I, I, if I had your trouble (life would be double good sweet)

by BarisiStill

Summary:

Carisi sets out to prove something to himself in a club full of strangers and ends up proving a very different point to the man who recognizes him instantly.

(AKA Carisi has a mid-life crisis)

Notes:

On my life, I had every intention of this being super-hot-no-strings-semi-public club sex, but it somehow turned into the same shit as always.

The bass thrummed through Sonny's chest like a second heartbeat as he stood just inside the entrance of Club Paradox, trying to convince himself he belonged here. The familiar weight of his badge was absent from his hip, and without it, he felt strangely untethered. Exposed.

This wasn't Forlini's. This wasn't the parish social hour, or bowling with his law school friends, or any of the other safe, predictable venues where he'd been failing to make meaningful connections for the past decade. 

Decades. Plural. 

The air was thick with artificial fog and the mingled scents of cologne, sweat, and desire. The writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor moved like a single organism, all bare skin and wandering hands, punctuated by the prismatic scatter of strobing lights.

Sonny tugged at the collar of his shirt—a deep purple number that Bella had insisted brought out his eyes somehow, and who was he to say it didn’t, he had no idea—and tried to steady his breathing. 

Forty. 

Christ, he was going to be forty in six days. 

The thought hit him like a punch to the solar plexus, and he found himself gravitating toward the bar, where at least he could occupy his hands with something other than anxiously smoothing down his clothes.

"Gin and tonic," he managed to tell the bartender, having to lean close and practically shout over the pulsing rhythm of some remixed pop song he was too old to recognize. 

In the mirrored backdrop of the bar, he caught glimpses of what was happening in the darker corners of the club. Men pressed against walls, mouths meeting hungrily, hands disappearing beneath clothing. 

His face flushed hot, but he didn't look away.

This was why he'd come, wasn't it? 

To stop being the cautious one, the good Catholic boy who kept his desires neatly compartmentalized, who'd spent so many years convincing himself that loneliness was just another form of virtue. 

A man about his age caught his eye in the mirror and smiled—dark eyes, salt-and-pepper stubble, wearing a fitted black t-shirt that showed off well-maintained arms. Sonny's throat went dry. This was usually the moment he'd make his excuses, head home to his empty apartment, and spend another night telling himself that the right person would come along eventually, that there was nothing wrong with waiting.

But forty was staring him in the face like an ultimatum, and he was tired of playing it safe. He turned around, gin and tonic clutched in his slightly trembling hand, and met the stranger's gaze directly. The man's smile widened, and he began making his way through the crowd toward the bar.

That's when Sonny saw him.

Rafael Barba, Manhattan ADA and longtime subject of Sonny's carefully suppressed fantasies, was standing near one of the support columns, looking impossibly at home in this sea of sensuality. 

He wore dark jeans that fit him like sin and a forest green shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, the top three buttons undone to reveal a glimpse of dark chest hair. He was talking animatedly to someone Sonny couldn't see, head thrown back in laughter, and the sight of him—so unguarded, so removed from the rigid prosecutor persona—knocked the air right out of Sonny's lungs.

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world.

His panic came rushing back, ten times worse.

This wasn't just about stepping out of his comfort zone anymore. This was about stepping into a minefield of professional complications and personal humiliations.

The stranger was approaching the bar now, maybe five feet away, and Barba—

Barba was looking right at him.

Sonny watched as recognition dawned on his face, then something else—something heated and curious that made Sonny's pulse spike harder than the bass line ever could.

Barba excused himself from whatever conversation he'd been having and began moving through the crowd with an unnerving confidence, his gaze locked on Sonny's.

Sonny couldn't move.

Couldn't breathe.

Could only stand there as two trajectories converged on him at once—one path toward potential embarrassment, the other toward the absolute certainty of it.

The stranger reached him first, placing a hand lightly on Sonny's forearm.

"Didn't expect to see someone as sober as you in a place like this," the man said, his voice as low and intimate as it could be over the music. "Dominick." He extended his free hand.

Sonny's brain might not have tripped over itself as much as it did if not for Barba's imminent arrival. "Sorry, what?" he asked, shaking the guy’s hand automatically.

The stranger's smile faltered slightly at Sonny's clear distraction. "My name. It's Dominick."

Sonny choked on nothing. "You're shitting me."

Before he could explain, Barba was there, standing close enough that Sonny could smell the godawful cat piss scented cologne he always wore that Sonny was drawn to like a particularly stupid moth to flame.

"Fancy seeing you here, Carisi," Barba said, glancing between Sonny and the other Dominick, gesturing lazily with his glass. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Sonny's face burned hotter at how much it sounded like Barba could not care less if he was interrupting a damn thing.

"Actually," Dominick 2.0 said smoothly, stepping closer to Sonny and resting a hand on the small of his back, "you were about to ask me to dance."

This was it.

This was the moment.

A perfect stranger with the same name as him, offering him exactly what he'd come here to find, while the person he'd pined after for maybe actual years at this point looked on.

Sonny should’ve taken the out.

He should’ve let a beautiful stranger lead him onto the dance floor and lost himself in the music for a while, maybe swapped numbers, maybe swapped spit, maybe found the person he'd swap spit with for the rest of his life.

Dominick and Dominick, that was cute. People liked that kind of thing, right? It was a story they could tell their children.

We were both named Dominick and we met in a gay club the week before my 40th birthday. He was a handsome stranger. I was a handsome stranger too, I guess. We were just two handsome Dominicks who found each other in the great big city. And that, kids, is how I met your father. The more handsome one. The one who wasn't my ADA not-boss I'd been wanting to bang since the day I met him and who I ignored in favor of some random fuck named Dominick so you could be born. Please don't ask any follow-up questions.

The entire fantasy played out in the space of two seconds, and in the third, Sonny made a choice.

A stupid choice.

A forty-year-old-man's last stand.

"Actually, Dominick, I'm—" Sonny cut himself off. He what? He was also a Dominick, but that wasn't important? He didn't want to dance with a perfectly handsome Dominick because he was busy yearning after a green shirt in cat piss cologne? In the end, he gestured futilely in Barba's general direction. "Sorry."

"Hey, no need to be sorry," the stranger, the non-Carisi Dominick, said with a gracious smile. "I get it. You two know each other."

"Work," Sonny managed to say, which was both semi-true and a pathetic way of dismissing a perfectly viable romantic prospect.

"Ah," Other Dominick replied, like that explained anything. "Well, if you change your mind, I'll be around." He squeezed Sonny's arm, then slipped back into the crowd, another anonymous body swallowed by the music.

And then Sonny was alone with Rafael Barba. At a gay club. Underneath a fucking pride flag that he was just now noticing was hung above the bar like a shrine to everything he'd spent a lifetime hiding from everyone but the two most important people in his life—his little sister, and God.

Neither of whom were here to save him now.

"Did I just hear you correctly that that guy's name was Dominick?" Barba asked, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Dominick and Dominick. That's..."

"Something," Sonny finished for him, taking a desperate gulp of gin and tonic that ended up being mostly tonic and a few ice cubes clinking against his teeth.

"I take it you weren't here with him," Barba said as he leaned against the bar next to Sonny.

Sonny could smell that nasty fucking cologne, and he wanted to bury his nose in Barba's neck and inhale until he forgot his own name.

Which was Dominick.

Jesus Christ.

"No," Sonny said, hating how thin and reedy he sounded. "I was, uh… I'm just here." He waved a hand vaguely around the club. "Taking in the scenery."

"I can see that," Barba replied, and there was something in the way he said it that made Sonny feel pinned open, like a butterfly wing under a microscope. "Shame about what you missed out on, though. The Dominick-Dominick connection is rare." He paused, swirling whatever dark liquor was in his glass. "I'm Rafael, by the way. In case you were wondering."

It took Sonny's brain longer than it should’ve to process that it was a joke.

Of course Barba was fucking with him. Of course he'd take Sonny at his most vulnerable and poke at him with a sharp stick until he bled amusement for Barba's private entertainment.

"Very funny," Sonny said, trying to muster some of the confidence he'd been faking since he walked through the door. "And what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at home, polishing your briefcases or something?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Carisi," Barba shot back, turning to face him fully. The shifting lights caught the silver at his temples. "I'm surprised. I thought your scene was more... Irish pub trivia night."

"And I thought your scene was more reading case law for pleasure and gargling whiskey by lamplight, but here we both are, proving each other wrong."

Barba's laugh was genuine and startlingly loud. "Gargling whiskey by lamplight? Really, Carisi? That's how you see me?"

Sonny wanted to die. "No, I—"

"Don't backpedal now," Barba replied. "I'm intrigued. Tell me more about this lamplight gargling scenario. Do I have a wingback chair? A smoking jacket?"

Sonny felt a warmth spreading through his chest. This was familiar territory—this verbal sparring, the back-and-forth that defined so many of their interactions. He could do this. He'd been doing it for years.

God, how he liked it. How he liked him.

"A bearskin rug, the kind with the head still attached," Sonny found himself saying, the words coming more easily now, even though he was still sort of having to yell them. "A big fucking—pardon my French—a massive fucking fireplace. You've got, like, fifty books on the go at once, and you're reading them all out loud to your cat. What's your cat's name again? I forget.” 

"His name is Cicero, and he doesn't exist," Barba said, taking a sip of his drink. "But if he did, he'd be a Sphynx with a taste for smooth jazz, and he'd bite anyone who referred to me as his 'owner.' We'd be cohabitants, equals in the domestic sphere."

Sonny was smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. "Sphynx? Like, the naked one?"

"The naked one," Barba confirmed. "And before you ask, yes, I imagine him wearing tiny sweaters in the winter." He leaned a little closer. "Now, you. You're at this club, a place you so clearly aren't comfortable—"

"Hey—"

"—and you turn down a perfectly decent Dominick proposition to talk to me about cats that don't exist and block the bar."

Sonny wasn't born yesterday. He knew better to give a lawyer any more information than necessary.

And they were blocking the bar, he realized when he allowed his field of vision to expand beyond Barba's face.

So instead of answering Barba's non-question, he caught the attention of the bartender. "Can I get another gin and tonic, and—" He glanced at Barba's glass. "What are you having?"

Barba raised an eyebrow. "Are you buying me a drink, Carisi?"

"I'm trying to get out of the way," Sonny said, gesturing towards the clearly impatient bartender. "You want a drink or not?"

"Whiskey sour," Barba said, a slow smile spreading across his face. "And since you're buying, make it a double."

A double whiskey sour.

Sonny's brain was already spinning from the gin on top of no dinner on top of this bizarre fantasy he was having. The thought of a Rafael Barba with a double whiskey sour in him was something he'd only ever pictured in the privacy of his own apartment, usually late at night.

While the bartender made their drinks, an awkward pause stretched between them. Sonny needed to fill it before his ears started ringing over the music.

"So, uh... you come here often?"

Barba let out a huff of laughter Sonny could see but not hear. "Are you seriously asking me that question?"

Sonny's face bloomed with heat. "No. I don't know why I said that."

"Because you're nervous," Barba replied. "You're out of your element, you've been caught by someone you know in a place you clearly don't want to be known, and you're standing here in a purple shirt that looks very nice, by the way, wondering if I'm going to hold this over your head come Monday morning."

Sonny looked down at himself, then back up at Barba. "You think my shirt is nice?"

"It's a good color on you," Barba said. "And, for the record, I'm not going to hold anything over your head."

"I actually wasn't worried about that, but I kind of am now that you pointed it out," Sonny admitted, which was true. He hadn't been worried about it because he'd been too busy thinking about all the other ways this could go wrong.

"Glass houses, Carisi," Barba said, accepting their drinks from the bartender and passing Sonny's to him. "I'm not exactly broadcasting my presence here either."

"And yet you saw someone you knew and made a beeline for him," Sonny countered, taking a step back from the bar to try to be anywhere but in the way.

"I was actually making a beeline for Dominick The Second," Barba corrected, falling into step beside Sonny as they were pushed further from the bar by the tide of people trying to order drinks. "You just happened to be in the way."

Sonny didn't believe him for a second, but the lie was comforting enough to allow him to breathe again. "Sorry for cramping your style."

Barba laughed, leading them to a small, empty table tucked away in a slightly quieter corner of the club. "Don't be. The night is young, and there are plenty of Dominicks in the sea."

This was too much.

Sonny took a long sip of his gin and tonic, trying to wash down the lump in his throat. "You know, for a guy who gargles whiskey by lamplight, you're surprisingly... comfortable here."

Barba settled into the chair across from him, nursing his whiskey sour. "Surprising as it may be, Carisi, I am a human being who occasionally leaves the office to engage in social activities."

Social activities.

"You were talking to someone earlier," Sonny remembered, "I should let you get back to... whatever you do here when you're not babysitting me." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Sonny wanted to shove them back in.

He didn't want Barba to leave. He wanted to stay in this bubble for as long as he possibly could.

"Are you trying to get rid of me, Carisi?" Barba asked, but he wasn't offended. He was amused. He was enjoying this.

"Trust me, I’m not trying to get rid of you," Sonny said, taking another sip of his drink. "I just don't want to keep you from your, uh... social activities."

"You're not keeping me from anything," Barba replied. "I was talking to a friend. A friend who currently has his tongue down the throat of a man who looks young enough to be his son, which is a situation I try my best to avoid."

Sonny choked on his gin. "Jesus, that's the company you keep?"

"I didn't say he was a close friend," Barba said dryly. "Your turn. What's your excuse?"

"My excuse?" Sonny repeated, trying to get his brain to function.

"Your excuse for being here," Barba elaborated. "Alone. In a purple shirt."

"It's not exactly 'my turn' if you never told me why you're here," Sonny shot back, but it was a weak deflection and he knew it. "Why are you here, if you're not trying to be the center of someone else's daddy issues?"

"Touché," Barba said with a soft smile. "Now it's your turn."

Sonny swallowed hard. Was that the kind of thing Barba was into? Young guys who called him daddy? Surely not. He was just deflecting Sonny's deflection. He had to be.

Sonny wasn’t a young guy, but there was a decade between them. That was something. And when he really thought about it, he could probably manage the other thing. Maybe. He took another drink.

"I'm turning forty next week," Sonny said, staring at the condensation ring forming on the table. He could feel Barba's eyes on him, and it made him want to squirm.

Barba let out a low whistle. "Forty."

Sonny's head snapped up. "Shut up."

"One foot in the grave," Barba continued. "Your days are numbered. Soon, you'll be eating dinner at four in the afternoon and complaining about the music on the radio with the rest of us senior citizens." He took a sip of his whiskey sour. "Is that why you're here? A last-ditch effort to prove you've still got it before you start collecting social security?"

Sonny almost smiled. "You know that's not what I meant." He paused, gathering his courage. "I was just thinking that I've spent a lot of my life... waiting. For the right person, the right moment, the right whatever. And I'm starting to think that maybe the right whatever isn't something you wait for. Maybe it's something you have to go out and find."

"And you thought you'd find it here," Barba said.

"I thought I'd... start with here," Sonny replied, a little defensive. "You know, see how the other half lives."

"Which half is that?" Barba asked. "The gay half? The sexually liberated half? The half that wears a lot of mesh shirts and body glitter?"

Sonny's face burned. "All of it. None of it. I don't know." He took a long swallow of his drink. "Do I seriously look that out of place?"

"Yes." Barba leaned forward, placing his forearms on the table. "I've never seen you not look comfortable in your body. You take up space, you're confident. When I saw you standing by the bar, you looked like a rabbit about to get run over. Which, frankly, is not a good look. Especially when your goal is to... find your whatever."

Sonny was speechless. He had no idea Barba paid that much attention to him, let alone that he had a catalog of Sonny's typical body language.

"Rabbits are fast," Sonny finally managed, which was the stupidest fucking thing he could have said.

Barba laughed, loud and sudden. "See, that right there. I truly cannot tell if that was supposed to be an innuendo or if you're really so nervous that you just said 'rabbits are fast.' I'm genuinely asking."

Sonny felt the flush creeping up his neck. "I was not making an innuendo about rabbits."

"I didn't think so," Barba replied. "So what is it about being forty that has you sitting here in your nice purple shirt?" he asked. "Is this your late-in-life gay death?"

"Is that... what?" Sonny shook his head. "I don't know what that is."

"Carisi, it's a rite of passage," Barba said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "It's the gay equivalent of a mid-life crisis, except it usually happens in your thirties when you realize you're aging out of the young and beautiful demographic and have to start cultivating a personality."

Sonny stared at him. "You're making me feel worse."

"I'm not trying to make you feel worse," Barba said. "I'm trying to tell you that you're not the only person who has ever had this thought, this feeling, this..." He gestured vaguely, searching for the word. "This urgency."

There it was again. That feeling of being seen.

"You don't look dead," Sonny said, and he hated how much he meant it. Hated how easily the words came to him now, lubricated by gin and the strange intimacy of their conversation. "You look..." He trailed off, not wanting to say 'good' or 'hot' or 'I want to lick the sweat from the hollow of your throat like I'm a man who's been wandering in the desert for a week.'

"I look...?" Barba prompted.

"Like you're here," Sonny finally said. "And you know why. And you're not worried about it."

Barba finished the last of his whiskey sour and set the glass down with a hard click. "And you're here, and you don't know why, and you're worried about everything."

"I'm not worried about everything," Sonny protested, even though he was, a little.

He was worried that Barba would leave when he realized he was, in fact, babysitting. He was worried that he wouldn't. He was worried about what would happen if he just said what he was thinking.

Hey, remember all those years we've worked together? All those times we've argued about case law and warrants and the proper way to make a cup of coffee? I've spent most of that time imagining you naked. Thoughts?

Barba pushed his chair back. "I'm going to get another drink. Do you want another one?"

Sonny's stomach dropped. This was it. This was the end. He was being abandoned. He was going to be left alone at this table like a loser, the guy who came to the club to find himself but just ended up proving that he didn't have anything interesting to offer.

"I'm good," Sonny said, trying to sound casual.

Barba leaned in close, his hand resting on the back of Sonny's chair. His cologne was overwhelming. "Ask me what I'm doing, Carisi."

Sonny's breath hitched. "What are you doing?"

"I'm giving you a minute," Barba said, close to his ear. "To decide if you want to keep talking to me, or if you want to go find that other Dominick and see if you have anything in common besides a name."

He was gone before Sonny could respond, swallowed by the crowd.

Sonny stared at the empty glasses on the table. A minute. He had a minute. He could do anything in a minute. He could get up and walk out. He could go to the bathroom and splash water on his face and come back a new person with a new plan. He could scan the crowd for Other Dominick and see if the universe was really trying to tell him something.

He did none of those things. He just sat there and watched Barba at the bar through the gaps in the crowd, watched the way he leaned against it, the easy confidence in his stance, the way he gestured with his hands as he talked to the bartender.

He wasn't awkward. He wasn't a rabbit about to get run over. He was just... a guy. At a bar. Getting a drink.

And he was coming back.

Sonny's heart hammered against his ribs as Barba navigated the tables, holding two fresh drinks. He set Sonny's gin and tonic down in front of him and settled back into his chair.

"So," Barba said, taking a sip of his new whiskey sour. "Have you come to any life-altering conclusions in the last ninety seconds?"

"I'm not gonna go find Dominick," Sonny said, the words feeling heavy and important.

Barba raised an eyebrow. "Because...?"

"Because I don't want to," Sonny said, the simplicity of it a revelation.

He didn't want to. That was it. That was the whole reason.

"And you do want to talk to me," Barba concluded.

"I do want to talk to you," Sonny confirmed.

"Then can I ask you a question?" Barba asked, leaning forward again.

Sonny huffed out a laugh. "You've been asking me questions. You can ask me anything you want."

Barba's gaze was intense, cutting through the dim light and the thumping bass. "This—you being here. The nervousness. Are you having a crisis about being surrounded by men who want to fuck each other, or about being one of them?"

The question was a slap in the face. A cold, clinical, perfectly targeted slap. Sonny felt exposed, dissected.

"That's a hell of a question."

"It's a hell of a situation," Barba countered, not backing down an inch. "You show up here, a place you clearly don't belong, on some kind of quest to 'find your whatever.' You turn down the easiest possible in you could ever get, a goddamn meet-cute with a man who has your exact same name, and now you're sitting here with me. So I'll ask again. Are you struggling with your identity, or just your venue?"

Sonny stared at him. The music was a distant throb, the flashing lights a blur at the edge of his vision. All he could see was Barba's face, all he could feel was the weight of the question.

"I'm not struggling with my identity," Sonny finally said. "I'm struggling with... the doing of it. The actual being it." He gestured vaguely around them again. "This. All of this. I've been... on the shelf for a while. And now I'm trying to get off it, but it turns out the ground is pretty far down and I'm not sure how to land."

"So this isn't a gay panic," Barba clarified. "It’s a slut panic."

Sonny winced. "You really have a way with words."

"I'm a lawyer, Carisi. I deal in facts," Barba said. "And the fact is, you're a forty-year-old man who is emotionally intelligent, physically attractive, and socially capable, yet you're sitting here with me, acting like you've never spoken to another human being before."

Sonny's face was on fire. "You're right. Go. Do. Be," Sonny said, the words coming out in a rush. "I'm not trying to hold you hostage."

He hated how desperate he sounded. How pathetic.

"Oh my god, Carisi," Barba said, leaning back and running a hand over his face. "I have another question." He didn't wait for Sonny to reply. "Are you an idiot?"

Sonny stared at him, dumbfounded.

"No, seriously," Barba continued. "Because I can't tell if you're being deliberately obtuse to get me to leave you alone or if you’re just that dense. If you want me to leave, all you have to do is say 'Rafael, please leave.' That's it. Those are all the words you need. You don't have to go on this whole performance about how you don't want to hold me hostage and how you're not trying to cramp my style. Just say the words."

"Of course I don't want you to leave," Sonny sputtered. "Why would you even think that?"

"Because the signals you're sending are mixed," Barba said, gesturing sharply at Sonny. "You look like you want to bolt every five seconds, but you turned down a sure thing for this. A conversation that, frankly, is giving me whiplash."

"I'm sorry," Sonny said, a wave of guilt washing over him. He was making a mess of Barba's night out. He was making a mess of whatever was left of their professional relationship after he dumped all his baggage out on this stupid fucking table. "I'm not trying to... I don't know, guilt you into staying or anything. I should probably get going anyway."

"Fucking Christ, Carisi," Barba snapped, slumping back in his chair and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "So you truly are just an idiot."

Sonny was a stranger in this strange land, and Rafael Barba was holding the map. "Alright. I get it. I'm an idiot. Thanks for the drink."

He made a move to stand up. His hand was on the table, ready to push himself away from this disaster of a night.

"Don't you dare get up," Barba said, his voice low and firm. "We're not done."

"We're not done with what?" Sonny asked lamely, slumping back into his chair.

"This conversation. We're finishing it if it kills both of us," Barba said. "And we're finishing it here, not at work on Monday morning when you're looking at me like a kicked puppy." He took a long sip of his whiskey sour, draining the glass. "Let me lay it out for you. I told my friend to go fuck himself with a lightbulb so I could chase away some random man who was hitting on you. I followed you across a crowded room in service of continuing to have a yelled conversation with you about shit like fireplaces and a cat named Cicero that I'm starting to genuinely wish I owned. I'm now on my third overpriced whiskey sour, sitting in this incredibly uncomfortable chair, because I've been trying to figure out if you're going to let me kiss you or if you're going to ask me to help you pick out a suit for your funeral because that's clearly all you think you're good for." He slammed his empty glass on the table. "So you can stop worrying that you're bothering me, because I am doing this to myself. And I am this close to going home and gargling whiskey by lamplight, but not before I know if I've burned my entire fucking evening."

Sonny's entire world tilted on its axis. The noise of the club faded to a dull, distant roar. The flashing lights slowed. It was just him and Barba, and this impossible, incredible thing hanging in the air between them.

"You... wanna kiss me?"

A look of profound frustration crossed Barba's face. "No, Carisi, I'm considering opening up a dog grooming business and I need your opinion on which brand of shears works best on poodles. Yes, I want to kiss you. My god, how are you not just walking into walls constantly? How do you solve crimes? Do the suspects just confess out of pity?"

Sonny was smiling. He knew he was smiling, and he couldn't stop. A wide, stupid grin was spreading across his face, and he didn't care. He didn't care about the club or the music or the fact that he was turning forty.

All he cared about was the man sitting across from him, looking at him like he was the most irritating person on the planet.

"Only sometimes," Sonny said. "They only confess out of pity sometimes."

"Fucking—" Barba cut himself off, his chair scraping the floor as he stood. "I can't take this anymore." He held a hand out to Sonny. "Get up."

Sonny's heart was a wild thing in his chest. "Barba, what—"

"Rafael," Barba corrected, his hand still outstretched. "Get up. And call me Rafael."

Slowly, carefully, Sonny placed his hand in Rafael's. It was warm and there was the slightest hint of a callous on his thumb and it felt exactly like Sonny had always imagined it would. Rafael pulled him to his feet, and for a second, they were just standing there, close enough that Sonny could feel the heat radiating off him.

"Where are we going?" Sonny asked.

"I refuse to let your club experience be defined by this wobbly table and your own existential dread," Rafael said, not letting go of Sonny's hand. "We're going to dance."

Sonny froze, pulling back slightly. "Rafael, no. I can't dance. I don't—"

"It's not about dancing, Sonny. It's about standing in the middle of a room full of people and not giving a shit." Rafael's grip tightened. "We're going to dance, and we're going to kiss, and I'm going to feel you up a little bit, and you're going to see if the ground feels as far down as you think it does. Or you can say 'Rafael, please leave' and get on with whatever you want to do with the rest of your night. Your call. But I'm done with this table."

Sonny looked from Rafael's face to their joined hands and back again. This was it. The precipice. He could step back, retreat to the safety of the life he knew, or he could jump.

"Okay," Sonny said. "Let's dance."

Rafael's smile was a flash of triumph in the dim light. "Attaboy."

He threaded their fingers together, and Sonny let himself be led, pulled through the throng of bodies until they reached the dance floor.

The bass was a physical thing here, a vibration that pulsed up from the floor and into Sonny's bones. The lights swirled around them, a kaleidoscope of color and shadow, and the air was thick with sweat and fifty different body sprays and the electric charge of a hundred strangers moving together.

For a moment, Sonny was paralyzed, the rabbit again, frozen in the headlights of this new reality.

But then Rafael turned to him, dragging Sonny's hands to his hips and positioning them there, a clear, deliberate instruction. He moved closer, fitting their bodies together, wrapping his arms loosely around Sonny's neck.

Sonny's breath hitched. Rafael was solid against him, and he smelled so fucking terrible in the most wonderful way. He just stood there, stiff and awkward, until Rafael started to move.

It wasn't dancing, not really.

It was just... moving.

A slow, deliberate sway to the heavy beat, a rocking motion that was less about rhythm and more about contact. Sonny closed his eyes, relaxing into the sensation, letting the rhythm seep into him, letting Rafael guide him.

Sonny felt a laugh bubble up in his chest. He could do this. He was doing this.

He opened his eyes and met Rafael's gaze. He looked smug and so, so beautiful. So Sonny did the only thing he could think to do. He leaned in and kissed him.

It was a clumsy, desperate thing at first, a collision of teeth and lips, fueled by gin and the sheer, unadulterated shock of the moment. Sonny had thought about this more times than he could count, but none of his fantasies had ever been this messy, this real. This good.

Rafael responded instantly, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of Sonny's neck. He deepened the kiss, and it was everything Sonny had ever wanted and more. He could taste the whiskey sour, the sharp tang of it mingling with the taste of gin and the heat of their mouths.

Sonny's hands, which had been resting so tentatively on Rafael's hips, tightened their hold, pulling him closer, wanting to eliminate every last inch of space between them. He felt, rather than heard, Rafael hum against his lips, a low, satisfied thing that went straight to Sonny's cock.

And then, true to his word, Rafael's hands started to wander.

One slid from Sonny's neck down his back, tracing the line of his spine, while the other snaked around to his chest, fingers splaying wide over the fabric of Sonny's shirt.

Sonny's purple shirt.

Sonny moaned into Rafael's mouth, a pathetic, needy sound that he would have been embarrassed about if anyone could hear him over the music. Rafael's thumb brushed against his nipple, and Sonny's hips jerked forward, a completely involuntary response that made Rafael smile against his lips.

God, this was happening.

Sonny crashed his lips against Rafael's, pouring all his pent-up want into the kiss.

Rafael's hands roamed freely, mapping the planes of Sonny's back, tracing the muscles of his arms, sliding down to cup his ass through the fabric of his jeans. Sonny gasped, breaking the kiss as Rafael squeezed, pulling their hips flush together.

Rafael was hard. Rafael was hard.

Sonny felt a new wave of courage wash over him.

He rolled his hips, a slow grind against Rafael, and was rewarded with a choked-off gasp. Rafael's fingers tightened in his hair, holding him in place. Sonny did it again, a little more confidently this time, and Rafael's head fell back, exposing the long, vulnerable line of his throat.

Sonny took the invitation, his tongue tracing a path up Rafael's neck, his teeth nipping at his jawline. Rafael was saying something, but the words were lost in the music, a low, breathless murmur against Sonny's ear. It didn't matter what he was saying. It only mattered that he was here, that he was letting Sonny touch him, that he was touching Sonny back.

Sonny let his hands wander, mimicking Rafael's exploration, sliding down Rafael's back to grip the firm muscle of his ass.

Rafael made a noise against his lips and immediately adjusted the angle of their bodies, a little shuffle that brought Sonny's thigh between Rafael's. Sonny's breath hitched as he realized what was happening, as he felt the hard length of Rafael's cock press against him more firmly.

He ground his thigh upward, slowly at first, then a little harder, watching Rafael's face for a reaction. Rafael's eyes fluttered closed, a look of pure, unadulterated bliss. This was foreplay on a crowded floor, and Sonny had never felt so alive, so desperately turned on in his entire life.

Rafael's hands were everywhere, pushing Sonny's shirt up, his fingers tracing the waistband of Sonny's jeans. Sonny arched into the touch, a silent plea for more. He wanted Rafael's hands on his skin, no barriers between them.

He wasn't sure who moved first, only that they were stumbling, a clumsy, entangled mass of limbs and desire, away from the dance floor and toward the shadowed edges of the club. They found a darkened alcove, a small pocket of relative privacy behind a pillar, and Rafael pushed Sonny against the wall, the rough brick scraping through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Rafael was on him in an instant, his mouth hot and demanding, and Sonny's head hit the wall with a dull thud. His hands scrabbled for purchase, one tangling in Rafael's hair, the other fisting in the fabric of his shirt. He was overwhelmed, consumed by the sheer force of Rafael's want, by the intensity of his own.

Rafael's mouth left his, trailing a line of fire down his neck, his teeth scraping against Sonny's collarbone. Sonny's hips bucked, a desperate, instinctual movement, seeking more friction, more contact. Rafael's hand slid between them, cupping Sonny through the denim of his jeans, and Sonny saw stars.

"Rafael," he gasped, his hands tightening in Rafael's hair. "Fuck, Rafael."

Rafael just hummed in response, his thumb stroking Sonny through the fabric, a slow, torturous rhythm that was driving Sonny insane. He tugged at Rafael's hair, pulling him up for another kiss, deep and messy and desperate. He needed more. He needed Rafael's skin, his hands, his everything.

Sonny's fingers found the hem of Rafael's shirt, and he slipped his hands underneath, touching the warm, smooth skin of Rafael's back. He could feel the muscles flexing under his palms as Rafael moved against him, a slow grind that was pushing Sonny closer and closer to the edge.

He was a man possessed, a man on a mission. He wanted to make Rafael feel as good as he felt, to give him everything he was getting. His hands roamed, down Rafael's ribs, up his stomach, his chest.

He found both nipples at once and rolled them between his thumbs and forefingers. Rafael gasped, his hips jerking forward, and Sonny did it again, a little harder this time. Rafael's head fell forward, resting against Sonny's shoulder, his breath coming in ragged pants.

"You like that?" Sonny asked, barely audible over the music.

Rafael just nodded, his face still buried in Sonny's neck. Sonny could feel the heat of his breath, the dampness of his skin. He felt a surge of power, a heady rush of confidence.

He slid one hand down, past the waistband of Rafael's jeans, just barely, just enough to feel the coarse hair there, to let his fingers brush against the base of Rafael's cock. Rafael made a noise, a choked-off sob of a sound, and Sonny's own arousal spiked.

He wanted to drop to his knees. He wanted to taste him, to feel him in his mouth, to make him fall apart. But this wasn't the place. This was a dark corner in a club, a messy, frantic tangle of need and want.

So he settled for this, for the feeling of Rafael's skin under his hands, for the taste of him on his lips, for the solid, undeniable proof of his desire pressed against Sonny's thigh. He slid his hand out of Rafael's pants, ignoring the disappointed whimper, to join his other hand at Rafael's waist.

He lifted his head, looking at Rafael, who was looking at him. His eyes were dark, intense, full of a hunger that mirrored Sonny's own.

Rafael leaned in, his lips brushing against Sonny's ear. "Two choices, Carisi," he said, low and rough. "We go to the bathroom and I get on my knees for you, or we go back to my place and I get on my hands and knees for you."

Sonny was speechless, his mind reeling from the sheer, unadulterated filth of the offer. He could feel the heat rising in his face, the blood pounding in his ears. He wanted to say yes to both, to do it all, to spend the rest of the night exploring every possible way they could be together.

"Your place," Sonny managed to get out, the words a strangled gasp.

Rafael's smile was slow and satisfied. "Attaboy."

He stepped back, straightening his clothes, running a hand through his hair. Sonny followed suit, trying to compose himself, to smooth down his stupid fucking purple shirt, to wipe the dazed look off his face.

He felt like he'd been run over by a freight train. A very attractive, very articulate freight train with a filthy mouth.

Rafael held out a hand. "Let's get out of here."

Sonny took it, their fingers lacing together. The walk to the exit was a blur of flashing lights and thumping bass. Sonny was acutely aware of Rafael's hand in his, of the warmth of his skin, of the promise of what was to come.

They stumbled out into the cool night air, the sudden quiet a shock to their systems. The absence of the bass left a ringing in Sonny's ears, a faint echo of the music that had been the soundtrack to this impossible night, the strobe lights leaving phantom trails in his vision.

He felt so alive, buzzing with a nervous energy that was part adrenaline, part pure, unvarnished want.

He wasn't sure which one of them started it, but they were both laughing, a giddy, breathless, helpless sound that bubbled up from some place deep and joyous inside him. Rafael leaned against him, his head on Sonny's shoulder, and Sonny wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close.

"I feel like I'm twenty-two," Rafael said, his words muffled by Sonny's shirt.

"Yeah, well, I feel like I'm finally forty," Sonny replied, and Rafael laughed again, a full, bright thing that Sonny wanted to hear again and again. "So, you know... thanks for that."

Rafael's laughter cut off against Sonny's lips as he leaned in and kissed him, a quick, hard, possessive thing that stole the air from Sonny's lungs.

When he pulled back, Sonny was dazed all over again. "So... cab, Uber, or am I driving drunk?" he asked.

"Please tell me you didn't drive here," Rafael said, a look of genuine horror on his face. "Because that's pathetic. That's the kind of pathetic not even I can fix. I mean, what was your plan? To get drunk and fuck Dominick Last-Name in the back seat to avoid going to a secondary location?"

"I wasn't going to fuck Dominick Last-Name anywhere," Sonny protested. "And I took the subway. Am I not allowed to do bits anymore? Do I have to be literal all the time now that we're...?" He trailed off, not sure what they were.

"Kissing? About to walk to my apartment for what will undoubtedly be a truly memorable sexual experience?" Rafael supplied. "You can be as weird and annoying as you want, Carisi."

"Okay, good," Sonny said. "Because I was working on a whole thing where you get me all hot and bothered and then you're like, 'Just kidding! I only fuck twenty-year-olds!' and then I have to take the subway home in my stupid fucking purple shirt."

Rafael looked at him, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face. "God, you're just a bundle of neuroses, aren't you?" He linked his arm through Sonny's dragging him close. "Come on. I live close."

They walked, the city lights blurring around them, the sounds of the night a distant hum. Sonny was acutely aware of Rafael's body next to his, the warmth of him, the solid, reassuring weight of their arms linked together.

Sonny half-expected it to be a 'companionable silence' type walk, and then was immediately unsure why he thought that, because they were both talkers. They talked. It was their whole thing.

"I've never done that before," Sonny confessed, his voice quiet in the night. "The... you know. The corner."

"The public frottage? The desperate necking?" Rafael asked, squeezing Sonny's arm. "Don't worry, Sonny, I believe you. If it helps, you're very good at it. I've been rock-hard for a while now."

Sonny nearly tripped over a crack in the sidewalk. "I noticed," he said weakly. "I... yeah. Me too."

"It's a good look on you," Rafael said. "Flustered. It's a nice change from your usual brand of earnest bullshit."

They turned a corner, and the neighborhood changed. The noise level dropped, the buildings got shorter, the streetlights got brighter.

"It's not bullshit," Sonny said, not feeling particularly offended. "It's... I don't know. I care. I like to help people. I know it doesn't always land, I'm not that naive. But I'd rather try and get shot down sometimes than maybe have a good insight and keep my mouth shut to avoid looking like an idiot. If that... makes sense."

Rafael closed his eyes on a groan. "I know it's sincere, you absolute jackass. That's the problem. You're an incredibly intelligent person, Sonny. You didn't stumble head over ass into getting a law degree while having a full time job. You didn't pass the bar on your first try by accident. And on top of that, you have the audacity to also be kind and decent and fundamentally good," he said, looking up at Sonny, almost annoyed. "I mean, listen to yourself. You don't interject to show off or prove you have a law degree. You interject to see if your idea can help." He scoffed. "And you're worried you're going to die alone and unloved. You're worried I think you're pathetic. I mean, what's the problem? Are you shit in bed? Do you have a secret room full of porcelain dolls? Do you go home and take all your frustration out on your string of girlfriends? Are you a serial cheater? I mean, there has to be a catch, right?"

"I don't know," Sonny said, heat creeping up his neck. "I mean... no. About the secret rooms and the cheating or whatever else. I don't think I'm that bad in bed. I'm sure you'll let me know. Part of it is that I'm just busy. For a while, it was law school. And... SVU kind of doesn't let you be anything other than married to the job. The whole dating thing—it's a numbers game, right? And I don't really have a lot of free time to wrack up the numbers."

"What's the other part?" Rafael pressed.

"You're really nosy tonight, you know that?" Sonny said.

"I'm horny and my curiosity is piqued. Answer the question."

Sonny huffed a laughed. "You seriously wanna know?"

"I am currently walking home with you for the express purpose of having sex. Yes, Sonny, I seriously want to know."

"Alright, well it's two things."

"Let's hear it."

"Okay, first thing. I'm bad at letting sleeping dogs lie," he said, looking down at the pavement. "Like really bad at it. It's like... my brain is going a million miles an hour all the time. And if something is gnawing at me, I talk it to death. I'll ask, and I'll ask again, and I'll ask a third way, and it drives people crazy. I know it does. And I can't... I can't just leave it. I need all the pieces to fit together in a way that makes sense, you know? And that's not a fun Saturday night. Being asked twenty-seven questions about something the other person has already decided they're done talking about."

"So you're a lawyer," Rafael replied. "That does not surprise me in the slightest."

"Right. But not the real kind of lawyer who gets paid to do it," Sonny said. "I'm the annoying kind who does it for free to the people he dates. It's like you said earlier, I'm not special—"

"Not what I said."

"—so I know there has to be somebody out there whose brain is wired like that too. Who likes to talk about things until there's no words left, who likes that kind of intensity. But for people who don't, it comes off like trust issues or nagging or like I'm trying to start a fight. I guess sometimes it's that, too. But mostly, it's just this irritating need to make everything make sense all the time."

Sonny looked at Rafael, feeling vulnerable, like he'd peeled back a layer of skin. He wasn't exactly sure why he was confessing all this, but Rafael had asked. And Rafael was listening.

"Okay," Rafael replied. "One down. What's the other one?"

Sonny took a deep breath. "Feels kind of stupid to say it after... all that."

"All what? Sticking your hand down my pants in public, or letting me get to know you as a person?" Rafael prodded. "We're almost at my building, so you might as well say it."

Sonny braced himself. This was it. The real gamble. He'd already risked so much, but this felt bigger than a kiss in a club, bigger than a desperate grope in a dark corner. 

This was the thing that made him feel like a rabbit.

"There's someone I've been hung up on for a while," Sonny said, the words feeling clumsy and loud in the quiet street. "Someone I work with. And it makes it kinda hard to connect with other people when you're always comparing them in your head to someone you see more days than not." He risked a glance at Rafael. "And it's not one-sided. Not exactly. I mean, I thought it was for the longest time. But now... I'm not so sure."

Rafael stopped walking. He turned to face Sonny, his expression unreadable in the dim light from a nearby streetlamp. "Sonny, I really don't think we should sleep together if things are going well between you and Rollins," Rafael said, and it was so nearly sincere that it took Sonny a solid three seconds to realize he was being fucked with.

Sonny stared at him. "You're an asshole."

Rafael's lips twitched. "Can I point something out to you?"

"I have a feeling you're going to."

"It's a Saturday," Rafael said, taking a step closer. "And I've been playing twenty questions with you all night."

Sonny stared at him, warmth spreading through his chest, slow and sweet. "It's twenty-seven questions," he murmured.

"Twenty-seven questions," Rafael confirmed. He reached out, his fingers gently tracing the line of Sonny's jaw. "And I'd bet the farm you're talking about the guy who'd be dragging you down an alley right this second if we weren't already at his front door."

Sonny's breath hitched. "That would be correct."

Rafael's eyes were dark, intense, full of an affection that was so much more dangerous than the lust from the club. "Then I think you can officially retire your purple shirt." He leaned in and brushed a soft, chaste kiss against Sonny's lips. "It's served its purpose."

Sonny's laugh was a choked, happy thing. "I'm gonna frame it. Maybe have it bronzed."

"We need to get inside before I change my mind and decide to fuck you on the sidewalk," Rafael groaned, dragging Sonny by the arm towards a surprisingly regular-looking apartment.

"That's what did it?" Sonny asked, stumbling along behind him. "A joke about preserving the purple shirt?"

"Yes," Rafael hissed, digging in his pocket for his keys, fumbling with the lock. "I like you, okay? I like that we have the same sense of humor, and I like that you do bits with me, and I like that you've been answering my twenty-seven questions without telling me to fuck off. And I've wanted to do unspeakable things to you for a while and now I finally get to, so can we please go upstairs?"

"A... a while?" 

Rafael didn't reply, just swung the door open, and Sonny followed him into a small, dimly lit lobby. Rafael was pushing Sonny in front of him now, his hands on Sonny's hips, steering him toward the elevator. "Go. Elevator. Fourth floor. Now."

Sonny went. Jabbed the call button. The doors slid open, and they stepped inside. Jabbed the button for the fourth floor.

And then Rafael was on him, shoving him against the wall of the elevator, his mouth crashing against Sonny's. It was different from the club. Same intensity, same desperation, but now Sonny could hear it. The shallow, ragged breaths, the sounds Rafael made in the back of his throat as he licked into Sonny's mouth. No music to hide behind.

The elevator dinged, and they stumbled out into the hallway. Rafael pulled him down the hall, stopping in front of 4D. Fumbled for the keys again. Dropped them. Cursed under his breath.

Sonny bent down to pick them up, but Rafael beat him to it, so Sonny's straightened and let his hands wander, sliding up the back of Rafael's shirt, tracing the warm skin of his lower back.

Rafael's fingers stilled on the lock. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "If you want to make it to the bed, you will stop that right now."

Sonny didn't stop. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the back of Rafael's neck, sliding his hands lower, fingers digging into his ass like it owed him money. "I don't particularly care if we make it to the bed or not," he whispered. "Any surface will do. Vertical or horizontal."

Rafael snorted a laugh, the key finally finding its mark. He turned the lock, pushed the door open, and dragged Sonny inside, kicking it shut behind them. The apartment was dark, save for the city lights filtering through the windows, and Rafael didn't bother with lights.

And, god, it smelled like him.

Not the cat piss cologne, or coffee, or some bullshit scented candle. Him, woven into the couch cushions, the rug, clinging to the walls and living in the dust.

Sonny wanted to roll around in it like a dog. He wanted to bury his face in a pillow and inhale until his lungs—

Before Sonny could finish the thought, Rafael's fingers were tucking between the buttons of his shirt, knuckles brushing Sonny's bare skin, and ripping.

Buttons flew, skittering across the hardwood floor, and Sonny watched at least one bounce off the coffee table. "Excuse me," he said, but it came out as a choked-off laugh. "I thought you liked this shirt."

"Let's get one thing straight, Carisi," Rafael said, pushing the ruined shirt off Sonny's shoulders. "I liked what the shirt was doing for you. I have no attachment to the shirt itself." He dragged a thumb over Sonny's collarbone, then leaned in, his tongue tracing the same path. "Now, this," he murmured against Sonny's skin, "I'm already developing a very strong attachment to."

Sonny's head fell back, a soft groan escaping his lips as Rafael's teeth scraped against his throat. His hands tangled in Rafael's hair, pulling him closer. "You owe me thirty-five dollars."

"I'll buy you a new one," Rafael replied. He started walking backward, pulling Sonny with him by the belt loops of his jeans. "I'll buy you ten new ones. We can have a little bonfire, roast marshmallows over the ugly purple flames."

Sonny laughed, stumbling after him. "That sounds like a really good second date."

Rafael stopped, tugging Sonny closer. "Kick off your shoes," he said. "It's sexier if there's a trail of clothes leading to the bedroom than just a big pile by the bed."

And, okay, Sonny got it. He really, truly did. He kicked off his shoes partway down the hall. "You want my pants, too?"

"Yes. Now," Rafael said, hands flying to Sonny's belt.

Sonny's hands found the hem of Rafael's shirt just as quickly, and they fought for a moment, a clumsy, desperate tangle of arms and fabric, before Rafael relented, lifting his arms so Sonny could pull the shirt over his head.

Sonny dropped it on the floor, and then he was just... looking.

In the dim light from the window, Rafael's shoulders were so broad, his biceps thick and solid. His chest was dusted with dark hair, the same hair that trailed down, narrowing as it disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans.

"Christ," Sonny breathed. He reached out, his fingers tracing the pattern of hair, feeling the heat of Rafael's skin. "You're... Rafael. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Rafael's breath hitched. "Okay, you don't have to do... that," he said, flustered. "You can just be here. You don't have to say things like that."

A slow grin spread across Sonny's face as realization dawned.

For the first time tonight, he wasn't the rabbit.

Rafael was.

"Holy shit. Holy shit, Rafael." Sonny crowded him, backing him toward the bedroom door. "You've been lying to me for years."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rafael said, but it was weak. He was on the back foot, and he knew it.

"You are the single most confident human being I have ever met," Sonny continued, pushing him through the doorway. "You walk into rooms like you own them. You charm people for a living. You were so slick in that club, like you grind on guys in public every day of the week and twice on Sundays."

"Do you intend to arrive at a point any time in the near future?" Rafael asked, but it was a flimsy attempt to regain control. He looked unnerved, and it was making Sonny's head spin.

"You're insecure," Sonny marveled. "You're a big, fat phony, and you're insecure."

"I'm not—" Rafael started, but Sonny cut him off, pressing a hard, messy kiss against his lips.

He worked at the button of Rafael's jeans, his knuckles brushing against the hard line of Rafael's cock. Rafael groaned into his mouth, his hips rocking forward.

Then he was shoving Sonny's hands away, going for Sonny's zipper instead. "Having insecurities and being insecure are not the same thing," Rafael ground out as he pushed Sonny's jeans down over his hips. "I'm very secure in the knowledge that you want to fuck me. I'm less secure about... why."

Sonny barked out a laugh, delighted and breathy. "Oh, that is just... that is so much more interesting than my midlife crisis." He let Rafael push him onto the bed, kicking his jeans the rest of the way off as he went. "Lay it on me, Counselor. Why?"

"Why are we talking about this?" Rafael complained, even as he crawled onto the bed, hovering over Sonny. "This is the part where we stop talking and put our dicks on each other."

Sonny laughed, hooking a leg around Rafael's thigh and flipping them with a grunt. Rafael landed on the mattress with a soft sound of surprise, and Sonny was on him in a second, straddling his hips, pinning his wrists to the bed. "Because you, Rafael, spent your night psychoanalyzing me. What, you can dish it out but you can't take it?" He leaned down, his lips brushing Rafael's ear. "Tell me."

Rafael struggled for a moment, testing Sonny's hold, but then he went still, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his face.

"Fine. You want to know? I'll tell you," Rafael snapped. "You told me your problem. You compare everyone to the person you thought you couldn't have. You've been comparing them to a fantasy. To a version of me that doesn't exist because you've had time to build it up in your head."

Sonny's grip on Rafael's wrists tightened.

"What happens when that fantasy doesn't live up to the reality?" Rafael continued, his eyes locked on Sonny's. "What happens when the person you've been wanting is just... a person? A person who's a little bit messy, and maybe isn't as good in bed as you've been imagining, and has his own laundry list of reasons he might die alone?" He groaned, like he didn't actually want to be saying any of this. "That's why I'm insecure. Because I've spent a very long time being your fantasy, and I'm worried you're about to find out I'm just a guy with back pain from sitting hunched over a desk for thirty years and no cat."

Sonny felt bad about it.

He did.

But he had to actively work to swallow the laugh.

"And you had the audacity to ask if I'm an idiot?" Sonny asked. "You stupid idiot." He let go of Rafael's wrists, bracing himself on his elbows. "Rafael, I don't know all of your flaws, but I know some of them."

"Oh, here we go," Rafael sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Shut up," Sonny replied. "You're a workaholic. You're arrogant. You're condescending. You're obsessed with your own intellectual superiority. You think your way is always the best way. You're—"

"Thank you, Sonny, I get the picture," Rafael interrupted. "You're not exactly selling me on myself here."

"Let me finish," Sonny replied, pressing a kiss to Rafael's jaw. "The fantasy isn't a bunch of stuff I made up about you in my head that I'm just hoping is true. The fantasy is getting to know the rest of you. It's like... you think I've decided that you use Tide laundry detergent, and I'm gonna be upset if I find out that's not true. But what's actually happening is that I'm dying to find out if you use Tide or Gain or Persil or whatever, and if there's a specific reason why." He nosed at Rafael's cheek. "You know what I mean?"

Rafael was quiet for a long moment, just looking at him. The streetlights from the window caught in his eyes, and Sonny could see a flicker of something there. Understanding? Relief? It was hard to tell in the dim light.

"So what you're saying is that the fantasy isn't the destination," Rafael said softly. "It's the journey."

"That's the most pretentious way you could've possibly said that, but yeah," Sonny said, feeling a grin spread across his face. "That's what I'm saying."

"Huh," Rafael said. He looked away, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "Well, that's... reasonable of you."

"I'm a reasonable guy," Sonny said. "Now, can we circle back to your concern about not being as good in bed as I've imagined? Because I have some thoughts on that."

Rafael looked back at him, a smile replacing the vulnerability. "Tell me," he murmured, rolling his hips beneath Sonny. The friction was delicious, a sweet, torturous reminder of how much Sonny wanted this stupid fucking man.

"What are the odds that a guy who can talk like that and dance like that and kiss like that is bad in bed?" Sonny asked, leaning down to bite at Rafael's lower lip. "Statistically speaking."

"I wouldn't presume to guess," Rafael said, his hands coming to rest on Sonny's ass, pulling him down harder. "You'll have to conduct your own experiment. Gather your own data."

Sonny snorted a laugh into the crook of Rafael's neck. "God, that was dumb." He pushed himself up, kneeling between Rafael's legs, and finally, finally, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Rafael's jeans. "I truly cannot believe I spent so much time being scared of you."

"Scared of me?" Rafael asked, raising an eyebrow. "Please."

"Don't 'please' me," Sonny said, tugging at Rafael's jeans until he lifted his hips, letting Sonny pull them off, taking his boxers with them.

And then he was just... naked.

All of him.

And Sonny was looking.

"Sorry, I wanna finish that thought, but..." Sonny trailed off.

He was just... yeah, he was looking.

He'd had a mental image. Of course he had, he'd jerked off to it more times than he could count. But it was mostly a composite, a fantasy built on scraps. The fit of Rafael's pants in the office. The way his shirts stretched across his shoulders. That one time he'd worn an ugly polo but the way it fit had Sonny needing to stand in front of an open window for a while.

He'd been undershooting. By a lot.

"I'm not sure I've ever been this objectified in my life," Rafael said, but he was grinning.

"I'm not sure I've ever objectified anyone this much in my life," Sonny replied. He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of hair on Rafael's stomach, following it down, down, down, until he was wrapping his hand around Rafael's cock.

It was hot and heavy in his palm, and Rafael let out a shaky breath, his hips rocking up into Sonny's grip. Sonny watched, fascinated, as he stroked him, his thumb swiping over the head, spreading the bead of pre-come there. He watched Rafael's face, the way his eyes fluttered shut, the way his lips parted on a silent moan.

"You were saying something," Rafael managed, his voice strained.

"Rafael, I wouldn't be able to remember what I was saying with a gun to my head," Sonny said. He shuffled back, lying down on his stomach between Rafael's legs. "You know what's funny?"

"What's that?"

"That you were, or maybe still are, worried about disappointing me," Sonny said. "But I've never given a blowjob in my life."

Rafael stared at him. "You're joking."

"I'm not," Sonny said, leaning in for another kiss, letting his tongue dart out for a taste. Salty. He liked it. "So if I were you, I'd be a little more concerned about that. The ball is in your court as far as quality control goes."

"You're joking," Rafael said again, but it was weaker this time, more of a breathless statement of disbelief.

"Never been more serious," Sonny murmured, wrapping his lips around the head and sucking gently just to see what would happen.

What happened was Rafael's back arching off the bed and a low, guttural moan that Sonny felt all the way down to his own dick.

Sonny pulled off with a wet pop. "I'm just saying, don't be afraid to give notes."

And then he went back down for more.

Sonny was shocked at how not embarrassed he was sharing that information. He definitely wouldn't have if Rafael hadn't just laid his own insecurities out there like a Sunday spread. It was all he could think of to do to level the playing field. 

And also to warn him.

But, okay, how hard could it be? He'd had plenty of blowjobs. He knew what he liked. He could probably reverse engineer it.

"You know what else is funny?"

Okay, maybe he was stalling a little.

"What else is funny?"

"That the other option was you blowing me in a dirty bathroom," Sonny said, dragging his tongue along the underside of Rafael's cock, from base to tip. "And here we are. Life is crazy sometimes."

Rafael's laugh was a ragged thing, but he propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at Sonny. "You're—this isn't what you were expecting. You don't have to—"

Sonny did a happy little shoulder shimmy. "You're insecure," he repeated gleefully, stroking him again with a loose, easy fist. "This is the best day of my life. I've checked, like, ten things off my bucket list, and now this?" He looked at Rafael's cock, then back up at him. "I'm a little intimidated, to be perfectly honest."

"You have a very strange way of showing it," Rafael said, carding his fingers through Sonny's hair. "Are you always this chatty during sex?"

"I'm working through some things," Sonny said, dropping a kiss to Rafael's thigh. "Anyway, here goes nothing."

"I don't think there's a lot you can do wrong here short of biting," Rafael said, sounding genuinely fond.

"Wanna bet?" Sonny asked, before wrapping his lips around him again and taking him as deep as he could. He didn't move for a second, just held him there, getting used to the weight of him, the feel of him on his tongue.

He hadn't been expecting the sheer solidity of him, the way he filled Sonny's mouth and made him want more. He'd thought about it, but the fantasy was a hazy, impressionistic painting. This was a high-resolution photograph. He could feel every vein, every ridge.

Rafael didn't say anything, which was far more intimidating than if he'd just barked out orders.

So Sonny just went for it.

He hollowed his cheeks and sucked, pulling off slowly, using his hand on what he couldn't fit in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the head, and Rafael's hips gave a sharp, involuntary jerk.

Okay. That was a good sign.

He did it again, taking him deeper, and Rafael's hand in his hair tightened, a quiet, desperate sound escaping his lips. Encouraged, Sonny started to find a rhythm, a messy rhythm that was all spit, but it's what he liked, so surely there was something transferrable there.

Rafael was a wreck of quiet praise and choked-off moans, his hips rocking up to meet Sonny's mouth.

Sonny looked up at him, at the way Rafael's head was thrown back, the long line of his throat exposed in the city glow, an image that would surely be burned onto the back of Sonny's eyelids until the day he died.

"Sonny," Rafael gasped, and the sound of his name, like that, from him, was almost enough to make him come in his boxers. "God, Sonny, stop." His fingers tightened in Sonny's hair, tugging him back.

Sonny pulled off, gasping for air. "Sorry. Did I bite you? I told you I might bite you. I don't have a good frame of reference for an accidental scrape versus a painful mauling." He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

"No, you didn't bite me," Rafael said, his chest heaving. "But I'm about two seconds from coming down your throat, and I made you a very specific promise."

We go back to my place and I get on my hands and knees for you.

Sonny wanted to make fun of him for how quick that was, but his dick, which had been doing its best to punch a hole through his boxers, gave a painful throb.

"I don't care about that," Sonny said, then immediately backtracked, "Okay, let me rephrase—I care about that deeply, I'm just saying that you getting off in my mouth now or getting off on my dick later is a real Sophie's Choice for me. And unlike Meryl Streep, I will not feel shortchanged in either scenario."

Rafael let out a breathless laugh, dropping his head back against the pillows. "Your brain is... a truly fascinating place." He pushed himself up onto his elbows again. "I care. Get your ass up here. And lose the boxers."

"Happy to," Sonny said, clambering up the bed. He shimmied out of his boxers and then he was on Rafael again, all heat and skin, their legs tangling together.

Rafael kissed him back like he was trying to climb inside him, one of his hands wrapping around Sonny's cock, stroking him with a firm grip that had Sonny thrusting into his fist with desperate, mindless want.

"Condoms," Rafael murmured against his lips. "Lube. Nightstand."

Sonny dove for the drawer, tossing the bottle of lube behind him without looking.

"Ow," Rafael hissed. "You're incredibly lucky that hit me in the arm."

"Sorry, sorry. I see how that was shortsighted," Sonny muttered, fumbling with the box of condoms.

Empty.

Sonny rifled through all the junk in the drawer—surely in the throes of passion, someone had just dumped the rest of them out by accident.

Stray batteries, Tums, a book of matches from a bar he'd never heard of, a CD from some band called Trash Woodlouse.

Sonny flipped it over because he needed more information immediately. "What the hell is Trash Woodlouse?"

Rafael rolled towards him immediately, lunging for the CD case like Sonny had just pulled a gun. "Give me that. Why are you looking in my nightstand?"

"It's where you told me to look!" Sonny said, holding it over his head. "'Grandma’s Teeth in the Blender?' 'Shoutout to the Antichrist?' 'Vomit Death?'" He was reading the track titles, and the longer he read, the more he was convinced he was being pranked.

"Give it back, you philistine—" Rafael was half-on-top of him now, trying desperately to wrestle the CD case out of Sonny's hands. "You wouldn't understand post-punk Estonian folk metal if it bit you on the ass, Carisi."

"My favorite is 'Cloven-Hooved Prom Queen.' Wait, no—this one is just called 'Bush Did 9/11.' Are they ethnically Estonian or—" Sonny finally gave it back, but not before snapping one last picture with his brain. "Also there are no condoms."

Rafael froze with the CD case clutched to his chest like he was afraid Sonny might try to take it again. "None at all?"

"The box is empty. There aren't any hanging out under any of your other junk," Sonny replied. "I mean, it's fine, but what kind of lunatic doesn't at least throw the empty box—"

"Damn it, Andrew," Rafael said, tossing the CD in the drawer and flopping back onto the mattress.

"Andrew? Do I know an Andrew?" Sonny asked, a little pang of jealousy, sharp and stupid, hitting him right in the sternum.

"My asshole ex, if you must know," Rafael said, turning onto his side to face Sonny. "And not in a cute way like 'my mostly lovable except when he wasn't asshole ex,' I mean a genuine, unmitigated, twenty-four-karat gold-plated asshole. He used to use the last one and not bother to buy more, or even to tell me so I could. I think it was a baby trap sort of thing."

"Oh," Sonny replied, turning the empty box over in his hands, a stupid little smile creeping onto his face. "Hold on. You don't get to blame poor Andrew for this. These expired years ago."

Rafael squinted at the box, then at Sonny, then back at the box. He closed his eyes and threw an arm over his face. "Okay, so maybe that's not his fault, but a lot of other things were."

"So what was your plan for tonight when you brought home a twenty-something wearing garters and eyeliner to cope with the fact that he is his daddy's issue and that the theater degree isn't as useful as he thought it would be?" Sonny asked, a laugh bubbling up.

"First of all, don't ever, ever say something like that to me in bed again. Or anywhere else, for that matter," Rafael said from under the crook of his elbow. "Second, if I were to want to sleep with a random clubgoer, I wouldn't invite them here to do it because—"

"Oh my god, you're telling me that you live nearby, but you'd schlep it back to some potentially squalid, anonymous apartment in Bushwick to get laid because you're too much of a control freak to let a stranger see your weird Estonian folk metal CD collection?" Sonny asked.

"Okay, first of all—"

"You were already in the middle of a list."

"Despite all evidence to the contrary, I don't have a death wish and I don't love the idea of random people knowing where I live. Also, a person's apartment is a pretty good litmus test for knowing if it's a good idea to follow through. If their bathroom is dirty, you should probably go home. If they don't have condoms, you should definitely go home."

"You're kidding. You use that as a test to weed out the undesirables? A test you, yourself fail?" Sonny asked, fascinated. "This is amazing. I'm learning so much tonight."

"Third, you were also out. At an establishment," Rafael said, dragging Sonny back down next to him. "Do you not have one in your wallet?"

"Rafael, you were there," Sonny said, pressing a kiss to Rafael's shoulder. "Do you think there was any chance beyond this exact circumstance that I was gonna make it to penetrative sex with someone in that club?" Sonny shuddered. "Real sausage fest in there."

"I changed my mind," Rafael said, rolling away from Sonny. "Get out of my apartment." He paused. "But leave the boxers."

Sonny snorted a laugh, burrowing against Rafael's back. "Fine. I can run to the nearest... whatever. Or we could circle back to the whole Sophie's Choice thing. Like, if one of the kids was already dead, it would've made the choice pretty obvious."

"Or," Rafael said slowly, rolling back over to face him. "I have... a thought. A radical thought."

"I like radical thoughts," Sonny said, wiggling closer.

"You are well within your rights to say no," Rafael said. "And I will in no way, shape, or form take offense." He paused, looking at Sonny, a strange, unreadable expression on his face. "You're a hypochondriac, right?"

Sonny blinked. "I am a cautious individual, yes."

"And I, in spite of my condomless nightstand indicating otherwise, am a responsible adult who gets tested between sexual partners," Rafael continued.

Sonny's brain was starting to catch up. "So, in theory..."

"In theory, we could skip the condom and I would still be quite comfortable getting on my hands and knees for you," Rafael finished. "If you're comfortable."

And just like that, Sonny's dick, which had been patiently waiting for a decision to be made, was one hundred percent, undeniably, on board.

"I am so comfortable. I've never been more comfortable," Sonny said. "I'm the poster child for comfortability, actually. It doesn't pay much, but the benefits are excellent." He pushed Rafael onto his back, kissing him hard. "And I am clean, for the record. In case you wanted to hear it without all the weird, unnecessary circumvention."

"I did, thank you," Rafael said. "Are you going to fuck me or are you going to continue to be the single most verbose man I have ever had the misfortune of being naked with?"

"Have you been with more verbose women?" Sonny asked, reaching for the lube.

"I have never been with anyone, of any gender, who could talk their way through foreplay like you," Rafael said, spreading his legs invitingly. "Now, you know I have to ask—if you've never given a blowjob, can I safely assume you've never done this either?"

"No, it's not a safe assumption," Sonny said, coating his fingers. "I had sex with women a good handful of times before I ever gave head."

Rafael groaned, dropping his head back against the pillows. "Sonny, you really shouldn't be walking around telling people that. Just for future reference."

"I'm not telling people, I'm telling you. And it's hardly my fault that Mary Katherine was a conservative young lady with very specific boundaries around what constituted acceptable premarital sexual activity," Sonny said, running a slick finger over Rafael's entrance.

Rafael's breath hitched, but he recovered quickly. "Please tell me you lost your virginity to a girl named Mary Katherine. That's what you're telling me, right? Because if that isn't what you're telling me, I'm going to be so disappointed."

"That would be correct," Sonny said, exploring slowly, carefully. "First kiss, too. Not at the same time."

"A Catholic Italian from Staten Island named Dominick Carisi Jr., lost his virginity to a girl named Mary Katherine," Rafael said, a slow, delighted grin spreading across his face. "Sonny, this is the most on-the-nose thing I have ever heard in my entire life."

He gasped as Sonny pushed one finger inside him to the first knuckle.

"Mary Katherine Sullivan. I wonder how she's doing," Sonny said. He pushed a little deeper, watching Rafael's face for any sign of discomfort, but he only saw pleasure. "Maybe she's a lesbian now. That would be a nice ending to our story. Pretty hot too, but that's of no consequence."

Rafael barked a laugh. "Are you thinking about Mary Katherine Sullivan's hypothetical lesbianism while you have your finger in my ass?"

"I'm not, if you can believe it," Sonny replied, pressing his finger the rest of the way in, and oh, that was... that was something. Something tight and something hot. "I was thinking about how you look right now."

"And how do I look?" Rafael asked, his voice rough.

"Fucking spectacular, Rafael," Sonny breathed. He started to move his finger, slowly at first, then a little faster, watching as Rafael's hips began to rock to meet his movements. "You look like... you look like every filthy fantasy I've ever had about you, and then some."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely yeah," Sonny replied. "You're all flushed and breathing heavy and... you look like you want me to fuck you. And I really, really don't mean for this to sound as creepy as it's going to, but—"

"Please, don't let the potential for it to sound creepy deter you."

"Well, as it turns out, my fantasies were somewhat lacking in the 'you wanting me back' department. Not in a creepy way where you actively didn't want me, just in a... 'this is a hypothetical scenario and I have no frame of reference' way."

"I want you," Rafael said, simple and direct. "Add it to the fantasy. Update the software. Whatever you need to do."

"You want me," Sonny breathed, leaning down to kiss him. "And I want you. God, I want you so much, Rafael."

"You're about to have me," Rafael murmured against his lips, and Sonny could feel the smugness radiating off him. "Now, I'm not sure if Mary Katherine prepared you for this, but at some point, you're going to want to use more than one finger."

"Mary Katherine did not prepare me for this, no," Sonny said, pulling out and adding more lube before pressing two fingers back into him. "Like I said... open to notes."

Rafael let out a breathy little sound, his voice coming back rougher. "Note one. Keep talking," he said, clenching around Sonny's fingers. "I don't care if it's about your ex-girlfriend or the Mets or everything you hate about post-punk Estonian folk metal. Keep talking."

"Yeah?" Sonny asked, watching his fingers disappear into Rafael's body, mesmerized.

"Your voice is doing a lot for me right now, and... shut up," Rafael said at Sonny doing absolutely nothing. "But if you wanted to tell me what you're thinking while you're touching me, I would be... receptive."

Sonny couldn't help but grin. "I'm thinking that you're hot and tight and that I really, really can't wait to be inside you," Sonny said, curling his fingers just a little. "I'm thinking that I'm not gonna be able to last very long, which is a little embarrassing to admit, but there you have it."

"God, Sonny, I'm not going to be able to last very long," Rafael whined.

"Great, now I'm thinking about that. I'm thinking about what your face is gonna look like when you come. I'm thinking about you moaning my name," Sonny said, a little shocked at how easy this was, how comfortable he was after how the night started.

"Sonny," Rafael gasped, and yeah, Sonny could get used to that. He could get very, very used to that. "Okay, note—note two. I'm not going to break. You can stop touching me like I'm a Ming vase."

"Right," Sonny said, picking up the pace a little, watching as Rafael's hips started to move in earnest, fucking himself on Sonny's fingers. "You feel... incredible. That's what I'm thinking now. I'm thinking about how incredible you feel. How beautiful you are, how happy I am to get to see you like this."

"I'm thinking you need to add another finger," Rafael managed, his voice strained. "I'm thinking you're free to journey a little to see if you can find any particularly scenic locations for your eventual arrival."

"Oh my god, sorry, I'm usually such a multitasker. I got caught up in—" Sonny gestured at Rafael's general deal.

All at once, he pressed in a third finger and ducked his head, taking Rafael's cock back into his mouth.

That was it. That was the point of no return, because the way Rafael's body gave, the way he opened up for Sonny's fingers, the choked-off moan that escaped his lips—it was all Sonny could do to keep from coming right then and there.

Then he journeyed—oh, did he journey. He was Christopher fucking Columbus, exploring new and exciting lands, and when he found a particularly interesting island, he landed.

And then he did it again.

And again.

"Sonny, stop," Rafael gasped, fisting a hand in Sonny's hair and tugging.

Sonny pulled back, panting, his fingers still buried deep inside him. "Sorry, did I hurt you?"

"I'm not doing this twice," Rafael panted. "Get your fingers out of my ass and your dick in it before you make me come. I want to be on my hands and knees for you. It's been an ongoing thing. Mentioned several times."

"I'm so, so on it," Sonny said, kissing him one last time before pulling away completely. He knelt between Rafael's legs, coating himself with the lube, and okay, yeah, that was nice. That was very, very nice, actually. He was so hard it almost hurt, and he was suddenly, overwhelmingly aware of the fact that this was happening.

This was happening.

Rafael pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, looking over his shoulder at Sonny. His hair was a mess, his cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were so dark and lovely and fixed on Sonny.

And... god, the rest of him.

Sonny had no idea he was going to do what he did. In fact, he actively would've said he wasn't going to until the exact moment he did. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Rafael's tailbone, then lower, then lower, until he was spreading him open, his tongue darting out to taste him.

It was objectively a bad idea.

He had no idea what Rafael would like, or if he would think it was gross, or if Sonny would even like it, but he wanted to. He wanted to know every part of him, to taste him, to feel him, and he couldn't not.

And the sound Rafael made, the broken, desperate sob he let out, the shudder that ran through his entire body, the full-body quake, was worth the somewhat nonconsensual nature of the whole thing. "You—fuck, Sonny, you don't have to—"

"I don't have to, or you don't want me to? Because those are two very different things, and only one of them is gonna make me stop," Sonny said, pulling back to look at him, to see.

Rafael's expression dazed, wrecked. "The... second one? Or the first one? The not stopping one."

That was all Sonny needed to hear.

He went back to it with a renewed sense of purpose, licking into him, fucking him with his tongue. He wrapped a hand around Rafael's cock, stroking him in time with the movements of his tongue, and Rafael was a mess of incoherent praise and choked-off moans, pushing back against Sonny's face, shameless in his want.

Sonny was realizing very quickly that this was his new favorite thing. Not the lube, that didn't taste great, didn't feel great on the tongue, but Rafael.

Rafael was his new favorite thing.

And Sonny was truly, truly looking forward to doing this again pre-lube.

And he was going to do it again.

"Sonny," Rafael gasped, his whole body trembling. "Okay, okay, I'm going to—please, Sonny, not like this."

Sonny pulled back, wiping at his mouth. He leaned over Rafael and pressed a kiss to his back. "You're really hung up on this on-my-hands-and-knees thing, aren't you?"

"It's the principle," Rafael said, his voice shaky. "Indulge me."

Sonny laughed, coating Rafael in lube again, then himself. "Rafael, I will indulge you in all things. For, you know... an indeterminate amount of time."

Rafael let out a shuddering laugh. "We'll have to workshop the wording on that one, but I appreciate it more than you can possibly imagine."

Sonny grinned, pressing against him, the head of his cock catching on Rafael's rim. He pushed in, slowly, so, so slowly, and it was... it was a lot. Too much. Too tight, too hot, too perfect.

Rafael let out a long, shaky sigh, pushing back against him, taking him in. "Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah, that's... that's it."

Sonny bottomed out, his hips flush against Rafael's ass, and he had to stop, had to just breathe for a second, had to wrap a hand around the base of his own dick and squeeze tight and think about Andrew, and the empty condom box, and 'Vomit Death' because he was on a hair trigger.

Rafael turned to look over his shoulder at Sonny. "You okay back there?"

"I'm just... I'm having a very, very strong reaction to the fact that I am currently inside of you, Rafael," Sonny managed. "And also I'm thinking about how I'm never gonna be able to look at you at work ever, ever again without thinking about your naked ass. I'm just... I think we've complicated the workplace a little."

"Everybody else has been dipping their pens in the company ink for years, Carisi. We're late to the party," Rafael said, pushing back against him.

Sonny let out a strangled laugh, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back. "I didn't know I was invited to the party."

"Oh, you were invited," Rafael said, rocking back to meet him. "You just decided to arrive fashionably late, looking all sad and lost in a tacky purple shirt."

"Fuck, Rafael, I'm so glad you chased off Store-Brand Dominick," Sonny groaned, starting to find a rhythm, a slow, deep, steady rhythm that was drawing the most incredible sounds out of Rafael. "Actually, I think I might be Store-Brand Dominick."

Rafael moaned, reaching back and grabbing Sonny's hip, pulling him closer. "You're not. You're the real thing. You're the organic, free-range, grass-fed Dominick."

Sonny hummed, reaching around to wrap a hand around Rafael's cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. "I wanna follow that thread really bad, but your ass is, and I cannot stress this enough, irreparably ruining me for all other asses. Et cetera."

"Et cetera," Rafael panted. "I'm so glad we're doing this, Sonny. I'm so glad you're here."

"Me too. God, Rafael, me too," Sonny breathed, leaning forward to press a kiss to Rafael's back. He wanted to say more. He wanted to say everything, but he was afraid if he opened his mouth, all that would come out would be asking for a rough moving-in-together timeline.

He also had a terrifying urge to say "I love you," which was probably worse. Definitely worse.

You can't say that kind of shit.

That's the kind of thing that gets you kicked out of the bed postcoital. And that would be a real shame. He liked Rafael's bed. And Rafael's apartment. And Rafael.

"Sonny," Rafael moaned, pushing back against him, taking him deeper. "I need you to—please. Please come in me."

Sonny practically whimpered, his fist tightening around Rafael's cock. "You first," he said, even though he was extremely unsure that was physically feasible. "I wanna feel you. I wanna see you, hear you. Come for me, Rafael."

Rafael's whimper was nearly identical to Sonny's. "Hey, Sonny?"

"Yeah?" Sonny gritted out.

"If you want, you can kiss me at work. Alone in my office. Empty elevator. That sort of thing."

Oh, that was dirty pool.

Sonny came so hard he saw stars, a shattering, all-consuming release that had his legs shaking, his heart pounding in his chest so hard he was genuinely worried he was having a cardiac event.

It took everything in him to keep stroking Rafael, to keep moving, to draw him over the edge with him.

Rafael clenched around him as he came half a second later, painting Sonny's fist and the sheets beneath them with a ragged cry of Sonny's name that kept Sonny's orgasm going, and going, and going, Rafael's tight heat pulling every last drop out of him.

Sonny collapsed onto Rafael's back, boneless, spent, and so overwhelmingly happy he felt like he might cry. He pressed sloppy, sated kisses to Rafael's shoulder, the back of his neck, anywhere he could reach.

"Rafael," Sonny panted, "Rafael."

He didn't have any other words. He didn't have any other thoughts.

Rafael just hummed, a contented, sleepy sound, and rolled his hips, a final, satisfied movement before sinking fully into the mattress.

"Sorry, I'm heavy. I should—"

"No," Rafael mumbled into the pillow.

Just that. No.

So Sonny stayed.

He didn't want to move anyway. He was happy right where he was, draped over Rafael's back, still inside him. Sonny could feel the rise and fall of Rafael's every breath, the steady, calming rhythm of him.

He had no idea how much time passed before Rafael began to stir beneath him. "Okay, you can get up now."

Sonny laughed, pressing one last kiss to the nape of Rafael's neck before carefully pulling out and rolling off him. "God, Rafael, you're... there's no single word for what you are. Give me a dictionary and a highlighter and I'll get back to you."

"Sonny," Rafael said, rolling onto his back, a wonderful, sated grin on his face. He looked... happy. Truly, deeply happy. And Sonny did that. Sonny made him look like that. It was a dizzying, powerful feeling. "Don't ever stop talking."

Sonny's little whine was pathetic. "You really mean that?"

"Like I said earlier," Rafael said, threading their fingers together. "I think we might be wired the same way."

And that... that was maybe the most romantic thing Sonny had ever heard.

"You implied it. I inferred," Sonny breathed.

Rafael squeezed his hand. "That's exactly what I'm talking about."

Notes:

I had every intention of putting in a joke about how Sonny left the card he put down for his tab at the club, but I forgot, so I'm just saying it here instead.

Thank you @MargoBlack for nonconsentually loaning Trash Woodlouse to the mix. Please read its origin “Betcha By Golly Wow” for Barba with an eyebrow piercing.