------------------------------
Leaving the Past Behind
by Lianne Burwell
August 1999
------------------------------

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 than, 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.

* * * * *

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 attacked 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 asleep.

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