Clouded Judgment

by BarisiStill

Summary:

The air was sweet, and suddenly Barba was too.

(AKA Sex Pollen)

Notes:

• For ae-nar.

idk why this is so long

Barba pushed through the door to Benson's office without bothering with a courtesy knock, the weight of ticking minutes sitting heavy on his shoulders.

Benson and Rollins stood by the one-way mirror, their attention fixed through the glass, watching as Carisi sat across from a young woman who couldn't seem to keep still. 

The perp’s girlfriend—Belle Blake—sat hunched in the metal chair like she was trying to fold in on herself. Her fingers drummed against the scarred table surface in an erratic rhythm, and every few seconds she'd glance toward the door like a cornered animal considering escape routes. 

"Are we getting anywhere?" Barba asked without preamble, even though the answer was written clearly enough in the tension that filled the room.

Benson didn't turn from the window. "She shuts down completely with me or Rollins in the room at all. Carisi treating her like a china doll is getting the best results so far, but… I wouldn’t hold your breath."

Barba's jaw tightened as he checked his watch. "I have three hours to charge the boyfriend before we have to let him walk." His words carried an edge that could cut glass. "And I don't see any of your detectives rushing in last minute with a handwritten note saying 'I raped and killed Yasmin Rahimi.'"

Benson sighed with paper-thin patience. "Did you come here to contribute anything helpful, Rafael?"

“Yes.” Without ceremony, Barba rapped his knuckles against the one-way mirror—two sharp, deliberate taps. "I'm here to offer the girlfriend a deal in exchange for her testimony."

"Hold on." Benson turned to face him fully, holding up a warning hand. "She's not being charged with anything."

“Okay,” Barba huffed, “then I’m here to charge her with obstruction and conspiracy, and then offer her a deal in exchange for her testimony.” 

"Just give Carisi some more time," Benson said, sounding like she was trying to convince herself as much as Barba. “She’s starting to—” 

She was cut off by the interrogation room door opening, and Carisi emerged running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Hey, Barba, I was just—”

"Carisi." Barba's voice cut through whatever pleasantries might have been about to come out of Carisi’s mouth. "How long have you been in there with her?"

Carisi’s shrug was more exhaustion than indifference. "It's gotta be going on hour five."

“Sorry, I should’ve been clearer. I have—” Barba pulled up his sleeve theatrically to check his watch again. “—two hours and forty-seven minutes to file charges.” 

The silence stretched between them like a taut wire, the weighing of options that had already proven fruitless in the last seventy-odd hours.

“Okay,” Barba snapped, the frustration that had been simmering all day finally boiling over. "I'm open to other suggestions."

More silence, pulling until it threatened to snap.

Barba gestured impatiently to the interrogation room door. "May I?"

Benson's nod was slow, reluctant. "Be gentle." A pause. "And please, for the love of God, let Carisi take the lead."

Carisi nodded, glancing at Barba with a plea for patience, then rolled his shoulders like he was physically preparing himself to walk on eggshells. 

Carisi stepped through the door first, his movements deliberately telegraphed, non-threatening. 

Belle’s head snapped up at the sound, her eyes darting between them. She was frustratingly younger than Barba had realized—she couldn’t be older than twenty—with the hollow-eyed look of someone who hadn't been sleeping well for days.

That wasn’t going to make this any easier. 

"Ms. Blake," Barba began, trying desperately to summon the best coddling voice he could manage in his least coddling mood, "I'm ADA Rafael Barba."

Before he could continue—before he could lay out the stark reality of her situation in the kind of clear, unambiguous terms that the timeline required—Carisi lifted his chair to avoid the sound of scraping as he pulled it out and sat down. 

“Mr. Barba is a lawyer who works for the state,” Carisi said softly, shooting Barba a look. “We have a couple of options on where to go from here, and he’s going to explain them to us.” 

Options.  

Barba had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. 

SVU could pet Belle all they wanted, speak in soft tones and offer tissues and bottled water, but he wasn't going to let her murderer-rapist boyfriend walk free. And if that meant he had to be the bad guy, he’d deal with the lecture and the guilt later. 

He could feel Benson's eyes on him through the one-way mirror, could hear her words echoing in his ears—be gentle.

Barba pulled out the chair next to Carisi gently and sat down gently, placing the paperwork outlining the charges on the table gently. 

"Right. Your options." The words felt strange in Barba's mouth, too mild for what needed to be said in the amount of time they had. "Ms. Blake, you could be facing charges of conspiracy and obstruction, which can carry a considerable amount of jail time."

“Considerable” was a stretch. 

“Charges” was a stretch. 

“Can” was a stretch. 

He wasn't going to charge her with shit. 

He wasn't evil—it wasn’t like he was chomping at the bit to punish some young, terrified, obviously strung-out girl whose only crime was getting in over her head with the wrong man. 

He just needed her to give them Ignacio before the clock ran out.

But Belle’s face went white, her breathing shifting shallow and rapid. 

Her hands flew to her purse with the frantic energy of someone looking for something—anything—to anchor herself. Pills, maybe, or tissues, or just the familiar comfort of rummaging through her own belongings while her world tilted sideways.

Carisi was very obviously trying to keep his expression neutral as he watched Barba unravel hours of work before his eyes. 

“But here’s the thing, Belle,” Carisi said, leaning forward like he was preparing to talk her off an actual ledge, “We know you didn't do anything wrong. We know you didn't hurt Yasmin. And we don't want you to get in trouble for something you didn't do.”

Barba opened his mouth, the word “yet” sitting ready on his tongue like a loaded weapon—because Belle hadn't done anything wrong necessarily, but obstruction charges had a way of changing that calculation in a hurry. 

But before he could give it voice, a sharp kick connected with his shin under the table, forceful enough to derail his train of thought.

Barba's jaw snapped shut, shooting Carisi a look that could have flash-frozen hell.

Carisi's expression remained placidly encouraging as he continued without missing a beat. "We just need you to tell us what Ignacio did, Belle. That's it. Just the truth about what happened with Yasmin."

Belle's hands had stilled in her purse, her fingers closing around something small. When she pulled it out, Barba nearly scoffed—a bright blue vape covered in tiny rainbow fish swimming in a sea of hot pink coral, with a display screen the size of an iPad. 

"Can I—" She held it up with a trembling hand, her voice barely above a whisper, "Just to take the edge off?" Her eyes flicked between them, pleading. "I know it's probably not allowed, but I'm just really—"

Barba made hard eye contact with the fish looking at him, just to keep himself from rolling his eyes. This wasn’t an airplane in the 1960s, nor was it a college dorm room with a towel stuffed under the door, and she could take her fish vape and—

Carisi’s hand landed on Barba’s arm under the table, fingers digging in firmly enough to be a warning and utterly infuriating in its presumption.

Carisi glanced over his shoulder like he was checking to make sure they were alone, then leaned forward and dropped his voice to what could generously be called a stage whisper—intimate and understanding in a way that made Barba want to throttle him.

"I get it," Carisi murmured with the warm commiseration of sharing a guilty secret. "I can't say no to a cigarette when I'm stressed. You're really not supposed to, but..." He shrugged like there was just nothing to be done. "One hit isn't going to kill anybody, right?"

Belle's entire face transformed with relief, her shoulders dropping as she closed her eyes and brought the vape to her lips. 

She drew in a long, slow breath that seemed to pull the tension right out of her body, held it in meditation, then exhaled an impressive cloud that billowed from her mouth and nose across the table without any attempt at discretion or courtesy.

She didn't turn her head, didn't try to aim the fog away from them—just let it roll out in a dense wave that immediately filled the small space with the cloying scent of artificial sugary fruit.

Barba watched the cloud drift directly toward him and felt something violent stir in his chest. The urge to reach up and slap Carisi was so immediate and powerful that he had to grip the edge of his chair to keep his hands in place.

Forget secondhand smoke—he was going to reek of cotton candy blueberry melon dreamcicle bullshit for the next geological age. 

Belle took several more deep breaths, her color already returning to something approaching normal, then dropped the vape back into her purse with a satisfied sigh.

"Thank you, Dominick," she said, opening her eyes and offering Carisi a small but genuine smile.

Barba turned slowly toward the one-way mirror, finding the vague shapes of Benson and Rollins just past the glass. “Dominick?” he mouthed. 

Barba waited for the haze to settle, but as the seconds stretched, he realized that he’d made made a severe tactical error—he’d left silence for Carisi to fill. 

"You feeling any better, Belle?" Carisi asked softly, as if he hadn’t just aided and abetted—nay, encouraged—a civil violation yielding a penalty of up to two hundred dollars in fines. 

Belle nodded, some of the glassy panic finally clearing from her eyes.

"Good, that's good," Carisi continued, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “I know this is hard, but words. Word, word, word, word, word, word, word-word. Word, word, word. Question?"

Carisi's mouth was moving, his lips forming sounds that should have been the most important thing in the room, but—

Barba couldn’t understand a damn thing he was saying. His eyes were too busy chasing the shape of every syllable.

It had been a while since Barba had messed around in Photoshop—the hex code for those lips had to be #e7838d, right? Maybe #d77c85?

Barba wanted to hum with pleasure at the sheer existence of such a beautiful color, warm and natural, like the inside of a shell or the flush of a storm-warning dawn spilling across a tranquil sea. 

Something close to #c16266 in the shadow at the corner of his lip, right where a poppy seed had stuck on Tuesday morning from his everything bagel. 

Barba had pointed it out instead of brushing it away with his thumb, and made a throwaway joke about it being a bad day for random drug testing. 

That had gotten him an eye-roll, which was almost as good as a laugh. 

Definitely #fdb2b7 at the highlight, right where—

Carisi's tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, a quick, unconscious gesture that sent a jolt of heat straight down Barba’s spine. 

The movement was so brief, so casual, but suddenly all Barba could think about was that tongue—wet and soft and warm—and what it might taste like right this second. 

Probably like that little tin of cinnamon mints Carisi carried in his pocket. 

Barba had stocked them like they were office supplies since Carisi’s third week at SVU. Legal pads, pens, cinnamon mints.

Not because he liked the taste, but because he liked the way Carisi’s mouth looked when he spoke around one.

Barba would never admit to orchestrating anything Pavlovian, but he couldn’t deny he liked the idea of Carisi’s mouth watering when he walked into a room. 

Focus.

Focus on Carisi’s fingers tugging his tie loose—his own, obviously, not Barba’s, but that hardly mattered. Those fucking hands. Barba had argued entire cases with less conviction than the pull in his gut at the sight.

Was it… was it this hot in here before?

Barba shifted in his chair, his suit suddenly a straightjacket, heat creeping up his neck like he was locked in a tank, waiting for the curtain to drop.

His palms were sweating, his fingers digging into his own thighs. Maybe the building's ancient heating system finally achieved sentience and decided to roast them all alive.

Was it just him? Belle seemed fine, and Carisi—

Carisi had leaned in closer to Belle, a flush painted across his cheekbones that hit Barba like a punch to the solar plexus.

Barba lived for it, the way color bloomed in Carisi’s cheeks. Frustration, embarrassment, even anger—it all looked gorgeous on him. Especially when Barba was the reason.

But Barba hadn't said anything to make him flush, hadn’t done anything. 

Which meant something else had made Carisi’s skin glow pink like that—the heat, surely, or the stress?

Or someone else had.

Jealousy.

There was no pretending it was anything else—there was no ambiguity, no uncertainty. This was jealousy, heavy and poisonous, coiled in his gut like a viper with its fangs bared, ready to strike at the first hint of danger.

Pretty and young, that's what she was. 

Of course Carisi would be drawn to Belle—pretty and young, young and pretty, in that soft, breakable way that made men want to wrap their arms around her and promise that everything would be okay. 

Her tongue probably tasted like sugar-sick vape clouds.

He was probably imagining what her lipstick would look like smudged on his collar. She seemed like the type who practiced that kind of effortlessly messy makeup look in the mirror, widening her big doe eyes at herself.

Someone young and beautiful like Carisi would naturally gravitate toward someone young and beautiful like Belle. It was basic mathematics, evolutionary biology, the fundamental pull of youth calling to youth.

And what was Barba? Pushing fifty, sharp-edged and bitter, with silver threading through his hair and lines carved deep around his eyes from too many sleepless nights and too many lost cases. 

He was expensive suits cheapened by mismatched accessories and cutting remarks, neat scotch, and a lifetime of building walls so high that most people never bothered trying to scale them.

Barba's hands clenched into fists under the table. 

The rational part of his mind that knew better tried to interject. 

Carisi was professional, ethical, a good man. 

He would never try anything with a witness, especially not a vulnerable twenty-year-old girl in an interrogation room. 

But that same rational part couldn't explain why Barba's chest felt like it was being crushed in a vise, why his throat had gone sour with the taste of burnt battery acid.

It wasn't about what Carisi would try. 

It was about what Carisi might think. 

About whether those blue eyes—the ones Barba had memorized under the amber lights at Forlini's one night when Carisi had leaned close enough that Barba could see individual eyelashes reflected against his irises like tiny black brushstrokes—might soften when they looked at Belle. 

Carisi could probably see her eyelashes too—long and dark, the kind that would flutter so delicately when she laughed or cast shadows on her cheeks when she looked down. 

Barba’s moment had been different. That had been alcohol and proximity and the kind of thing that meant nothing to anyone except the fool stupid enough to remember it.

The viper in his gut hissed, venom spreading acidic through his bloodstream as he watched Carisi lean even closer to Belle, probably noticing the thickness of her hair, the softness of her skin.

The sorts of things Barba wished—god, how pathetically he wished—Carisi might notice about him. 

That the silver threading at his temples might seem distinguished instead of aging. That his hands might seem elegant instead of just stocky. That his mouth might be worth watching for reasons other than keeping up with his caffeine-addled diatribes.

Barba wanted to grab Carisi by the shoulders and shake him, wanted to demand to know what exactly Belle had said or done to paint that flush across his cheekbones. 

Was it the way she'd smiled? The grateful look in her eyes? The soft, vulnerable curve of her mouth when she'd whispered his name—Dominick?

The jealousy twisted deeper, fed by its own impossibility. 

Even if Carisi never touched Belle, never thought about touching her, she would still be young and soft and everything Barba wasn't. She would still be the kind of person Carisi wanted.

God, how pathetic was he? Sitting here cataloging the ways a twenty-year-old drug addict might appeal to Carisi, mentally competing with a witness who was definitely traumatized and one vape hit away from a panic attack.

But he couldn't stop the thoughts from forming, racing through his head one after the other.

Does he think she's pretty? Does he like the way her hair falls across her face? Does he want to brush it behind her ear, trail his fingers along her jawline, tell her that everything will be okay in that voice that could make death row inmates believe it?

And then, as if summoned by the desperate spiral of his thoughts, Carisi's gaze shifted to Barba.

Those blue eyes lifted from Belle’s face and found his—and just like that, reality blinked. The air shifted, rearranged itself around him. 

Barba wasn’t breathing anymore—he was breath, was heat and electron charge, suspended between the particles holding the world together, and he could feel the laws of physics tripping over themselves to catch up. 

Gravity loosened. 

His bones felt like glass. 

If Carisi said his name just then, Barba might shatter cleanly.

“Right, Barba?” 

Barba felt his lips curve into something that might have been a smile if it hadn't been so sharp around the edges. 

He wanted to laugh—actually laugh—right in Belle's lovely young face, because Carisi wasn't looking at her anymore. 

Carisi was looking at him, and the flush in those cheekbones deepened, spreading down his neck like watercolor bleeding through flimsy paper.

"Rafael."

The sound of his name in Carisi's mouth cut through the spiral of his thoughts like a blade. 

Barba blinked, the interrogation room snapping back into focus around him. Belle was watching both of them, and he realized he'd been staring—openly staring—at Carisi for god-knows-how-long.

"Sorry, what?” he asked, shaking his head to clear the fog of… whatever the hell had just happened to him. 

"—that Belle won’t be in any trouble if she gives her honest statement, right?” 

Carisi's voice, patient but strained, asking the same question he'd apparently already asked while Barba had been lost in whatever hormone-addled fugue state had just claimed him.

Barba's throat felt like sandpaper as he swallowed, trying to summon enough moisture to speak. 

"Yes," he managed, the word scraping past his vocal cords like broken glass. He cleared his throat and tried again. "That's absolutely right, Belle. There’s no need to file any charges if you tell Dominick—"

The name fell from his lips before he could stop it, unfamiliar and uncomfortable on his tongue. He’d never called Carisi that, not once. “Sonny” a few times, and a lot more times in his head, but never “Dominick.” 

He didn’t like how it tasted, and he didn’t like that he only repeated it because it’s the name Belle had used. 

"—Detective Carisi what happened that night."

But Detective Carisi looked just as flustered as Barba felt—maybe more so. 

Carisi's leg had started bouncing under the table—a nervous habit Barba had cataloged months ago—and he was shifting in his chair, his hips rolling forward then back again when he didn’t find what he was looking for. 

Heat shot straight to Barba's cock like a lit fuse finding dynamite.

God, Carisi looked stunning like this—not just the effortless beauty that made Barba's chest ache on ordinary weekday mornings, not just the flush that Barba had been staring at this entire time. 

This was something else.

This was Carisi trying so hard to control himself, trying to maintain his composure while something threatened to unravel him completely—both of them, apparently. 

The sight of that internal struggle written so clearly across Carisi's face—the desperation in his eyes, the way his teeth dug into his bottom lip—was more erotic than anything Barba had ever witnessed. 

Barba realized he was breathing too quickly, shallow panting that he could see in the rise and fall of his own chest out of his peripheral vision.   

His fingers dug into his thighs so hard it was starting to hurt, but he couldn't stop. Heat was pooling low in his gut, replacing that venomous jealousy with something infinitely more dangerous—want, pure and simple.

His ego had apparently packed its bags and left town, leaving his id to pick up the pieces. 

This was an interrogation room. 

Belle was watching them. 

Benson and Rollins were on the other side of that mirror, probably wondering why their ADA had suddenly developed a speech impairment.

All three of them flinched when Carisi pushed his chair back with a loud scraping noise that cut through the tension like a fire alarm, shooting up, and starting to pace from the table to the window, and back again. 

And if Carisi was feeling anything like what Barba was feeling—which seemed more and more likely by the second—then standing up seemed like a catastrophically bad idea.

Because Barba could feel his own erection straining against his slacks, hot and insistent as his eyes traced the long line of Carisi's body as he paced, tracked the way his hands kept restlessly finding his pockets, his hips, his thighs. 

And Belle—Barba realized a little hysterically—seemed completely fine.

Better than fine—she looked relaxed, alert, like the vape had done exactly what she'd needed it to do. 

Her shoulders had dropped, her breathing had evened out, and she was watching them both with the patient expression of someone waiting for the adults in the room to get their act together.

The interrogation room door swung open, no polite knock, no waiting for permission, Benson stepping through like she owned every square inch of the place, which… she did. 

"Could I speak with you both for a moment?"

Barba’s blood suddenly tried to redistribute itself to more convenient places in a rush of cold panic, but it failed spectacularly—it only shot a spike of electricity up his spine, a wild rush through his already confused system. 

His heart hammered against his ribs as he shrugged off his suit jacket with what he desperately hoped looked like casual nonchalance. 

The fabric felt foreign in his hands as he positioned it just so in front of himself, a woefully inadequate shield against the evidence of his complete and utter desperation.

Standing required a Herculean effort of will—every muscle in his body worked against him, lust coursing through his veins like molten copper. 

Carisi was already at the door, his movements stiff and awkward, like a marionette operated by someone who'd never worked the strings before. 

He didn't look back as he stepped into Benson's office, which was probably for the best—Barba wasn't entirely sure what his face was doing right now.

Belle watched them go with a soft smile, content enough to wait as she rode whatever wave of chemical calm had settled over her.

Olivia closed the door with an ominous click, then moved to lean back against her desk, arms crossed. She studied them both a penetrating stare, fine tuned from decades of breaking hardened criminals with a raised eyebrow and a twist of her lips.

Barba kept his jacket clutched against him, acutely aware of Carisi's presence beside him, the way his breathing seemed just this side of too controlled, too deliberate.

Rollins was somewhere vaguely to his left, and Barba very intentionally did not look at her, terrified of what that might do to the fragile equilibrium of his barely-vertical body. 

Carisi began shifting from foot to foot, restless, almost frantic. His hands were firmly planted in his pockets, his hips angled just slightly back in a way that made Barba's chest tighten with sympathy and so much fucking arousal. 

Because Carisi was hard too—he just didn’t have the luxury of having his jacket with him. 

Christ.

"Which one of you wants to tell me what the hell is going on?"

Barba caught Carisi's eye, shooting him a look that was pure plea. 

Please, for the love of all that's holy, do not say anything. Not now. Not ever. 

Barba could see the war on his face—honesty versus self-preservation—but Carisi was a rule follower down to his bones, constitutionally incapable of anything resembling deception. 

Carisi gritted his teeth, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he forced the words out. "I don't think that vape was just nicotine."

Barba felt something snap—all that pent-up energy, all that frustrated want, crystallizing into pure fury.

"Wow, Carisi," he snapped, his voice dripping with acid. "Fantastic observation. Now, pray tell, how exactly that helps us when I have—” Barba glanced at his watch, but he couldn’t read an analog clock to save his life at the moment, so he took his best guess, “—two hours to file charges, and we still don’t have her statement?” 

The words came out nasty, loaded with vitriol that had nothing to do with timelines and everything to do with the way Carisi's name felt like a curse on his tongue.

But instead of shrinking back, instead of offering a charmingly neutral eye roll or scoff, which usually deflated Barba's anger before it could fully form, Carisi's eyes flashed—not with hurt or embarrassment, but with anger. 

Real, honest anger that transformed his face completely, sharpening his features and setting his jaw in a way that made Barba's knees go weak.

"Actually," Carisi bit out, his voice low and dangerous, "if you had been paying any attention instead of—" He caught himself, swallowed the rest of that sentence, then tried again. “She said she’d give her statement. She agreed, Barba. Like, five minutes ago."

Benson and Rollins both stared at Carisi with expressions of genuine shock. Barba could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Carisi snap at anything, let alone him, let alone in front of his commanding officer.

Barba felt his own shock register somewhere in the back of his mind—a distant, academic observation that this was new territory, uncharted waters between them. 

But that was nothing against the visceral reaction spreading through his body like wildfire—the way Carisi's voice had dropped, the way his chest was heaving. 

All Barba wanted—with a desperation that bordered on violence—was for Carisi to close the distance between them, to slam him against Olivia's office wall and shove those hands that were clenched into fists at his sides down the front of Barba's pants instead.

He wanted Carisi's mouth on his throat, wanted to feel those teeth that had been worrying his bottom lip sink into his skin. 

Barba turned toward Benson, forcing himself to take a deep breath before opening his mouth. 

God knows the last thing he could deal with was getting into a fight with her right now—not when she was looking at him like she might actually slam him up against the wall. Not to kiss him or grope him, but to press her forearm against his throat until he passed out. 

But his dick didn't seem to understand the difference, because he'd welcome that just as much.

When he spoke, his tone was only a little more even than he felt. "Then why in the hell are we all standing here instead of getting her statement?"

Rollins scoffed—a sharp, dismissive sound that cut Barba right down the middle like the Sorcerer of the goddamn Mangaboos. 

Barba tried not to look at her, to keep his eyes fixed somewhere neutral, but Carisi didn’t seem to have as much luck. His head snapped toward Rollins like he'd been yanked by a wire, and he swallowed hard, the tendons in his throat working visibly.

The sight of that—Carisi's reaction to Rollins, the way his pupils dilated as he obviously struggled to keep his eyes on her face—made something volcanic erupt in Barba's chest.

He wanted to sweep everything off Benson's desk and fuck Rollins over it just so Carisi had to watch, to know exactly how Barba felt. Wanted to show Carisi what it looked like when he tried to command that kind of attention, that kind of breathless, helpless response.

Instead, he bit his tongue until he tasted copper and tuned in halfway through Benson's irritated reply to his question.  

"—laced with something," she was saying. "Any other ADA can file drafted charges, any other detective can get statements while the two of you are at the hospital getting checked out."

Hospital. 

Right.

Because they'd been drugged by a witness's vape, either minutes or hours ago, Barba wasn’t sure. Time had become elastic, unreliable.

Nobody had corrected him when he’d said two hours, so that was something. 

Carisi started to speak—probably to protest the hospital order—but Rollins just walked past all of them into the interrogation room, her shoulder brushing against Carisi's arm. 

Carisi's entire body went rigid—such a brief, innocent touch that shouldn't have meant anything, but looked like it had hit him with the force of a live wire.

Barba watched it happen and felt his own body respond, imagining what that same touch would feel like against his own skin.

They all turned to face the window, watching Rollins settle across from Belle in the chair Carisi had just vacated. 

Barba pressed closer to the window than he needed to, his breath fogging at the glass. Beside him, Carisi had gone statue-still, but Barba could feel the heat radiating off his body like a furnace, was tuned into every rapid rise and fall of his chest.

"Belle, sweetheart," Rollins' voice filtered through the intercom, "can you tell me what was in that vape?"

Belle's entire body seemed to fold in on itself—shoulders drawing inward, her hands disappearing into her sleeves. 

“Honey, it’s okay if there’s something illegal in there.” Rollins leaned forward, her posture open and unthreatening, every line of her body radiating the kind of maternal warmth that could coax confessions from stone. "Nobody’s gonna take it, and you’re not gonna be in trouble, I promise. But it… affected Mr. Barba and Detective Carisi. We just wanna make sure everybody’s safe, that’s all."

Belle's eyes went wide, the whites surrounding her irises in halos of shock, her hand flying to her mouth. 

"Oh my god," she breathed, the words muffled behind her fingers. "Oh my god, I’m—I’m so sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't know. I take, like, a thousand hits off that thing every day, and it… it just keeps me mellow, you know? I never thought—oh god, are they okay?"

Barba felt Carisi shift beside him, and Barba had to grip his jacket tighter to keep from reaching out, from pressing his palm flat against Carisi’s chest to feel the beat of his fluttering heart. 

"You did everything exactly right, Belle—you got permission before you smoked, and now I need your help to make sure they’re okay,” Rollins said, and even Barba felt soothed by the gentle cadence of her voice. "So can you tell me—” 

Belle nodded rapidly, her hair falling across her face. "Yes, yes, sorry, fuck—sorry,” she said in a rush, the words tumbling over each other. "It’s just nicotine and Hot Summer. That's it, I swear."

The collective exhale that filled Olivia's office was so pronounced that Barba felt it more than heard it. 

Hot Summer.

Of course it was Hot Summer—the trendy new street drug that made headlines for being "relatively safe" compared to the usual cocktail of horrors that turned up in evidence bags. 

The kind of thing that spawned think pieces about harm reduction and the evolving landscape of recreational substances. 

The kind of thing that made people wildly, desperately, uncontrollably horny—unless, apparently, you’d built up the kind of tolerance that came from taking "a thousand hits a day."

It wasn’t in enough hands yet that it came across Barba’s desk regularly enough for him to have thought of it immediately—but it definitely spawned a nonzero number of cases, and there’d no doubt be a major uptick coming down the pipeline.

Especially if this is what one secondhand hit did to two grown men.  

"Are you absolutely sure that's all it is?" Rollins pressed gently. “Nothing else mixed in?” 

"Yes, I'm absolutely sure," Belle said, her head bobbing in a frantic nod. "We get it from the same guy every time, and it's always the same thing. I'm so, so sorry."

Rollins' smile was warm enough to melt glaciers. "It's alright, honey. Thank you for being honest with me. I'll be back in a few minutes, okay? Just sit tight."

Rollins emerged from the interrogation room and closed the door gently, then turned to face them. She threw her hands up in surrender, biting back a grin, her eyes flicking back and forth between Barba and Carisi, gaze drifting lower and lower. 

Benson turned toward Barba and Carisi, taking in their tense postures, their piss-poor attempts at concealing their erections. “Do we believe her?” 

Barba and Carisi’s eyes met, their pupils matching pinpoints, before nodding in almost guilty unison. 

"Alright," Benson replied tightly, like she was prioritizing which battles would win the war. "I still think you should both go to the hospital. Get checked out, make sure there aren't any interactions with medications or—"

"No," Barba interrupted, high and breathy. The thought of sitting in an emergency room, trying to explain to some overworked resident that he had a raging hard on from illegal street drugs—”It was for work, you see”—was approximately as appealing as a root canal performed with rusty gardening tools. "No, we… I don't need to do that."

"We're fine," Carisi shot back. "Really. It's just... we'll be fine."

"Fine," Benson said, surrendering surprisingly quickly. "Both of you, go home. Sleep it off. Rollins can take her statement, and I’ll call Carmen to arrange another DA to file the charges. Good?”

Barba nodded, his brain cells frantically working as a team to produce a coherent thought. “Charges first, then… then have Belle sign an affidavit in case she pulls out later.” He swallowed hard at his own phrasing. “Please.” 

Benson just nodded. "Do either of you need rides, or can you manage Ubers? I won’t make you go to the hospital, but I draw the line at driving."

"Uber," Barba said immediately, his brain bypassing any remark about how she wasn’t his boss. He didn’t care what he needed to do as long as it meant the path of least resistance to wrapping a hand around himself before he came in public from the barely-there friction of his pants.

"Yeah, Uber's… good," Carisi agreed, his voice shifting higher, more strained.

"Text me when you get home safely," Benson said, her eyes catching Barba’s. "Both of you."

Barba nodded, not trusting his voice to come out normally, not anymore, not after hearing Carisi talk like that. A breathy little tone that he might use if Barba—

Rollins was fighting the losing battle of her life against a grin that threatened to split her face in half.

"Have a nice afternoon off," she said, the words so deliberately neutral that she may as well have said ‘Hope your batteries are charged and your neighbors are out.’ 

Carisi cleared his throat, a rough, strangled sound. "Yeah, we... thanks. See you tomorrow."

He turned on his heel and out of the office, moving towards his desk with that same broken marionette gait. The way his shoulders flexed under his shirt, the careful modulation of each step, everything about him vibrated at a frequency that made Barba's teeth ache.

For a reason that was completely evident and entirely inarticulable, Barba just… followed. 

He watched Carisi gather his things frantically—phone, keys, wallet—and jerk his suit jacket off the back of his chair, pressing it against his crotch less subtly than Barba was managing. 

Twenty seconds, tops. 

But Barba was trapped in a slow-motion reel of his own personal hell, where the Prince of Darkness was six feet tall with piercing blue eyes, a loose tie, and zero awareness that Barba would drop to his knees right here in the precinct if only he would let him.

When Carisi turned back around, his eyes went wide, apparently not expecting to find Barba still standing there like some sort of peeping tom. 

But then Carisi’s expression shifted, surprise melting into something harder, angrier, as his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed.

Carisi turned wordlessly toward the elevator, and Barba fell into step beside him, their footsteps oddly synchronized as they walked as close together as physically possible without threatening to touch.  

The elevator doors opened—thank fuck—to reveal two uniformed officers and a woman in a rumpled pantsuit who looked like she'd been awake for thirty-six hours straight.

It gave Barba something to focus on other than—

But he could smell him anyway.

Barba inhaled deeply. The cologne was familiar by now, but it was the sweat that wrecked him—real and visceral and so, so male—and he never wanted another breath of fresh air again.

They made it exactly as far as the sidewalk, Ubers ordered, before Carisi turned on him. 

"I know you're mad at me," Carisi ground out. “I’m mad at me too, I know this is my fault. But you didn’t need to yell at me in front of Rollins and Benson,” Carisi continued, his voice rising with each word until he was actually shouting on the busy street. “Jesus Christ, Rafael, what the hell was that?"

Shell-shocked didn't begin to cover it—Barba stood there blinking at Carisi, “I know this is my fault” rattling around his skull like loose change in a washing machine. 

The thought had never even crossed his mind. He'd been far too busy trying not to climb Carisi like a tree to consider placing blame on Carisi or Belle or anyone. 

"I'm used to you being condescending," Carisi continued. "And even a little mean sometimes, and that's fine. It's great even, but—” 

Carisi cut himself off abruptly, jaw snapping shut like he'd said something wrong, but as far as Barba was concerned, he hadn’t—Barba was condescending, he was mean sometimes. 

Carisi was still yelling, but something fundamental had shifted in his face—hurt mixed with the fury, raw and unguarded, like a dog who’d been kicked by someone he trusted. 

The wounded expression in those blue eyes made Barba want to close the distance between them and press his mouth to the furrow between Carisi's brows until it smoothed away, until the only thing left was the heat they were both drowning in.

And that was exactly why he needed to leave now, right now.

Before he did something catastrophically stupid. 

Before he grabbed Carisi by the lapels and found out if his mouth tasted as good as it looked. 

"I'm sorry," Barba managed. And he was sorry—genuinely, devastatingly sorry for causing the hurt in Carisi’s eyes. 

He wanted to elaborate, to offer something more than two dismissive-sounding words. But it was all he could trust himself to say without the dam breaking, without every twisted, drug-fueled thought spilling out onto the sidewalk between them. 

He turned away, or tried to, but Carisi's voice caught him before he could take a full step.

"Wait, just—" Carisi's hand shot out like he was going to grab Barba's arm, then seemed to think better of it, fingers curling into a fist at his side. "Where are you going?"

Barba didn't know—away from here, from the gravitational pull of Carisi’s orbit, from the very real possibility of losing the fortitude that was keeping him from… molesting his colleague. 

"My office," he lied, the words materializing from some reserve of self-preservation. "I need my laptop."

"No, just..." Carisi shook his head, the anger seeming to drain out of him all at once. "The criminal justice system can survive without you working for one afternoon. You already ordered your Uber. Just… wait here. Let me make sure you at least get that far safely."

The words rooted Barba to the sidewalk as surely as if Carisi had reached out and grabbed him by the ankles. Forget the justification that he’d already ordered an Uber—Carisi wanted him here, wanted him close. 

Not for any of the reasons Barba's drug-addled brain was imagining in vivid technicolor, but still. The reasons didn't matter, because Barba would walk into traffic if Carisi asked him to—and he didn't know what to do with that knowledge besides deflect it into something manageable.

"How white knight of you," Barba replied. "What makes you think I can't manage on my own?"

Carisi's laugh was sharp, humorless. "Then you must be handling this a lot better than me, because I'm not even sure I can do it on my own at the moment."

"Trust me," Barba’s mouth said, operating independently of his brain, "there's no chance I'm handling it better."

Carisi huffed out another laugh. "Really? Because I'm a gentle breeze away from asking random people walking by to come home with me."

Barba knew it was a joke, recognized the deflection for what it was.

But white-hot jealousy flared in his chest anyway.

Because Barba wanted sex, needed it with an urgency that was making his hands shake. But it wasn't some generalized lust, some indiscriminate hunger. There was nothing there that hadn’t been there before, just enhanced by a factor of… a lot. 

Carisi seemed to realize what he'd said, his face shifting into regret, and that was unacceptable

"That sounds like a recipe for STDs," Barba said, trying to even the playing field, trying to make sure Carisi didn’t feel like he’d overstepped. "If you start scrolling your contacts now, you can probably have somebody beat you home.” 

Carisi laughed, but it was more relief than anything. “Yeah, that particular well ran dry a while ago.” 

Barba's mind reeled, calculations spinning faster than his drug-addled synapses could properly process. 

Because if Carisi was that desperate—and he'd said it himself, hadn't he, about asking random strangers—then maybe, maybe this wasn't the impossibility Barba had always believed it to be.

The thought was so pathetic it made his stomach clench with self-loathing even as heat pooled low in his stomach. 

It was a joke. 

But… what if it was really that simple? 

What if he was one question away, one moment of courage away from finding out what Carisi's hands felt like, what sounds he made when he—

People, Carisi had said. Not women. 

People.

Which meant Carisi wasn't necessarily, exclusively, categorically straight. 

Except for the fact that it had been a fucking joke born of Carisi’s reptilian brain on overdrive—not exactly a reliable narrator for disclosing an accurate account of his sexuality. 

But… he could offer. “Just come home with me,” he could say. 

The idea that he was genuinely, seriously considering it—considering propositioning a colleague on a public sidewalk while under the influence of an illegal substance—should have been sobering. 

Should have sent him running in the opposite direction, straight to call Liv’s stupid therapist she kept offering, or maybe to the nearest cathedral.

Instead, it took every ounce of restraint not to shift, not to press his palm over the aching fullness in his pants. Just one second of pressure and he’d be finished. 

Then Barba’s phone buzzed in his hand, a notification saying that his driver was one minute away from his pickup location—his office. 

He'd ordered the fucking Uber to his office.

Of course he had, because his version of ordering an Uber had been a frantic thumb-mashing exercise in muscle memory.

"I need to go," Barba said dumbly. "I accidentally ordered the Uber to my office, I have to—it’s a minute away.” 

He turned, ready to flee, ready to put distance between himself and this, when he felt fingers close around his upper arm.

It hit Barba like a bullet—no warning, no time to brace. His spine snapped rigid, his hips jerked forward, and then he was coming.

Hard. 

Painfully hard.

It didn’t stop. His cock throbbed helplessly in his briefs, spilling wet heat, the orgasm dragging on in wave after endless wave. 

And, fuck, he was whining—small, humiliating whimpers that he couldn’t stop if his life depended on it.  

It seemed to go on forever, his body wringing out every last drop of pleasure. It felt like the only thing keeping him upright was Carisi’s hand still gripping his arm through the storm it had set off. 

The heat in his spine hadn’t even cooled yet when Carisi spoke. 

"Jesus," Carisi whispered, his voice low, uncertain. "Barba, did you just—" 

He cut himself off like the words tasted dangerous, like saying it out loud would make it real—but the damage was done. 

Barba’s skin felt too tight, too raw, and still—still—Carisi’s hand hadn’t moved. 

Barba couldn't look at him—how could he? The sidewalk beneath his feet might as well have been quicksand threatening to swallow him whole if he so much as acknowledged what had just happened. 

But it had happened, and they both knew it. 

The only way out was through.

"Yes," Barba breathed. 

Carisi made a sound—a desperate, choked groan—and Barba's eyes snapped to his face before the humiliation could stop him.

Christ, Carisi looked like he'd just run a marathon, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow pants, his face flushed crimson and gleaming with a sheen of sweat. He was biting his lower lip so hard Barba was surprised he wasn't drawing blood. 

Then Carisi opened his mouth and said the words that would haunt Barba’s dreams for the rest of his natural life.

"Come home with me."

Barba stood frozen, because this… this was the kind of thing that put cases on his desk.

Someone like him taking what he wanted from someone like Carisi, too out of it to consent in any meaningful way. 

But then Carisi stepped closer.

“Just tell me no,” Carisi said quietly, “and I’ll back off. I’ll never bring it up again, and we can pretend this whole afternoon never happened.”  

There it was—the out he should take, the rational response that would preserve whatever professional relationship they had left. All he had to do was say no, order another Uber, and pretend none of this ever happened.

Because there was no way he could live with himself if he said yes, could he?

Could he pretend he wasn't taking advantage if Carisi wanted it too? 

Even if Carisi didn't want it with him—even if this was just proximity and desperation and chemicals making decisions for both of them, did that matter if they both wanted the same thing?

Any other day, he wouldn't be able to convince himself of that rationalization. Tomorrow, probably, he wouldn't stay convinced. The guilt would eat him alive, the implications would terrify him into paralysis.

But right now—with Carisi looking at him like he was drowning and Barba was the only thing that could save him, Barba’s body still singing with the memory of release—the moral arithmetic felt almost manageable.

He lifted the hand that wasn't desperately clutching his jacket and placed it over Carisi's fingers where they still gripped his arm.

"Yes," Barba whispered.

Carisi's fingers tightened on Barba's arm, possessive, desperate, and Barba could practically see him wrestling with the urge to say fuck propriety and drag them both into the nearest alley.

Then a gray sedan pulled up to the curb.

“That’s us,” Carisi said, but he still—Christ, he still opened the door for Barba because of course he did.

Even now, even drugged out of his mind, there was fundamental decency written into Carisi's DNA. 

The ride was the most agonizing twenty-three minutes of Barba's life.

He spent the first five trying to control his breathing—in through the nose, out through the mouth—so the driver would stop glancing at him in the rearview mirror. 

The next ten trying not to squirm, because he was already hard again—painfully, desperately hard—and it was made that much worse by knowing what was coming.

The last eight minutes were spent suppressing words that he absolutely could not say in the back of an Uber, things that he didn’t know his brain knew to concoct. 

Spit on your fingers and shove them in me right here, right now. I’d take it, I’d take anything you’d give me and beg for more. 

I want to make you feel so good that every person who touches you after me feels like a disappointment. 

Use me, take me in whatever way will make you want to do it again. 

Fuck me until the high wears off and then keep going.

By the time the car slowed to a stop in front of Carisi's apartment building, Barba felt like he'd aged a decade.

"Sorry," Carisi said breathlessly as he fumbled with his keys at the building's front door, "there's no elevator."

He shot up the stairs so quickly that Barba wondered why he wasn't just taking them two at a time. 

They made it exactly two and a half flights before Carisi whirled around so fast that Barba almost stumbled backwards.

"Fuck," Carisi breathed, "I can't wait anymore."

And then Carisi was pressing Barba against the wall right there in the stairwell, hands framing Barba's face, and kissing him like he meant to stake a claim, like restraint had never been an option, like anything less would never be enough.

Barba had pictured their first kiss in some of his more optimistic moments. It was always slow and meaningful, maybe a breathless laugh. 

But this—this kiss scorched the back of his throat.

It was feral and filth and a low, obscene noise that Barba wasn’t entirely sure hadn’t come from him.

Carisi swallowed the sound greedily, pressing closer until there was no space left between them, until Barba could feel the hard line of Carisi's erection against his hip.

Barba let his head fall back against the wall as Carisi mouthed down his throat, hot and hungry. “Your apartment. We should—”

“Why?” Carisi purred against his skin. “We’re already here.”

“You have neighbors,” Barba panted.

“I don’t care about the—” Carisi broke off with a frustrated groan, forehead pressed to Barba’s shoulder. “Goddamn it.”

Before Barba could form a coherent response, Carisi's hands were on his waist, spinning him toward the stairs, and pressing against his back. One hand splayed between Barba’s shoulder blades to guide him forward.

"Move," Carisi murmured against the shell of his ear, and Barba obeyed without question.

Carisi's hands didn't leave Barba's body as they climbed, fingers trailing along his spine, gripping his hips when Barba stumbled on the landing. 

Now that Carisi knew—now that he'd seen what his touch could do to Barba—he wasn't afraid to use it. He wasn't afraid to manhandle him, to let his fingers linger, to press close. 

When they reached Carisi’s door, Carisi fumbled for his keys, the metal jangling as his hands shook.

The moment the door swung open, Carisi ripped Barba's jacket from his hands and threw it over the arm of his couch. Just as quickly, he was pressing Barba back against the door, caging him in with his arms as their lips crashed together again.

Carisi's hips rolled forward, and Barba moaned into the kiss, hoping to god that Carisi’s neighbors weren’t the noise-complaint-filing type.

"God, you're hard again," Carisi panted against his mouth. 

"Yeah," Barba breathed, barely audible. 

Carisi pulled back just enough to look at him with glassy eyes. "In my head, there was foreplay.”

"No," Barba said immediately, his hands flying to Carisi's belt with desperate, clumsy fingers. "No, I can't—I need—"

"Yeah, yeah," Carisi whispered, covering Barba's hands with his own and helping him tug his belt free. He ripped it from Barba's hands and threw it somewhere on the floor, then moved to his zipper.

When Carisi shoved his pants and underwear down, kicking them off gracelessly as they caught on his shoes, Barba let out a broken sound, his fingers clenching and unclenching helplessly at his sides.

But Carisi didn't give him time to think about it. He crowded closer, pulling at Barba's belt and shoving his hands away when Barba tried to help.

He had no patience, no finesse, as he tore open Barba's pants and pushed them down. And Barba couldn't have cared less, because all he could think was finally, finally, finally.

Carisi's hips snapped forward, his cock sliding along the length of Barba's, and they both moaned, their mouths finding each other's again.

Barba had thought about this a thousand times. He'd pictured the feel of Carisi's dick, the heat of his skin, the taste of him.

But no matter how vividly he'd imagined it, he couldn't have anticipated just how good it would feel, the drag of Carisi's cock against his, the hot, slick glide of precum and sweat.

Barba was gasping against his mouth, clutching Carisi's shirt for dear life. "Fuck, Carisi, take this off."

"You too," Carisi said, jerking at Barba's tie.

It took three attempts and twice as many curse words, but they finally managed to get their ties off, then shirts, then they were flush against each other, entirely skin to skin.

Barba's head fell back against the door as he ran his hands greedily along Carisi's skin, the firm muscles of his back, the soft curve of his hips.

"Shit," Carisi gasped, rutting up against him, "I'm not gonna last. Tell me what you want."

Barba's heart stuttered, one hand wrapping around Carisi's wrist to guide his hand to his own cock, the other pressed flat against Carisi's chest to push him towards the couch. "God, let me look at you. All I do is look at you—let me look at you like this."

Carisi went willingly, sinking back against the cushions, his legs falling open with a breathy little laugh. "You wanna watch me jerk off?"

Barba licked his lips, nodding as he sat next to Carisi, his eyes sweeping hungrily over Carisi's body, his long legs, the flushed head of his cock, the thatch of hair between his thighs.

"Yeah, okay," Carisi laughed, a little giddy, a little nervous, a lot turned on. He wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking slowly, his head falling back. "You look, I'll look."

Barba made a desperate sound, his own hand drifting down his stomach, fingers curling loosely around himself.

"You want to watch me?" Barba asked, breathless. It should've been dirty talk, nothing but a tease, a come on, but it came out wondering. It came out hopeful.

"I—god, yes, Rafael, I want to watch you," Carisi whispered, looking over at him with wide eyes. "I wanna know if you do it the way I do, the way you like. If you like to twist your wrist, or rub your thumb over the head, or..."

Carisi was staring at him now, his eyes locked on the movement of Barba's hand as he jerked himself off.

"Like this," Barba breathed, swiping his thumb over his slit and shuddering at the burst of pleasure. "I like to rub my thumb right here. It makes me—makes me shiver."

"I'll remember," Carisi promised, his voice low and rough. He mirrored Barba's movements, his own hand tightening, picking up speed. "I'll do that to you."

Barba choked out a moan, his hips rocking up, fucking into his fist.

"What about—" Carisi's free hand slid along the couch cushion, his hand trailing over Barba's arm, his chest, before brushing a knuckle over Barba's nipple. "Do you ever touch yourself here?"

Barba's back arched, his teeth digging into his lip.

"Rafael," Carisi said, his voice breaking, "Please, I wanna know. Do you?"

"Not really," Barba gasped, dragging a finger over his other nipple. His eyes fluttered shut as a tremor wracked through him, the sensation sharp and hot. "They're—they're not usually very sensitive. Not like this."

"Oh," Carisi breathed, his fingers lightly circling his other nipple. "Does it feel good? Is it—does it feel good right now?"

Barba was trembling under his hands, his eyes squeezed shut as his breath came in short, stuttering gasps.

"Hey," Carisi said, his hands stilling, "hey, don't hide from me. Raf, look at me."

"I'm gonna come," Barba panted, his head falling back. "I'm not—Carisi, I'm not gonna last."

"Will you—" Carisi hesitated. "Is it too far to ask you to come on me?"

Barba's eyes flew open, his gaze finding Carisi's instantly, and they stared at each other for one long, drawn-out moment.

"Yeah," Barba finally managed, not wasting another second before turning to swing his leg over Carisi's hops, straddling him. "I mean—fuck, no, it's not too far. It's not, it's not, god, Carisi, tell me what to do, I want to—"

"Touch me," Carisi said immediately, his thumb finding Barba's nipple again.

"Yes, yes," Barba whispered, wrapping a hand around Carisi's length. He felt Carisi's cock twitch in his palm, and the sound that left his mouth was nothing but pure desperation.

"No," Carisi panted, shoving Barba's hand away.

Barba froze, his heart pounding in his chest, his throat, his ears.

"Wait, no, fuck," Carisi gasped, "That's not what I meant, I'm not—" He broke off with a groan, his fingers digging into Barba's chest. "Touch my face."

"Your face," Barba said stupidly, his cock throbbing between his legs, his brain utterly useless.

"My face," Carisi said, nodding frantically. "Just—if it's not too much, if you want to, just—"

Barba cut him off, his free hand moving up, up, until his fingers were ghosting over Carisi's lips.

Carisi moaned, his eyes squeezing shut as his mouth fell open, his tongue darting out to lick at Barba's fingertips.

"Jesus, Carisi," Barba gasped, his hips bucking into his hand as he traced Carisi's bottom lip.

"Call me Sonny," he begged, his mouth moving against Barba's fingers. "Please, I—just for now, just like this, call me Sonny."

"Sonny," Barba breathed, his whole body tensing, his release hitting him hard and fast. "Sonny, Sonny, fuck."

He came in a rush, his whole body shaking, his breath punched from his lungs, his cock jerking as he spilled over Sonny's stomach, his chest, his own hand.

"Fuck," Sonny whispered, his hand flying over his own cock, his eyes fixed on the mess Barba had made. "Yes, I was waiting for—Rafael, you feel so good, you sound so good. Do you have any idea how fucking beautiful you are? You're stunning, Rafael, look at you. I can't believe—"

And then Sonny was coming, his whole body going rigid, his back arching, his mouth falling open, a sound tearing from his throat that Barba felt in his chest, his gut, his soul.

Barba let out a breathy little laugh, his whole body trembling as he watched Carisi.

Carisi slumped back against the couch, his breathing harsh and uneven, then laughed, the sound bubbling up from deep within him. "Holy shit. We just had sex. In my apartment. On my couch. Sort of."

"Sort of," Barba repeated, his voice hoarse, his lips twitching.

"We had sex," Sonny said again, a wide, bright smile spreading across his face.

Barba looked down, brushing his thumb along Sonny's jaw, his eyes following the movement. "We did."

"Can we do it again?" Sonny asked, his hands trailing up Barba's thighs, his voice teasing, "You know, seeing as how you've come twice and I've only come once. I know you don't like being one-upped."

Barba rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help but smile, couldn't stop the warmth spreading through his body. "The polite thing to do would be to pretend that hadn't happened."

Sonny laughed, his thumbs pressing into the crease of Barba's hip. "I don't want to pretend it didn't happen."

Barba swallowed, his throat clicking. He tried desperately not to picture Carisi checking it off some sort of sex bucket list or laughing about it with his drinking buddies later. "Yeah, from touching his arm."

"So, do you want to?" Carisi asked again, his voice softer, more sincere. "Have sex again?"

Barba wanted to, god, he wanted to, but—

"What if..." He hesitated, his thumb brushing along the line of Sonny's jaw. "What if the drug wears off? When we're... in the middle?"

Sonny's face fell, his eyes sliding away, his hands slipping down. "Consent's kinda important to me, Barba. If it wears off and you want to leave, it stops there. No hard feelings."

"I meant what if..." Barba said, the words sticking in his throat, his face heating, "If it wears off for you first, I need you to tell me. You're a people-pleaser, and I—“

Sonny's eyebrows shot up, a startled laugh spilling from his lips. "I'm a what?"

"A people-pleaser, Carisi," Barba repeated, wincing at the defensive edge to his voice. "I don't want you to think you have to keep going just because I'm... enjoying myself. I've crossed enough lines today without adding coercing you into unwanted sex."

"Unwanted?" Carisi said, his mouth falling open.

"Don't make me spell it out, Sonny," Barba sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "You were two seconds away from taking a stranger home. Just... don't let me take advantage of—“

"Stop," Sonny said immediately, his hands sliding up again, gripping Barba's waist. "Rafael, that was a joke. I mean, a bad one, but it was a joke."

"I know it was a joke," Barba said dully. "I'm just trying to tell you that I’m going to have a hard enough time looking at myself in the mirror tomorrow without forcing you to—“

"Hold on, let me make sure I'm following," Sonny interrupted, his eyebrows drawing together, his voice a little louder, a little sharper. "You think that, in the event that you're still drugged and I'm not, you'd be taking advantage of me? Do I have that right?"

Barba swallowed, his cheeks burning. "When you say it like that, it sounds—“

"Barba, I invited you over here," Sonny reminded him. "I kissed you first. I shoved you up the stairs and took off your clothes. Hell, I asked you to come on me."

Barba let out a strangled sound. "I... didn't need a recap, but thanks."

"You're welcome," Sonny said, a smile tugging at his lips. "My point is, you're not exactly the aggressor in all this. Except for initiating this incredibly unsexy conversation we're having while we're covered in each other's jizz."

Barba desperately wanted to take the out, to smile, to laugh, to reach for the olive branch Carisi was so clearly offering to get their afternoon back on track.

But instead, he shook his head. "It's not about who initiated what, Sonny. You might feel that way now, but when the drug wears off, and you start to realize exactly whose dick you're sucking, it—“

"I can't tell if you're being confusing or if I'm just high," Sonny interrupted, his hands tightening around Barba's waist. "Whatever you're trying to say, just spit it out."

"Fine," Barba snapped, his temper flaring. "I'm trying to say that we're not on an even playing field here, Carisi. You wanted to have sex with someone, and I happened to be standing nearby. If it had been Rollins, you would've asked her. Or an ex, or some stranger from Grindr, or your fucking left hand. But I wanted to have sex with you, I have for months. That's the difference, and it matters. It matters that I'm taking advantage of—“

Carisi surged up, his lips crashing against Barba's with enough force to rock him back, to have him gripping Carisi’s shoulders for balance.

"Months," Carisi whispered against Barba's mouth, his arms winding around his waist. "Months, months, months, you've wanted me for months."

Barba made a broken sound, his hand fisting in Sonny's hair. "Carisi—“

"The playing field is even," Carisi promised, kissing him again, deeper, hotter. "God, Barba, it's so, so even. Trust me."

"I..." Barba blinked at him, his eyes fluttering shut as Sonny kissed his way down his jaw, his throat, his neck. "You don't understand."

"What don't I understand?" Carisi murmured against his skin.

"It's not just sex," Barba managed, his hips shifting restlessly, his hands sliding down, clutching at Carisi’s shoulders.

"Tell me," Carisi said, his teeth scraping along the sensitive spot under Barba's ear, his tongue chasing the sting.

Barba whimpered, his fingernails digging into Carisi's back. "I'm not just horny, Sonny. I want to spend time with you, I want to be around you. I want to hear about your day, I want you to ask about mine. I want to kiss you, and talk to you, and argue with you, and fuck you. I want to hold your hand in elevators, fuck, I don't know. I want... I want—"

"Hot Summer makes you stupid," Carisi whispered, pressing kisses along his shoulder, his collarbone, his chest. "No, you've been stupid. You could've asked me to dinner. Drinks. Mini golf."

"Mini golf?" Barba laughed, breathless. "Mini golf?"

"Bowling, go-karts, whatever," Carisi continued, his tongue circling Barba's nipple. "I would've said yes."

"Why?" Barba asked, the word bursting from him, his eyes flying open.

"Why?" Carisi echoed, his gaze meeting Barba's.

"Yes, why?" Barba said, his pulse pounding. "Why would you go to dinner or drinks or mini golf with me?"

Carisi smiled, wide and warm. "Because I'm a people-pleaser."

"You're real fucking hilarious, Carisi," Barba moaned, affection flooding his chest, his lungs, his heart. "But that doesn't answer my question. Why would you have said yes? I'm an asshole, I'm married to my work, I'm rude, I'm stubborn, I'm—“

"A real Sally Albright is what you are," Carisi interrupted, laughing as he slid his hands up and down Barba's thighs. "But this is a lot better than you crying in a bathrobe."

"Still not an answer," Barba pressed, his stomach flipping.

"It's kinda hot that we're high on sex drugs, and you want to hear me wax poetic about how I've got a crush on you," Carisi teased, his hands dipping lower, his fingers ghosting over Barba's balls.

Barba choked out a groan, his head falling back. "I'm not asking you to wax poetic. Just tell me why."

"Fine," Carisi said, his hand wrapping around Barba's length, stroking slowly, his thumb rubbing over the slit. "You're an asshole, sure. But you're an asshole because you're driven, and passionate, and impatient to get justice for people who deserve it. You're married to your work, yeah, because you care. But it's not like I'm out the door at five o'clock on the dot either. You're rude sometimes, and you're stubborn all the time. And you're honest, and funny, and loyal, and kind. Like Belle—there's no way you were gonna take those charges all the way, I know you weren't. So, yeah, you're an asshole, but you're an asshole with a conscience."

"A conscience," Barba repeated, his cock twitching Carisi's hand.

"A big one," Carisi promised, his lips brushing the corner of Barba's mouth. "A big, beautiful, conscience. You're gorgeous, by the way. Did I tell you that yet? How fucking hot you are, how sexy? Your arms, Raf, your fucking arms, I'm crazy about them. Every time you wear those ugly polos when you have to come in on weekends, it takes everything I have not to drool all over myself."

"Ugly?" Barba said, laughing despite himself, the sound catching in his throat as Carisi twisted his wrist.

"Ugly," Carisi confirmed, his voice hushed. "But you look really, really good in them. And then there's your legs, and your ass. Your eyes, your smile, your hair, the way you bite the end of your pen when you're thinking. The way you push me to do better, to be better."

"Carisi," Barba whispered, his chest aching. "Sonny."

"So, I would've said yes," Carisi finished, his tongue dragging along the underside of Barba's jaw. "I would've said yes, because you're a real Sally Albright, but I'm a real Harry Burns. And it's New Year's Eve, so please just... kiss me, Rafael."

Before Barba could respond, Carisi's mouth was on his again, and everything else faded away but the heat, the need, the overwhelming desire for more.

More kissing, more touching, more of Sonny.

More, more, more.

"Wait, wait," Carisi gasped, tearing his mouth away. "How long have we been here?"

Barba's whole body froze. "We never texted Liv."

"No, it's fine, right?" Carisi said, his hand speeding up on Barba's cock. "She'll probably just assume that we went our separate ways and got distracted... dealing with this."

"Dealing with this," Barba repeated, his hips thrusting up, into the circle of Sonny's hand.

"This," Sonny confirmed, his free hand tracing along the length of Barba's arm. "We're fine."

"I should text her," Barba said, his eyes sliding shut as he fought to catch his breath.

"You should. We both should," Carisi agreed, his thumb finding Barba's nipple again. "After you come on me again. Then I'll take a picture for her, so she knows we're both still alive."

"God, you're so stupid," Barba breathed, his hands tangling in Sonny's hair, dragging him forward.

"I'm a people-pleaser," Carisi murmured, smiling against his mouth. "I want to please you. Tell me, Raf, tell me what I can do for you."

"Raf," Barba choked, his body going rigid, pleasure racing down his spine, curling in his belly, his toes. "Nobody calls me that."

"Not nobody," Carisi whispered, his lips finding the hollow of Barba's throat. "Not anymore."

Barba opened his mouth to reply, but before he could form the words, his release crashed over him, a sharp, overwhelming wave, stealing his breath, his thoughts, his voice.

"There you go, Raf," Carisi said softly, his mouth sliding along Barba's jaw, his hand slowing, wringing him dry. "You're a real fucking vision."

Barba slumped against him, his head falling to Carisi's shoulder, his heart pounding. He let his eyes close, his hands fall away, his breathing settle. "God, I'm tired."

"Then let's text the lieutenant and grab a nap," Carisi suggested, his hands sliding along Barba's back, soothing and soft. "If you wanna stay."

Barba grinned, wrapping a hand around Carisi's hard, leaking cock trapped between them. "It doesn't feel like you want a nap."

Carisi hissed, his hips bucking. "Unless I'm hallucinating, I feel like we just had a pretty thorough conversation about consent. Just because I'm horny out of my mind doesn't mean—“

"Jesus, Carisi, relax," Barba said, his voice teasing, his hand picking up speed. "I'm tired, not dead. You can fuck me. You should fuck me, actually. After all, I've come thrice, and you've only come once. And you know I hate being one-upped."

"Thrice," Carisi repeated, laughing, his arms winding around Barba's waist, pulling him closer.

"That means three times," Barba said, pressing a kiss to the corner of Sonny's mouth, then his cheek, his nose. "Which is exactly how many times I've come today."

"Thrice," Carisi breathed, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Say it again."

"Three," Barba said, his heart skipping a beat as Sonny's eyes closed, his head falling back. "Times."

"That's really, really hot," Carisi moaned, his cock pulsing in Barba's hand.

"You're really, really easy," Barba whispered, his free hand coming up to brush Sonny's hair from his forehead. "Do you have condoms, lube?"

"No condoms, yes lube," Carisi said, his breathing quickening, his eyes blinking open. "Is that—“

"That's perfect," Barba said immediately, his stomach tightening. "You can come inside me. Deep, deep inside me. If you're lucky, you might even make it four."

"I'm feeling lucky," Carisi said, grinning widely.

"I'll get our phones," Barba murmured, nipping at Sonny's lip, his jaw. "Do you have water?"

"Do I have water? Do I have water," Carisi laughed, his hand squeezing Barba's hip. "You're such an idiot. Yes, I have—“

"Shut up, I meant 'will you get water?'" Barba shot back, climbing off his lap with a soft groan, his knees and ankles aching. "I'm a guest, and I'm dehydrated."

"You're a pain in my ass, is what you are," Carisi muttered, but he was still smiling as he rose to his feet, stretching his arms over his head.

Barba watched, mesmerized by the lean line of his torso, the muscles of his stomach flexing, the trail of hair leading down, down, down.

"My eyes are up here, Counselor," Carisi teased, a hint of a blush spreading across his cheeks.

"Your dick is down there, Detective," Barba countered, reaching out to drag a finger through the mess he'd made on Sonny's stomach. "One of them is more relevant to me right now."

"My dick," Carisi repeated, his blush darkening. "You know, for a guy who's afraid of taking advantage, you're awfully—“

"Just get the water," Barba interrupted, his own face heating.

"I'm serious," Carisi replied, "I've heard you talk about sex inside, outside, up, down—"

"Okay, I get the picture."

"—left, and right. But I've never heard you crass," Carisi continued, a smile tugging at his lips. "'My dick, your dick.' Who knew, underneath all that fancy book-learning, you're just a horny—"

"I don't talk about sex," Barba said, rolling his eyes. "I talk about sex crimes. Different."

"You were talking about sex crimes earlier," Carisi reminded him, laughter threading through his words. "The ones you were going to commit."

"I was trying to—"

"Take advantage of me, I know, I know," Carisi interrupted, kissing him softly. "I'll be right back. With water."

"Water," Barba repeated, sighing as Carisi pulled away.

Barba watched Carisi cross the room, admiring his strong, sure steps. It took Carisi disappearing into the kitchen for Barba to shake himself out of it, to remember that he had a task to accomplish.

He reached down to dig through the pocket of his pants, pulling out his phone. He wasn't sure if he was surprised or not that there were no texts or calls from Liv. He shot off a quick 'Home safe' text, then dug for Carisi's phone.

Barba yelped at the feeling of cold glass against his bare back, both phones tumbling from his hand. "Jesus, Carisi." 

"You wanted water," Carisi said, smiling unapologetically.

"Thanks," Barba muttered, bending down to pick up the phones. "You could've done that with your dick."

"Now I know for next time," Carisi replied.

"Next time," Barba said, the words echoing in his head. But even that couldn't distract him from looking in his water glass. " Is this—"

"Brita," Carisi said immediately, sipping his own.

Barba wrinkled his nose, lifting his glass. "To next times."

"To next times," Carisi echoed, tapping his glass against Barba's, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him closer. "Drink up."

Barba couldn't help but push his hips forward, rubbing against Carisi's hard cock. "Text Olivia. Quickly. Please."

Carisi hummed against Barba's jaw, unlocking his phone. "Isn't it weird if we text her at the same time?"

"Yeah." Barba reached between them, wrapping his hand around Carisi's cock. "Send it. In the next five minutes, I want to be face down, ass up, while you fuck me. Not face down, ass up, while you think about texting your boss."

"Face down, ass up," Carisi repeated, his hips bucking.

"Yes, Sonny," Barba said, pressing kisses along the side of his neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot behind his ear. "Face. Down. Ass. Up. I'm ready, and I'm tired. Take me to bed."

Carisi moaned, his head falling back, his hands coming up to cup Barba's jaw, dragging him into a deep, heated kiss.

Barba whimpered, his tongue slipping into Sonny's mouth, his body aching, burning, begging.

"Sonny," Barba murmured, his grip tightening. "Please."

"Fuck, okay, I'm texting her," Carisi said, his breathing ragged. 

Barba kept stroking his cock, watching as Carisi's fingers moved across his screen.

"Done," he breathed, dropping the phone on the couch and reaching for Barba's glass, draining the water, and placing them both on the coffee table. "If you'll so kindly get your hand off my cock, I'd like to actually make it to the bed before my next orgasm."

Barba let his hand fall, licking his lips, but Carisi didn't notice because he was already dragging him toward the bedroom, kissing him roughly, his hands roaming over Barba's body, his back, his ass, his chest, his stomach, his sides.

"Sonny," Barba whined, his knees hitting the edge of the bed.

Carisi spun him around, shoving him down on his hands and knees.

"This?" he asked, running his hands over Barba's ass.

"Yes," Barba moaned, pushing back.

"I've wanted you like this for so long," Carisi admitted, squeezing his ass, his thumb teasing Barba's hole. "Tell me how I can make it good for you, Rafael."

"Fuck me," Barba pleaded, rocking back, seeking more contact.

"Tell me how," Carisi demanded, his other hand reaching for his nightstand.

"With your dick, Carisi, was that unclear to you? A little slow on the uptake today?" Barba asked, gasping when Carisi's thumb slid inside, teasing him, stretching him, not enough, not nearly enough.

"Don't be mean," Carisi chided, withdrawing his thumb to slap his ass, the sting sending a jolt straight to Barba's cock.

"Fuck," Barba groaned, burying his face in the blankets, his hips jerking back. "Again."

"Jesus, are you... seriously?" Carisi's laugh was breathy, incredulous. "Rafael Barba wants me to spank him."

"You don't have to," Barba said, even as he pushed back, asking for more. "If it's too much for your delicate Staten Island sensibilities, just ignore me."

"I have been, and it's killing me," Carisi replied, and the next second, his hand came down hard on Barba's ass.

Barba cried out, as he felt the press of Sonny's lubed fingers, the sting of the hit and the burn of his ass being stretched open at the same time.

"Oh, god, I'm not gonna last," Carisi gasped, sliding a third finger inside him. "I'm sorry, I can't—not right now, not this first time."

"I don't care, I just need you," Barba moaned, his legs spreading wider, his back arching, trying to take him deeper, more, closer.

"God, Rafael," Carisi panted, his fingers moving faster, deeper, harder, "I wish you could see yourself. You look so fucking hot, all spread out and begging for me. Rafael Barba is begging for me to fuck him."

"Rafael Barba is about to die of old age," Barba hissed, grinding back against him.

"Don't be mean," Carisi said, smacking his ass one more time before he pulled his fingers free. "I'm savoring."

"I'm suffering."

"That makes two of us," Carisi replied, his words punctuated by the pop of the lube cap.

Barba whimpered when he felt the tip of Sonny's cock pressing against him, pushing inside, opening him up. He gripped the blankets, his knuckles turning white as Carisi slowly sank inside, inch by inch, stretching him, filling him.

"You're so tight," Carisi choked out, his fingers digging into Barba's hips. "Fuck, you feel so good. How do you feel so good? I've thought about this so much. So many times. It's never felt like this."

"It's the drugs," Barba moaned, laughing and then crying out when Carisi started thrusting.

"It's not the drugs," Carisi replied, his pace picking up. "The drugs are why I'm ten seconds away from coming, but not why it feels like this."

Barba groaned, pushing back, meeting his every thrust.

"Raf," Carisi whined, his movements growing erratic already as he reached around to stroke Barba's cock. "You gotta come."

Barba could only moan in response, his hips rolling, thrusting forward into Carisi's fist and back against his cock, everything blurring, melding together, until his entire world was narrowed down to Carisi's voice, his touch, his cock, the feel of him inside, outside, everywhere.

"I wanna make you come," Barba whispered, the words tumbling out, his brain-to-mouth filter shot."

"Fuck, you are, I am," Carisi gasped, his hand stilling on Barba's cock, his hips jerking forward. "Come, Raf, I'm gonna—"

Barba groaned as he felt Carisi's cock pulse inside him, felt him coming, the heat spreading through him, filling him, and the thought alone was enough to push him over the edge.

He collapsed, falling onto his stomach, and Carisi followed, covering him, holding him, kissing his shoulder, his neck, the back of his head.

"Jesus," Carisi said, nuzzling his neck, "that was... that was... I can't..."

"Don't hurt yourself," Barba murmured, his hand moving clumsily, searching, until he found Carisi's, twining their fingers together.

"I can't believe you told me to spank you," Carisi whispered, his lips brushing against his ear, making him shiver.

"It was the drugs," Barba replied, his eyes slipping closed, his exhaustion catching up to him.

"Not the drugs," Carisi mumbled, his lips warm and soft on Barba's neck, his body heavy, holding him down, anchoring him.

Barba tried to form a witty response, but all that came out was a quiet moan, a half-formed syllable.

"Shh," Carisi murmured, turning barely to the side, just enough to avoid crushing Barba, "go to sleep."

Barba didn't want to sleep. He wanted to bask in the glow of the high, of the afterglow. He wanted to revel in the feeling of having Sonny's weight on top of him, his cock softening inside him, his hand twined in his own.

But Sonny's body was a furnace, and Barba's body was a match. His skin was sticky with sweat, his throat dry, his joints aching.

"Sonny," he whispered, trying to lift his hand.

"Raf," Sonny murmured, pulling him closer.

"I think I might be back on earth," Barba managed, his voice thin and wavering, his words slurring. "I feel disgusting."

"Disgusting," Carisi repeated, humming against Barba's shoulder.

"Disgusting, sticky, sweaty, gross, hot, thirsty," Barba mumbled, rolling over, wincing when Sonny's softening cock slid free, come leaking down his thigh. "And tired. Tired and thirsty."

Carisi sat up, his hair mussed, his cheeks flushed, and Barba wished he had the energy, the focus, to appreciate it properly.

"Water, towel, clean up, sleep," Carisi said, running a hand over his face, yawning. "Anything else?"

"No, thank you," Barba replied, pushing himself up, his head spinning, his vision blurring. "Jesus."

"Whoa," Carisi said, reaching out to steady him, his palm flat on Barba's chest. "Easy."

Barba let his eyes slip closed, taking a deep breath, willing the room to stop spinning. When his vision came back into focus, the first thing he noticed was Sonny's bright eyes.

The second thing was Sonny's half-hard cock.

"Are you—"

"Not a word," Carisi warned, his fingers curling in Barba's hair, pulling him in for a slow kiss.

"Your metabolism is so high, you're younger, you're taller," Barba muttered, letting his head fall onto Carisi's shoulder, his lips pressing against the warm, salty skin of his neck. "How has my body processed it, but yours hasn't?"

"The only drug I'm high on is you," Carisi said, nipping at Barba's lip, tugging at his hair.

"Don't be annoying," Barba whispered, kissing him again.

"Okay, I'll add 'don't tell jokes' to the aftercare rules," Carisi said, a smile tugging at his lips. "But yeah, I think it's because I was sitting closer to her."

"At what point should we start worrying about how one hit of secondhand smoke—"

"Tomorrow," Carisi interrupted, kissing his forehead. "Water, towel, clean up, sleep."

"And what are you going to do with that?" Barba asked, his hand trailing down Carisi's stomach, his fingers wrapping around his cock.

"I was going to get us water, a towel, clean up, and sleep," Carisi murmured, his breath hitching.

"Okay," Barba said, dropping his head back to the pillow. "I'll just lay here. All loose and open. Wet. Pliant. And wait for you."

"Tease," Carisi accused, climbing out of bed.

"Not a tease if I intend to deliver," Barba mumbled, his eyes slipping closed.

"If you're awake to deliver, I'll be impressed," Carisi called from the bathroom.

"If I'm not, you can wake me," Barba replied, sighing softly as he listened to the water running in the sink.

He was three-quarters gone when he felt the cool, wet towel drag over his skin. He shifted, humming in pleasure.

"You're beautiful, Rafael," Carisi murmured, leaning down to kiss his shoulder.

Barba turned away from Carisi, hitching a leg up, a silent invitation.

"You're also a slut," Carisi said, the laughter obvious in his voice.

"A slut or a tease?" Barba asked, pushing his hips back, groaning softly when he felt Carisi's hard cock against his ass. "Choose wisely."

"How about 'I'll take you as I find you?'" Carisi suggested, his hand skimming over Barba's hip.

"Then take me, Carisi," Barba mumbled, his lips curling into a lazy smile.

"Oh, I will," Carisi promised, his tongue licking a stripe up Barba's neck, making him shudder, making his very spent cock twitch, his ass clench. "Later."

"Now," Barba pleaded, his hand reaching back, groping blindly, his fingers searching.

"Raf, you're barely awake," Carisi said, his hand closing around Barba's. "Just get some rest."

"I am going to rest," Barba assured him, "right on your cock."

"Jesus Christ," Carisi muttered, laughing breathlessly. "I don't know where to start with that."

"With your dick in my ass," Barba replied, pushing back again, gasping softly when Carisi's cock rubbed over his hole. "Please, Sonny, I want you to."

"I want to," Carisi admitted, his grip tightening. "God, Raf, I really want to, but you're—"

"Fucked out, sleepy, sober," Barba interrupted, squeezing his hand. "But you're not. So let me take advantage of you, Sonny."

"I'm starting to feel like we have very different definitions of the words 'take advantage,'" Carisi mumbled, his hand was still moving over Barba's hip.

"Please," Barba whispered, turning his face, burying his nose in the pillow.

Sonny huffed a laugh. "Barba, you'd seriously let me fuck you when you're falling asleep?"

"I'd beg you to," Barba corrected, "Wanna fall asleep with you inside me."

"Jesus, Barba. This isn't what I was expecting when I invited you over here," Carisi murmured, his hand slipping between Barba's legs, a finger teasing at his slick hole.

"What?" Barba choked out, pushing back, trying to take more. "You didn't know I was a sure thing?"

"No, Barba," Carisi laughed, withdrawing his finger. "No, I didn't know that, and I certainly didn't know you were going to ask me to fuck you to sleep. That is truly not something that's ever crossed my mind, ever, not once."

Barba hummed, happy, sleepy. "If you don't want to—"

"Oh, no, I'm going to," Carisi interrupted, "I'm just saying, when I woke up this morning, if somebody told me that by the end of the day, Rafael Barba was going to be in my bed at all, I would've laughed until I cried. Rollins would've had to give me the Heimlich. So, you can understand, right? Why I'm a little caught off guard by the situation?"

"Are you done?" Barba asked, yawning, rubbing his ass against Carisi's cock.

"I'm almost done," Carisi promised, brushing a soft kiss on Barba's shoulder. "If you really, really, absolutely want let me fuck you while you're barely conscious, then I will. But only if you're certain you're willing to take advantage of a vulnerable man like that."

"I'm willing to accept the consequences of my actions," Barba replied, smiling softly. "I have the right to remain silent. Anything I say can and will be used against me. So, 'your cock.'"

Carisi laughed in earnest. "God, that was the stupidest joke I've ever heard. You're so fucking funny, Barba, even when you're about to pass out. You're a riot. A hoot."

"You're a hoot, too," Barba said, yawning again. "You're a riot. A hoot. And I'm gonna fall asleep, and I'd love nothing more than to do it on your cock."

"Rafael, you're loopy," Carisi said, still laughing. "Fuck, I can't believe I get to see you like this."

"Yes, I'm adorable. Now fuck me, so I can sleep."

"Adorable," Carisi echoed, shifting, lining his cock up. "Beautiful, funny, a slut, a tease. Anything else I should know before I put my cock in you?"

"I snore," Barba said, pushing back as Carisi pushed forward, filling him, stretching him, deeper and deeper, until their hips were pressed together, until Barba couldn't think of anything but the feel of Sonny inside him.

"Jesus, that feels just as good the second time," Carisi breathed, his forehead resting on the back of Barba's neck.

"That's mean," Barba mumbled, nearly incoherent.

"Not a word from you," Carisi chided, kissing his neck. "Go to sleep."

Barba could've come up with a witty retort, he could've argued, could've pushed back, could've teased him, could've insisted that Carisi move. But instead, he let his eyes fall shut, let his body relax, and drifted off to the feel of Carisi's soft kisses, the gentle, lazy roll of his hips, the quiet sounds he made.

And then he slept through the night. 

Notes:

tag yourself, i'm the fish on the vape that barba makes eye contact with