worried. Carlos waved him off.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little... wound up." He closed the elevator gate and locked it. He didn't want any more interruptions. "Want a drink? There's beer and pop and juice," he said.
Trent gave him a penetrating look. "What are you drinking?" he asked.
Carlos snorted. "Orange juice," he assured his friend. "Anything heavier wouldn't be a good thing right now."
"Sounds good to me."
Carlos waved towards the fridge. "You know where I keep the glasses," he said before heading towards the table.
After a moment, Trent joined him, handing over a fresh glass of juice. "So how did it go tonight." Carlos shrugged. "Not bad. Schmoozed with the girls, schmoozed with the boss, watched him kill a kid." He drained the glass in one long swallow.
Trent winced. "Sorry," he said.
"Hey, not your fault. Just one more thing to nail Primo with when he goes to trial."
"How do you feel?"
Carlos looked away, feeling the anger that had been building all night start to surface, overpowering the guilt and -- yes -- fear. "How the hell do you *think* I feel?" he demanded, getting to his feet and starting to pace. "I'm a cop! And I just sat there and watched him shoot some poor strung-out, terrified kid. I'm supposed to stop that sort of thing from happening, not be a part of it!"
He paused, thought about it for the moment, then hurled his empty glass at the wall. It made a satisfying sound as it smashed against the brick, and he watched the fragments twinkle in the light as they fell to the ground.
"Feel better?"
As quickly as the rage and flared, it died away. He sighed. "Not really," he said. "Maybe once Primo and El Vaquero and all their people are behind bars. Until then... I get by, one day at a time."
He paused, and leaned against one of the posts that held up the roof over his head. "I just feel so damned... tired."
After a moment, an arm came around his shoulders. "I know you do," Trent said softly. "And they will go to jail. You and Walker and Jimmy, you'll make sure of that. But for now, why don't you get some sleep."
Carlos let Trent steer him towards the bed in the corner of the loft. Trent pulled back the covers and settled him down, tucking him in like he was one of Trent's younger siblings. Like his older brother Hector used to do before he got killed.
In the background, he could hear the tinkling sound as Trent cleaned up the broken glass, and running water as he washed his own glass. Carlos wanted to tell him that he didn't have to do that, but he couldn't find the energy.
After a few minutes, the lights turned off, except for the soft glow from the bathroom. Silently, he thanked Trent for leaving it on. While he'd never admit it out loud, he didn't want to be in the dark that night. Demons lived in the dark. Demons with guns and drugs and lawyers.
The bed dipped, and a strong hand combed through his hair. He'd let it grow longer for this case. He'd have to get it cut before going back to regular duty, but right now he liked the feel of long fingers running through it.
"It's going to be alright, Carlos," Trent whispered. No patronizing 'Carlitos' from this man.
Then a gentle kiss brushed against his cheekbone, and his eyes flew open in surprise. He turned to look at Trent, but the motion somehow managed to bring their lips into contact. They both froze in surprise.
Instinct is a wonderful thing. It made you duck at just the right moment. It made you run when staying was a bad idea. But now instinct made Carlos relax. His eyes drifted shut, and he parted his lips with a sigh.
For a moment there was nothing. Then the light pressure increased, and the moistness of Trent's tongue slipped past his lips, probing gently. It danced around his mouth, sliding along his teeth and twining with his own tongue. He tasted of orange juice, and underneath Carlos could taste the chili from the other man's dinner.
He moaned softly into Trent's mouth and relaxed further, slipping gently into sleep. The last thing he remembered was Trent pulling away and a callused hand stroking his cheek. Then nothing, not even dreams.
* * * * * * * * * *
The next morning, he woke refreshed and feeling better than he expected. He and Trent went driving at lunchtime, and while neither of them said anything about the kiss, they were very aware of it hovering around them. Carlos was a little surprised that he wasn't upset by the kiss. He'd been fending Johnny Primo off for months now, but this was... Different. This was Trent.
Carlos wasn't exactly sure what to think. The good Catholic in him was horrified at what he had done, and even more horrified by the fact that he wanted to do it again. However he hadn't *been* a good Catholic since his brother had died, and it wasn't like this was just any man, it was Trent. His brother in all but blood growing up. His friend and more since they'd been reunited as adults. He'd missed Trent during those years when his friend had been in the army. And now that he was back, Carlos couldn't think of anyone he trusted more. That he *loved* more. And now that love had developed a physical element to it, and he found himself wondering what it might be like to do more than just kiss.
But he wasn't sure he was ready to do anything like that, so he stayed silent, slipping instead into their usual banter. Trent had looked at him closely a few times, as if to see if he were upset, then went along with it.
A run in with a bunch of thugs harassing a homeless man had interrupted the mood though. While he hated to admit it, Carlos hadn't done so well against them. Trent started on him about training in martial arts, and after a quick demonstration of just how crappy his police academy-trained skills were, Carlos agreed.
Trent was a good teacher, too. He could see why his friend's school did good business. In almost no time he had Carlos punching and kicking and blocking punches and kicks from an attacker like... well, not quite a pro. Okay, against a trained fighter he'd still end up dog meat, but against a common thug he'd hold his own. Hell, Trent even said he showed promise. Before he knew it, he was setting up a regular date for private lessons.
Finally, Trent drove him back with him to the loft for his meeting with Walker and Trivette. He pulled the Viper in between Walker's truck and Trent's car, which he'd left at the loft, and turned the engine off.
"Carlos..."
Carlos paused in the act of opening the car door. "Yeah?" he replied, settling back down into the driver's seat.
"About last night."
Carlos grinned. "I never did thank you," he said.
"For what?" Trent actually sounded puzzled.
"For being there. For listening. For putting me to bed and cleaning up that mess for me."
"That's what friends are for."
Carlos glanced at Trent, then shoved the good Catholic voice into a tiny box in the back of his mind. "And thank you for the rest," he said softly.
Trent looked back at him, his eyes starting to twinkle. "Trust me," he said. "It was my pleasure."
Carlos grinned. "And mine," he replied. Then, before he could yell at himself that they were basically out in public, he leaned over and kissed Trent. It started out chaste, but quickly caught fire. Fully awake this time, he catalogued the differences. He'd kissed a lot of girls in his time, but this was the first man.
The texture was different; firmer, less yielding. The smell was different too. Plus, Carlos had never kissed anyone with beard stubble before. It felt... interesting.
When he pulled away, they were both breathing heavily. Slightly dazed blue eyes looked back at him, and after a moment they were both grinning.
"Well," Carlos finally said.
"Yeah."
"Walker's waiting."
"Yep."
"I should go."
"Probably."
"We'll have to do this again."
"Definitely."
Carlos's grin faded slightly. "I've never done anything like this before," he admitted quietly.
Trent reached over and caressed his cheek. "That's alright. We can take all the time you need."
Carlos twisted his head to kiss Trent's palm, and was pleased with the other man gave a small gasp. "I doubt it will take *that* much time," he said, then climbed out of the car. He watched as Trent headed for his own car, climbed in and drove away. Once he was out of sight, Carlos turned and headed into the building, whistling to himself. He was a little surprised at himself, but after spending the day with Trent, he was no longer worrying about whether or not they should get involved. They already were. The only thing they didn't share was a bed.
Still, Trent was right. It wasn't like they didn't have time. They were both young. If something *did* happen, it didn't have to happen *now*.
How wrong he was.
PART TWO
A little more than a week later, he was finally starting to feel human again. El Vaquero's organization had been taken down, and Johnny Primo was dead. He'd finally found out that Johnny *was* El Vaquero, though he wished it had been easier.
After setting up a large buy, ten times larger than any so far, supposedly for a buyer whose supplier had been busted, Johnny had gotten suspicious and had his prints run, using the glass he'd been drinking from. That had told him that Carlos Martinez, go-between was really Carlos Sandoval, police detective.
Johnny'd sent two of his goons to pick him up, and Carlos had found himself in a room lined with plastic, having the crap beaten out of him.
He'd managed to get away, but on the second floor of a building, with two bullets in his shoulder and death between him and the exit, he'd taken the only way out left to him.
He'd dived through a glass window, landing on his back on a car below.
He'd come to fast enough to drag himself away before Juan and Paco had arrived to collect his carcass, but if it weren't for Charlie, the homeless guy he and Trent had saved before, he would have been dead.
Charlie had hid him in a warehouse that a homeless community had taken over for shelter, then he'd gone to find Trent.
He didn't remember any of it, but he'd been told that Trent had arrived just in time to keep him from being shot by Johnny, and that Walker had arrived just in time to save Trent. Walker had shot Johnny Primo, killing him and El Vaquero with one shot.
That much he had learned while he was being beaten up, that Johnny Primo was really El Vaquero, and more importantly that Johnny Primo was the gunman who'd killed his brother, Hector, all those years ago.
And most important of all, Walker had found out from Johnny's cohorts that Hector had been killed, not as part of a drug buy gone bad but as an example. Hector had wanted out, had wanted to get clean, and Johnny couldn't let that happen. It would give other people ideas. So he'd killed Hector.
Carlos glanced back at the cemetery as Trent drove away. It was the first time he'd come to see Hector's grave since his brother had been buried, nearly twenty years ago. He'd needed to come, to say he was sorry for having doubted his brother for so long.
In a way, he felt lighter now. Hector's death had always weighed heavily on him. Now that weight was gone. And with the Vaquero organization in tatters, he could finally go back to being Carlos Sandoval, cop.
By the time Trent pulled into a parking spot at Carlos's building, he was smiling again. Trent stopped the car and glanced over at him.
"You want to come up?" Carlos asked, tilting his head towards the entrance. Trent nodded, and climbed out of the car.
Riding up in the elevator, Carlos felt a thrum of anticipation. He'd decided that this was the day it would happen. Waking up in the hospital, he'd decided that while they might be young, life was too uncertain. He'd almost died. He didn't want to waste any more time.
He wanted Trent.
Since then, he'd done a lot of arguing with his subconscious. The part of him that had been raised Catholic was still objecting, but he'd come to terms with his decision. He wanted Trent. Trent wanted him. And love was too precious to throw away.
He locked the gate behind them, not wanting any unexpected interruptions. Then he turned to Trent.
Trent was watching him with an expression that was equal parts curiosity, anticipation and trepidation. Carlos stared back at him for a long moment, then stepped inside his personal space. Tilting his head to the side, he brought their lips together.
This was only their third kiss. While Trent had practically lived in the hospital room with him until his release, they hadn't risked more than holding hands. They'd talked about everything under the sun except the future. After he'd been released, Carlos hadn't said anything. He was still aching, and he wanted to be a little more healed before making his move. This was the first day where he'd felt truly ready. That was why he'd wanted to go to the cemetery. He hadn't just been apologizing to his brother, he'd been saying good-bye to the past and hello to the future.
And Trent was quickly taking a starring role in that future, he decided as he melted into the man's embrace. He tasted just as good as he remembered. Carlos slipped his good hand under Trent's leather jacket and started stroking his back through his t-shirt.
Trent kissed him back for a while, then gently pushed him away. "Your arm," he said when Carlos reached for him again.
Carlos grinned. "It's fine as long as I don't try to put weight on it," he said, slipping the arm in question out of its sling. "See?"
"We don't have to do this now, you know. We could wait until it's completely healed."
Carlos frowned at that. "I'm fine, Trent. I want this, and I don't want to wait. So unless you don't *want* me..." He paused.
That got him back in Trent's arms again. "Of course I want you," Trent whispered in his ear. "I just don't want to hurt you."
"You won't," Carlos promised. "If I start to hurt, I'll tell you right away." He kissed the blond again. "How 'bout we go to bed?" he asked hopefully.
The grin he got in return lit the room. Stepping back, Carlos stripped off his sling and leather jacket, dropping them over the back of a chair. He headed for the bed in question and sat down on the end with an expectant look.
Trent dropped his own jacket on top of his, and came at him, pulling his shirt off as he walked. Carlos's breath caught at the sight of the firm chest covered in a dusting of blond hairs. Years of martial arts had toned him to a lean, well-muscled shape. His muscles stood out in obvious relief without being overly bulky. Next to him, Carlos felt a little on the beefy side, even though he knew he had nothing to be ashamed of.
Carlos stripped his own shirt off quickly, wincing a little as he twisted the injured shoulder, then leaned down to take his boots off. Trent raised a hand.
"Let me," he said.
Suddenly, Carlos found it hard to breathe. Trent knelt at his feet and lifted one foot, giving the boot a quick tug to get it off. He placed it to one side, then lifted Carlos's other foot.
Once both boots were off, he stayed where he was, smiling up at Carlos. His hands were gently stroking Carlos's thighs through the denim, and the light touch was making him weak in the knees. Good thing he was already sitting down, he thought.
Then all the air was driven from his lungs as Trent reached for his fly. Trent lifted up off his heels and kissed him while he undid the button and lowered the zipper of his jeans. Carlos groaned as two fingers slipped inside and caressed his cock through the cotton of his briefs. It was all so intense. It had never been like *this* before, but then it had never been *Trent* before.
Just when he thought he was going to embarrass himself by coming in his pants, Trent pulled away and stood up. He stepped back and reached down to undo his own jeans. Never taking his eyes off of Carlos, he slowly eased the denim down over his narrow hips and pushed them down until he could step out of them, pulling his boots off as he did. Still staring at Carlos, he pulled each sock off, rolling them up and stuffing them into his boot-tops. Finally he paused, then carefully removed his briefs and stood there, naked and half-hard in front of Carlos.
Carlos moaned in the back of his throat. He'd known Trent was beautiful. He'd even seen him naked before. But he'd never seen him like this, looking like a golden god, perfect in every detail.
Trent stepped forward again. He climbed onto the bed and carefully straddled Carlos's lap, staring down into his eyes. "Are you still sure?" he asked.
Carlos reached out with a hand that was trembling, and carefully ran his hand over Trent's chest, starting at the middle of the breast-bone and ending with his hand over Trent's left nipple, over his heart. They both sighed at the touch. "Yeah," he replied, a little surprised at how husky his voice had become. "But I'm not sure what I'm doing."
Trent grinned a little at that, and ducked his head bashfully. "Whatever feels good," he said, then kissed him again.
When he surfaced from the latest kiss, he found that he was now lying flat on his back with Trent trying to work his jeans off. Carlos lifted his hips, determined to help. In very little time and with very little teasing, his pants were on the floor and his underwear and socks followed. Trent sat back for a moment, looking down the length of his body, and Carlos blushed. He'd never been looked at like he was a work of art before. A prime steak, sure, but never with this sort of... awe.
"You are *beautiful*," Trent murmured.
Carlos laughed, a little self-conscious. "You're the beautiful one," he protested, then reached for Trent.
They took a couple minutes to arrange themselves on the bed, Carlos lying on his uninjured side with a pillow under his head and Trent out stretched facing him. They kissed lightly, but that was the only contact at first. Then, as time passed, Carlos found himself gravitating towards his lover.
Trent. His lover. God, that sounded wonderful.
He started out running his hand up and down Trent's arm, enjoying the feel of firm muscles under soft skin. Then he rolled closer, wanting to get a better feel. When their chests touched, he sighed into Trent's mouth. When their erections touched, his entire body jerked in reaction. It was like an electric shock running through his body.
Gasping, he pulled back. Trent just watched him, waiting patiently. Carlos looked down Trent's body, and chewed at his lip lightly. Finally, he steeled himself and reached down for Trent's erection.
He wasn't exactly sure what he expected it to feel like, but it was a surprise. It was similar to his own, but a little longer and a little narrower. It felt hot, hot enough to burn, and the weight was a little strange. Maybe because it was attached to someone else's body instead of his own. He'd never touched one from this angle before.
Leaning back in to kiss Trent, he started to slowly pull at the cock, stroking it in a rhythm that started hesitant, but became more confident as Trent responded with moans and thrusting hips. He reached for Carlos's erection, but Carlos fended him off. He wanted to feel this, to know it, without any distractions.
He moved his head slightly so that he could nuzzle at Trent's throat, directly above the Adam's Apple. Trent tasted of soap and salt, from his morning shower and the sweat that as starting to bead all over his body. Trent groaned, and writhed in his arms. Carlos pushed him lightly until he was lying on his back, then slid down so that he could suck on the pale nipples surrounded by fine hairs. That made Trent gasp and arch up against him. Lower down, Carlos was pumping Trent's erection faster and harder, his movements well lubricated by the pre-cum that Trent was now producing.
"Carlos!" Trent cried, his eyes squeezed shut.
Looking down without releasing the nipple he was teasing, he could see Trent's stomach muscles showing in stark relief as he tensed. Trent's hips started jerking, and Carlos watched fascinated as streamers of milky fluid erupted from Trent's cock.
He kept pumping it for a little longer, squeezing the last drops from Trent, then gently let go. Trent's cock flopped down, gone soft. Carlos reached to gently rub the cum into Trent's stomach, then lifted his hand.
He stared at the fluid gleaming on his fingers, then curiously brought it to his mouth.
He heard what sounded suspiciously like a whimper from Trent as he tasted the man's cum. It wasn't that much different from his own -- maybe a shade less bitter -- but he'd never tasted another man's cum before. Glancing at Trent, he carefully licked his hand clean.
Once the last spasms had faded, Trent growled and rolled over on top of Carlos, pushing him onto his back, still managing to be careful not to jar his shoulder. Then Trent dove in, kissing him savagely, searching Carlos's mouth with his tongue, as if hunting for the taste of himself there.
Then the kiss lightened, becoming more teasing in stages. Finally he pulled back, and Carlos opened eyes he hadn't noticed closing. Trent was grinning down at him. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked.
Carlos groaned. "Trent..." he moaned in frustration.
"Easy," Trent soothed, then kissed him again.
At last, he started to move, kissing Carlos as he went. Jaw, chin, neck. Carlos couldn't remember ever having been this aroused in his life, and Trent hadn't even touched him where he most wanted to be touched.
Trent moved to his nipples, and Carlos whimpered as they were sucked, then nipped. Trent soothed the small hurt with flicks from his tongue. Then he kept moving.
Trent traced the lines of his ribs with the tip of his tongue, then pressed it home into Carlos's navel. Carlos arched up into the wet touch. He'd never realized that his navel was an erogenous zone before.
Then Trent pulled back. "Carlos," he said softly, and Carlos moaned in response. He was so hard it hurt.
"Carlos," Trent repeated. "Watch me."
Carlos looked down the length of his body as Trent dipped his head again. This time the teasing was over, and Carlos cried out as Trent's mouth enveloped him, hot and wet. His hips tried to buck upwards, but Trent had them in a strong grip, restraining them.
Unable to look away, Carlos watched as the blond head moved up and down, that beautiful mouth sliding along his cock. Every so often, blue eye would look upwards, making sure that Carlos was still watching.
Carlos was watching, alright. Johnny Primo could have come bashing through the door and he wouldn't have been able to take his eyes off the sight of his best friend sucking him deep into his throat. His hands came up to cup Trent's head, running through his hair, then moving a little further down so that he could feel the flex of Trent's throat as his cock went down it.
It was that feel that tipped him over the edge.
Crying out, he arched backwards and spilled everything he had into Trent's mouth.
When he came back to his senses, Trent was lying next to him again. He rolled towards him and kissed him deeply, understanding the intensity of Trent's kiss earlier. The taste of his own cum in his lover's mouth sent him into a near-frenzy.
When the frenzy died down, Carlos wrapped himself around Trent. They rocked back and forth gently, until they were completely comfortable.
"Was it good for you?" Trent asked in a tone that was only partially joking.
"It was incredible," Carlos replied, feeling the usual after-sex lassitude running through his body. "Perfect." He snuggled in closer and started to drift to sleep.
As he fell asleep, he heard Trent murmur in his ear, "I love you, Carlos."
"I love you too," he replied sleepily. "Mi amigo, mi hermano, mi amante."
"Mi amante," Trent confirmed.
And they fell asleep.
*****THE END*****
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