Work Text:
“What happened to you?” Without even thinking, Olivia reached out to move the dripping towel Rafael was holding against his left cheekbone, a blue-ish bruise already spreading around his eye. When he flinched back reflexively, she held up her palm. “Sorry.”
“Thanks for coming,” he said, his tone as defeated as he looked, and took a step aside to let her into his apartment.
“Course,” she said, giving his shoulders a little squeeze as she walking inside. She put her coat over a stool at his kitchenette counter and turned, arms folded in front of her, studying him closer.
Not for the first time she thought that comfy clothes weren’t a bad look on him; he was wearing sweats and a chocolate brown t-shirt that had been washed so often the ‘Harvard’ was barely readable anymore. His hair was as disheveled as she’d seen it, yet, and he was wearing one dark green sock with tiny black sausage dogs printed on it.
“You’re missing a sock,” she told him.
He looked down at his feet. “Hm. Drink?”
Watching him walk over to the cupboard for a glass, she let her gaze wander through the living area, cop mode on as she took in the two scotch glasses next to a bottle on the coffee table. His collection of blankets was shoved into one corner, all the pillows were strewn on the floor.
“Oh Rafa-”
“Can we not,” he said, putting a glass into her hand and casting her a quick pleading glance, “go oh Rafa about this, but just have a drink and…” Trailing off, he ran his hand through his hair, leaving so much of a sticking-up mess behind, she felt compelled to smooth it back down a little right at the top.
He’d left the towel on the counter, so his bruise and the tiny speckled leftover of what Olivia assumed had been a slight nosebleed were on full display.
“Do I need to arrest someone for this?” she asked with a gentle smile and a sympathetic wince. “Or are we getting rid of a body?” As if for emphasis, she bent backwards a little as if to check his hallway.
Rafael snorted softly. “That’d be accessory after the fact.”
“What’re friends for?”
“Thanks,” he dead-panned. “That means a lot.” He turned for his couch, and she followed him, glass in hand, grabbing the discarded towel on the way. It was filled with mostly melted ice cubes.
“Here,” she said as he sat down and grabbed the bottle to pour a drink for her, and put the towel against his cheek until he could hold it himself again. “D’you not have peas?”
“No.”
She nodded. “Peas work better.”
“Cool, thanks. Next time, I’ll stock up on peas, then, before…” Again, he trailed off, picked up his half-filled glass and took a long gulp.
Olivia eyed the other used glass on the coffee table. Mostly empty. “Before?” she prompted.
Rafael flomped back into the couch with a long sigh, almost a gunt, his head hitting the blanket-covered headrest.
“Right.” Olivia nodded, patting his knee, and took a sip of scotch. “So when I arrest him, do I use the really tight, hurty cuffs, or should I take Rollins and we go full police brutality on him or…”
A tired chuckle broke free as if against Rafael’s will. He rolled his head a little to look at her. “Nah, can’t prove anything. And it… wasn’t really his fault,” he finished, obviously aware of how it sounded, but nodding, still, as if to double down. “Things went out of hand. Happens.” He shrugged, lifted his glass again.
Frowning, Olivia intercepted his hand, leaning over to look at his knuckles. “Not out of yours.”
“In my defense,” Rafael said, “he’s younger.”
“Hm,” Olivia nodded and let go of his hand. “You gonna tell me who it is, then?”
“God, no.”
“You know I’ll find out,” she said. “Reasonably good-looking cop under 45 with scraped knuckles. I’ll get the squad to help; we’ll have him in custody by morning.” She pretended to get out her phone.
“Ouch,” Rafael grimaced. “Am I that… Wait, are you slut-shaming me? Seriously?”
“Yes,” she laughed, tilting her head to give him an ‘aw, you’-look, “obviously. I mean, it is the second time this has happened in… three years, after all.” She sipped her drink. “I guess, well, no, the last guy didn’t hit you, he just got you stranded in New Jersey with no wallet. Sorry, my bad.”
“What makes you think those are the only times I...” Rafael started to protest, but cut himself off at her expression. “Ugh.” He hung his head. “I suck.”
“Oh honey,” Olivia said, giving his arm a little squeeze, “you don’t, you just got atrocious taste in men. Very selective, very bad taste.”
“Or I just bring out the worst in people,” Rafael sighed. “That’s my job, after all.”
“Raf,” Olivia said sternly, waiting for him to meet her eyes. “Why did he hit you?”
“Uhm…”
“Was it because you wouldn’t let him do stuff?” she suggested.
“Hm-mm.”
She nodded. “Right, and that makes it your fault and not his, because that’s how we roll?”
“I may have called him a bad word when I threw him out,” Rafael said.
“Ah. Well,” she raised her glass again, “the defense rests, Your Honor. Obviously the victim deserved a black eye and a broken nose, he called the creep a bad word.”
“My nose is fine,” Rafael grumbled. “And that was after he… Forget it.”
“Wait, he punched you just cause you said stop?” Olivia said up, leaning forward to look at him.
Rafael shrugged.
“What an asshole!”
“See?” he said sadly. “The worst, I somehow drag it out of them. If I did this more often, I’d be dead now, I guess.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say,” Olivia chided, wrapping one arm around his shoulders to tug him close. “You gotta tell me who it is now, you know? That’s assault.”
“He said/I said case? Yes, please, that’ll carry me over till the next attempt at this,” he made a little half-wave gesture around the couch, “in eight years or so.”
“I don’t think they’ll let you prosecute.”
“Then forget it.”
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, slowly sipping their drinks.
“Why do you even do this?” Olivia asked at last and before he could reply, continued, “You don’t want this guy, whoever he is, and there IS someone you actually want, why don’t you just ask him out?”
Rafael narrowed his eyes at her. “What makes you think I didn’t?”
“Don’t be silly, Carisi would never hit you.”
He averted his eyes. No answer.
“Knew it,” she grinned.
With an exasperated grunt, he wriggled out of the hug, leaning his elbows on his knees, shoulders slumped.
“Aw, what?” Olivia asked with a frown. “What is it? You didn’t already… He didn’t say no, did he?” she asked, shocked.
“No,” he said, annoyed.
“Then what? Ask him! Don’t tell me you haven’t seen the way he looks at you. The other day Amanda told me she’d pay someone to look at her like that, just once.”
“That’s not…” Rafael started and shook his head. He leaned back again with a sigh. “It’s hero-worship, it’s not…” He shook his head again, waved dismissively.
“I bet he’d love to worship you alright,” Olivia said wryly, chuckling into her glass at the look her shot her. “Aw, I didn’t think you could blush,” she grinned, “look at that.”
“Drop it, okay?” Rafael said and re-filled his glass. “Can we please just get shitfaced and talk work? I thought you came here to cheer me up.”
Olivia watched him for a moment. “You look at him that way, too, you know? That’s why I assumed. Not exactly that way, no one looks at Carisi the way he looks at you, but-”
“Liv.”
“Just ask him out! You know he’ll say yes, you can have a nice time, maybe resolve some of that, uhm, tension,” she grinned, “between the two of you? Raf?” she asked, when he didn’t reply. “What’s the worst that can happen, anyway? He’ll break your hear- oh my god!” She stared at him.
He sighed, “uh huh,” and lifted his glass. “You really are a detective.”
“Rafa!” she exclaimed. “That’s great! Why don’t you tell him?”
“That I’m in love with him? Are you insane?”
“Aww!”
“Christ,” Rafael grumped and scratched his head, once more making his hair stick up. “Stop that.”
Olivia snickered, said “aww” again, then suddenly pointed her finger at him. Maybe the scotch was hitting her a little by now. “Wait, why are you taking asshole cops home, when you’re in love with Carisi?”
“He was hot and he offered, okay? I’m human.”
Olivia cast him her best interrogation glare.
“I’m messed up and hopeless and sad one-night-stands are all I deserve?”
More glaring.
“Is this how your therapist does it, ‘cause I can help you sue him.”
Glaring.
“Fine, I’m terrified,” Rafael snapped. “Happy? I really… REALLY like him and I don’t get to have nice things and if I try, it’ll end in disaster and I’m terrified and why are you doing this to me, I thought you were my friend,” he whined, arching his brows pleadingly.
“Oh,” Olivia nodded slowly, “you got it bad.”
“Everything is always bad,” Rafael sighed. He reached for the bottle again – not too steady himself anymore – and poured them both another drink. “Isn’t that how the saying goes?”
Olivia snorted. “Rafa… I’m pretty sure he absolutely feels the same way. I was going to let you break his heart cause you’re my best friend and you need to get laid, but in light of this new development-”
Rafael chuckled, shaking his head. Definitely the scotch kicking in.
“-my advice is tell him how you feel and THEN ask him out. If you manage to even make it to the food, I’ll be very surprised.”
“What if you’re wrong?” he asked after a pause.
“I guess,” she gave a little shrug, “then you’ll have to get drunk in your jammies and one sock, wallow in self-pity and pick up violent people for bad sex cause they ‘offer’.”
“Harsh,” he said, backing away.
She shrugged again. “If the shoe fits… Normal people,” she added, “you know, wait until after they’ve been rejected before they let themselves sink into the bitter despair of heartbreak.”
“I find it easier to just skip the messy personal interactions and go straight to that part,” Rafael said.
“I figured. It’s almost like you could use someone to do something about that.”
“Hm,” he nodded. “Like a boyfriend?”
“Like a therapist, but Carisi’s got some training there, so might be a start.”
Studying the scotch in his glass, Rafael drew in a deep breath. “If I,” he said, quickly lifting his finger to point at her when she started to clap her hands, “do this and he says no, I’ll never talk to you again. I mean, I’ll move states, anyway, unless we can get him to transfer, but regardless, you’ll be dead to me.”
“Happily,” she nodded.
“And also I’ll need you to clear a whole week for getting drunk and listening to me fall into a pit of nihilistic self-hate.”
“Got it.”
“Okay.”
Olivia all but squeaked and got out her phone. “Text him now! Ask him right now!”
“On your phone?” Rafael frowned.
“Get your phone!”
Jumping up, Rafael almost fell over when he knocked against the coffee table to grab his phone from the kitchen counter. “I really shouldn’t do this,” he said, looking up at her, eyes wide. “Did we drink so much my life’s a soap opera now?”
“Tell him lunch tomorrow,” Olivia said, ignoring him, “and at lunch tell him you’re in love with him.”
“That’s a terrible plan,” Rafael said. “Who does that?”
“Or,” she exclaimed, “just call him now!”
“I’m drunk, Liv.”
“So? You got beat up by some jerk and you need company. He’ll be here in ten minutes, I betcha. He’ll put the siren on.”
“Oh!” he snapped his fingers. “I know.” Leaning unsteadily against the counter, he quickly typed – far longer than usually – and with a satisfied grin put his phone down. “There. Done. Pour, I deserve it.” He walked back to the couch as Olivia emptied the bottle into both their glasses.
“What did you write?” she asked.
“Nothing, I sent him an alert for a new appointment, we linked calendars.”
“Sounds hot,” Olivia grinned.
Rafael cast her a wry half-smile. “Shuddup.”
“So… what’s the alert?”
“Dinner tomorrow,” he replied, “obviously.”
“Hm. So.” She frowned as if to herself. “You… ordered him on a date. Summoned him,” she corrected.
“If you will,” he said. He seemed to choose not to dwell on it and picked up his glass.
“Very you,” she said. “He’ll love it.”
“Here’s hoping.” He sipped his drink.
“You might want to buy some peas on the way to work, though,” she said, gently touching his cheek.
“Yeah, I guess I should,” he smiled, letting his head roll till it rested against hers. “Thanks, Liv.”
“Anytime.” She pecked his forehead. “Are we out of scotch?”
***
Sonny should be studying.
There was a paper due in a week that, yes, he had finished already, of course, but he hadn’t revised it a second time, yet, and he wasn’t sure, too, about his closing argument, it read a bit smug. He’d thought about asking Barba for his opinion, but Barba had already helped him so much, he couldn’t ask him to read every paper, could he, and also he really needed to start feeling more confident about his own arguments.
After all, smug was good. He… loved smug.
Also, it was thursday night and for once he had managed to go home early and actually cook real dinner – not microwave leftover pizza – and there was a whole new season of “Dragons of Oak Island” waiting for him to binge. One could study too much and drive oneself insane. Doing night-school on top of working full time as a cop, work-life balance was a delicate flower to water carefully.
So mac&cheese and treasure-hunting dragons it was. A good night, followed by turning in early and then he could get a few hours of studying in before his morning jog.
Balance. Balance was important.
He’d cleared his plate and was having a second beer along with some unidentifiable dessert his sister had forced him to take home the last sunday after dinner, when his phone on the coffee table pinged.
He stretched to check the screen and quickly put the bowl down. Picking up the phone, he leaned back, frowning at it.
“Appointment added to calendar,” the little alert read, informing him he was scheduled to have “dinner 7 pm” the next day.
The only person outside himself who had access to his calendar was Barba.
Sonny was a detective. He examined evidence according to the principles of logic. The only person outside himself who had access to his calendar was Rafael Barba, and an appointment had been added to his calendar just now, at shortly after 11 pm.
Evidence, logic had it, would therefor suggest that Barba had put an appointment for dinner the next evening into Sonny’s calendar, which he had access to.
At 11 pm.
Dessert was forgotten and slowly grew crusty inside its bowl. Sonny studied the writing on his screen.
“dinner 7pm”
Now, evidence and logic were useful tools, but there was, of course, another important factor in cases like these: experience.
It had taken Sonny the better part of a month to even get Barba to link calendars so he could schedule shadowing days and very rarely and tentatively suggest times to maybe grab a drink after work, and can I ask you this thing about my latest paper, please, I swear it’s interesting?
Without fail, every time Sonny had logged a date into their shared calendar, Barba would text him within ten minutes and ask “Was that you?” as if he constantly expected his phone to be hacked. When Sonny would reply, “yes”, Barba would text “k” and a thumb up emoji and that, until now, had been how this had gone; Sonny basically asking for an appointment like Barba was his student mentor, and Barba being very boomer-ish about it.
Not once had Barba logged an appointment.
So experience suggested the evidence at hand may be compromised. If Barba never asked Sonny to meet him – And why would he even? To ask him to go over a case together? To shadow Sonny? - and his usual behavior indicated he didn’t trust his digital calendar to work properly, that most likely meant he hadn’t logged the dinner date.
The appointment.
Then again.
Taking a swig of beer, Sonny huddled back more into his couch, still watching his phone screen. It was, after all, the only physical proof he had.
Then again. It wasn’t like Barba had NEVER asked Sonny to accompany him for a drink or even, while not dinner, lunch. Nutrition intake, at any rate.
Experience didn’t show Barba never wanted Sonny around, just that he tended to ask Sonny if he wanted to spend time together in person, not via calendar.
Another factor to consider was the time. It was 11pm. Experience showed that at 11pm, Barba would either be with Sonny – drinks after work, that one time he got to see Barba’s apartment, because he had to watch his neighbor’s dog for the night and couldn’t leave – or not be with him. Not once before had he encountered Sonny anywhere at 11pm and then asked him to do… anything.
More on that: 11pm wasn’t late at night. It wasn’t emergency-type texting late at night. It was, Sonny would say, about an hour away from too late to text for people who were just acquaintances.
Scheduling dinner for the next evening at 11pm wasn’t outrageously late or inappropriate. It wasn’t like Barba had drunk-called him and asked him out. Dinner appointments were a thing in their line of work. Maybe Barba actually was going to ask him to help with a case. Sonny had proven to be at least somewhat useful in the past, maybe Barba had a case he thought could benefit from Sonny’s expertise. Whatever that might be.
Sonny let his head fall back to stare at the ceiling. Evidence, logic and experience all carefully considered and weighed against each other revealed the most probable truth: what the fuck?
Why was Barba logging dinner appointments at 11pm, who did that? And not via text? Barba always texted! Sonny had witnessed Barba texting Rita Calhoun in the court room during recess just to gloat, because he was too lazy to get up! And why dinner? Barba didn’t even eat dinner! Sonny had been at Forlini’s with him after work so often now they had a regular booth and if Barba had any concept of dinner, it was “the little bowls” they put on your table for free! Why “dinner” and not “drinks”? Was he NOT aware of how much like a date “dinner 7pm” sounded? WAS he aware of it?
Sonny blinked at the ceiling, slowly sat up again, stared at his phone.
No.
No, couldn’t…
No.
He tilted his head, giving his phone a weary look.
Should he?
But what? Text “it’s a date”? Wink emoji?
Oh god, what was he doing?
He dropped the phone onto the coffee table. Clung to his beer to keep from sliding further into stupid.
Of course, he could always text “Was that you?”
Wink emoji.
He snorted to himself, then groaned. Drank his beer.
What was he, twelve?
“Just,” he said out loud, “leave it.” Lifted his socked foot to shove the phone further away on the table.
Leave it. Go to whatever “dinner” would be tomorrow at 7, it’d all clear up then.
It’d turn out to be a mistake, Barba texting someone else and accidentally typing it into the calendar, even though for him to not be aware of that he’d have to be completely off his face, which Sonny hadn’t really witnessed, yet, but didn’t think was an entirely unimaginable scenario.
Or it’d turn out to not be “dinner” dinner but “little bowls and scotch” dinner, along with a request to go through every criminal case ever recorded in the history of mankind that revolved around turtles used as sex toys. Something like that.
In short – it’d turn out to be nothing at all deserving of the amount of brain power Sonny had already invested, not to mention missing half an episode of “Dragons on Oak Island” for.
There. Logic restored. It was settled. For now, another beer, the rest of this episode, then sleep, studying in the morning, his usual jog, work and at 7, he’d see what awaited him. No need to overthink things.
***
At least, Sonny figured, when Olivia cast him a very tired smile on her way into her office, he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t slept at all.
The plan he’d made had worked for the most part: beer and episode, then bed. Everything after that had been canceled due to logistics.
Meaning: “dinner 7pm” could mean dinner at Forlini’s, which Sonny had assumed, dinner at Barba’s office - Which subsequently subdivided the question into should he bring dinner or would they order dinner? - or dinner wherever else. “dinner 7pm” was a bullshit appointment.
Lying awake all night, repeating his living-room experience of alternating between staring at the ceiling and his phone, Sonny had tried to estimate when it would not be too late/too early anymore to text Barba after all to inquire “Dinner where?” No emoji. Wink emoji? No emoji.
To distract himself from that, he had gone over his initial questions again, in light of this new revelation. Did Barba assume Sonny knew where “dinner” would be? Did he think they shared a connection that somehow made it absolutely clear where “dinner” was happening?
If so – Forlini’s, right?
They HAD spend quite a few late-nighters in Barba’s office eating take-out, of course, but was that “dinner”? Or was that “take-out my office”? Why did Barba know this and Sonny didn’t? If he asked Barba, would he reveal there was no connection after all? And if Barba replied “usual place” (eyeroll emoji) what would Sonny do then?
What he did for the time being was not sleep, not study, not jog, but sit at his kitchen table, stare at his phone, sip coffee and type and delete six and half texts ranging from “cool where?” to “Hi, it’s Sonny, sorry to bother you, but you scheduled us for dinner for tonight at 7 in our calendar last night at 11. If that wasn’t a mistake, that’s cool, I don’t have anything going on tonight, so I can definitely make it, 7 works perfectly. You haven’t put in a location, though? I GUESS Forlini’s (wink emoji) but if I got that wrong, please let me know. If it’s in your office, I can bring Thai, there’s a new place we haven’t tried yet across from the”
After having deleted that, he went to work where he spent most of the day wondering whether he should ask Amanda or Fin (not Olivia, Olivia was having a very bad, very tired day; probably up with a puking Noah all night) what they thought where Barba would go for “dinner”.
You know, just wondering. As one does. Slow today, huh?
He was so fucked.
By the time he really had to leave if he wanted to make it to Forlini’s by 7, Sonny had decided to go with his gut, that usually served him well and the “Forlini’s/Office/Other” excel file he’d made during his lunch break leaned heavily towards Forlini’s, too.
He was a detective! He should know where to find his suspect. Also, he had a Plan B. If Barba didn’t show up at Forlini’s by a quarter past 7, Sonny would call him, apologize for being late – work, this suspect, crisis, Liv’s really buried us today – and try to gauge where Barba was at from the background noises.
Throwing his coat on, he said goodnight to Amanda – Fin had already left – and called out goodnight to Olivia, who was typing in her office with the door open.
“Night Sonny,” she called back. “Have fun tonight!”
Only when he was opening the door to the restaurant, half a step inside, did he frown at her words. Have fun, wh-
Barba was there. At the counter, not their booth (yet), scribbling on a legal pad with a coffee next to him.
Sonny barely kept himself from performing a victory dance or at the very least a fist bump, but couldn’t keep the huge grin in check that only dropped off his face when Barba looked up at him.
“The fuck happened to you?”
“You’re early,” Barba said, checking his watch.
“What happened?” Sonny reached out as if to touch Barba’s face, stopped himself halfway there and instead awkwardly grabbed the edge of the counter as if that had been his intent all along.
He noticed how Barba didn’t flinch, but eyed his hand’s journey with vague curiosity.
“Someone hit me, what d’you think happened? Aren’t you a detective?”
“So,” Sonny said, sucking his teeth before finishing, “you didn’t walk into a door.”
“Has anyone ever walked into a door?” Barba asked.
Sonny gave a halfhearted ’you’re right, what can I say?’-shrug and sat down next to him. “Who was it?”
“Some guy,” Barba said dismissively and pointed over his shoulder at their booth. “I did say dinner, right?”
“Oh, uh… sure,” Sonny smiled, slid off the bar stool again and followed Barba to their regular booth, right across from his regular bar stool.
“I,” Sonny started, desperately trying to think of what he wanted to say before the words would leave his mouth, “didn’t know, uh, I mean, you didn’t specify… in your invi… in the… I-I mean, what’s the occasion? Not,” he hurried to clarify when he saw Barba open his mouth, presumably to drop an acid-coated line regarding Sonny’s choice of phrase there, “occasion like… occasion, just… Why… What can I do for you?”
There. That went well. Easy.
All the excitement must be messing with his head, because for the briefest second there it looked like Barba was nervous. A little flicker of his gaze, to the tabletop and back up to Sonny’s eyes, almost as if he was weighing his words, which was ridiculous, Barba knew all his words were heavy as fuck, that must be why he was always talking so fast, so as to not crush his… What the hell was Sonny thinking? What was wrong with him? Dear God, just focus! Focus on his really beautiful ey… FOCUS!
“You can go out with me,” Barba said, speaking, indeed, VERY fast. “Only we’re already out. I might’ve tricked you there, I’m not proud of it. Blame it on the head injury. Or alcohol. A mixture of both. Anyway. I almost canceled but then I chickened out of doing that, too, and so here’s my proposal now: If you want it to be, this is a date. If you don’t want that,” he flipped open the case file he’d taken to the table with him, “we can talk accessory to rape, possibly homicide as well, not sure, yet. Food’s on me either way. Uhm. You pick,” he finished, leaning back on the bench with his arms crossed in front of him.
In retrospect, much later, Sonny would think back to the moment he heard Barba – Rafael – tell him they were on a date, and think that, all things considered, he’d reacted admirably, nay, superhumanly, cool. He didn’t freeze – or, he did, but since they were sitting down, it wasn’t that obvious – and he didn’t blush, if anything, he went pale as a ghost, but that wasn’t much paler than he was, naturally, so, again, not noticeable, and he didn’t stammer gibberish. He didn’t drop dead, he didn’t squeak, and he didn’t laugh like an overwhelmed lunatic. On the inside, maybe.
But to Barba – at least according to him, much later – he looked completely composed, actually even a bit like he was considering his words, like he was wondering if that was REALLY what he wanted, did he want to be on a date with Rafael Barba?
And what he said was, “You summoned me on a date via calendar?”
Barba thought about that, arms still crossed, and nodded. “I suppose I did. Yes.”
“That’s… kinda hot.”
“Is that a yes?” Barba smiled. “To the date?” When Sonny didn’t reply, he tilted his head slightly, brows arched. "Carisi?”
“Yes, sorry, yes,” Sonny hurried to say. “Yes. Yes to the date. I’m trying to think of something sexy to, uh, to convey HOW yes. How MUCH yes.” He gestured with both hands as if trying to get himself to hurry up, noticed it and stopped. “Yes.” He nodded.
“That’s sexy enough for me,” Barba said with a little lopsided smile and a look that other people would only manage to get right with a wink, but that would be cheesy and there was nothing cheesy about this look, if anything it was the hottest thing Sonny had seen in his life and how the hell did Barba do that?
“I’m gonna…” Barba said, nudging his head towards the bar and got up. “What can I get you?”
Sonny didn’t think he would be able to eat. “Whatever you’re having.”
Barba stopped, frowned as if to himself – a little internal debate maybe – then asked, “Want to share dirty nachos?”
Maybe, since they were on a date, it didn’t matter, Sonny thought, if it showed on his face that his heart was dancing, chasing butterflies. “Perfect,” he smiled. “You’re perfect. I mean, that’s perfect.”
And, huh, maybe it had looked like that, like that expression on Barba’s face right there, the butterflies.
“Okay,” Barba said, when he returned, putting a bowl of dirty nachos on the table between them. He turned around quickly to also collect two glasses of scotch and put one in front of Sonny, “here goes. I was going to skip that,” he nodded at the scotch, “tonight, as a punishment for this morning’s headache.” He picked up his glass.
“But?” Sonny asked, following suit.
“But I’m happy now and I forgive it,” Barba grinned. “Cheers. So,” he asked when they’d lowered their glasses, “how was your day?"
"Uhm,” Sonny said, thinking, rolling his glass between his hands, “exhausting. But then I found out this incredibly cute guy who’s been driving me nuts for months now is actually into me, so now I’m exhausted and ecstatic.” He sipped his drink. “You?”
“Terrible,” Barba said. “Woke up with a headache and the man I’ve been pining over like a 15-y/o theater kid seems to be in love with some cute guy? Just my luck.” He shrugged.
“Aw shame,” Sonny said, arching his brows in sympathy.
Barba nodded, nibbling cheese off a nacho.
“If you want some help getting over him…” Sonny said with all the innocence he could muster, his heart jumping a little when he managed to make Barba laugh.
By the time they had cleared the plate and each finished a second drink, not a single meaningful thing had been said by either of them, though their conversation had been flowing non-stop. Sonny wondered if the easy banter felt like foreplay to Barba, too. He gazed down at where Barba’s hand lay close to his on the table and moved his fingers the tiniest bit to rest them against Barba’s.
Not stopping once in his somewhat lengthy description of either a film or an actual haunted aquarium Barba had decided he had to show Sonny some day in the future, Barba looked down at their hands, then, still not interrupting his speech, covered Sonny’s with his, tugging slightly, till Sonny turned his hand palm up, so Barba could interlace their fingers.
It seemed to be perfectly timed with the end of his very long sentence, and he looked up to meet Sonny’s eyes. “What’s the gentlemanly way to ask someone if they want to come back to one’s place these days? I’m a little rusty.”
“I think you just ask,” Sonny said, his throat so dry all of a sudden he wished his glass was still full, “and then they say yes, cause they really, really want to.” He nodded.
And if it hadn’t already been the best night of his life – Barba blushed. Honest to God blushed, with a happy little smile to match spreading on his face, the kind of smile they would have put in the trailer for a pixar film to draw the parents in as well. ‘Look, this adorable cartoon quokka is sexy, too! Nothing wrong with that, just a little something we made for you to enjoy. Buy the plushy!’
Before Barba even had time to respond, Sonny heard himself say, “You’re so adorable, you know that?” He chuckled.
“Uhm,” Barba said, “I… wasn’t aware, no. But-”
“No?” Sonny cut him off, playfully tugging at Barba’s hand holding his. “You don’t have a mirror? I think if that’s true and you manage to get your hair to look like that every morning using magic, that might be too much for me. Though, actually,” he continued at Barba’s helpless snort, the other’s flustered reaction emboldening him, “nah, that’d be fine, too. Christ, you’re cute, when you laugh,” he grinned. “I’d tell you to laugh more, but-”
“But I prosecute sex offenders for a living,” Barba finished. “Back at you, I guess.”
“I’m nowhere near as cute as you,” Sonny said.
“No, you’re just hot,” Barba nodded.
For once, Sonny figured it was okay to blush. He hadn't started it. “I always figured you… thought me pretty obnoxious.”
“Oh, I did,” Barba said. “I mean,” he added, “hot from the beginning, but, yes, definitely obnoxious.”
“So…” Sonny said, squeezing Barba’s hand, “I… grew on you?”
Barba seemed to consider his answer, frowning as if in thought. “No,” he said at last, “that’s not it,” and shook his head a little for emphasis. He then uttered the most immature snicker Sonny had ever heard from a grown man and STILL managed to make it sound sexy. “But there’s a pun going to waste.”
Eyes widening against his will, Sonny guffawed, staring at Barba who was still quietly giggling – giggling! - with his head bowed against his arm as if to hide it.
“I can’t believe you just said that.”
“Me neither,” Barba giggled and Sonny didn’t think it was possible to love him more.
“C’mon,” he said, releasing Barba’s fingers, snorting when Barba shot him what could best be described as a mischievous look, “do the gentlemanly thing and all that.”
“Hm.” Barba nodded, leaning forward a little. And maybe he really wasn’t aware of being adorable, but Sonny didn’t believe for a second that the look he found himself at the receiving end of now was just an accident. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, he figured, that Barba had some serious seduction moves. He was a lawyer after all. Good one, too.
“Would you like to come back to my place, Sonny?”
Sonny swallowed the ‘fuck, yes!’ he’d already given, anyway, and, trying to somehow sound even half as sexy as Barba, said, “For a nightcap?”
“If that’s what you want,” Barba smiled.
“Fuck, yes!”
“Let’s go, then.”
Both of them, it had to be said, showed remarkable restraint. Sonny was very proud of himself for not simply grabbing Barba and kiss him senseless against the side wall of Forlini’s round the corner the second they were out the door, and judging from the glances Barba shot him every now and then once they were inside the uber and on their way, he should be proud of Barba, too.
So they had held hands, maybe, briefly, sort of Vulcan-kissing while waiting for their ride (‘More puns wasted,’ and Sonny had barely contained his amusement at his own thought.), discreetly, standing on the pavement in the cold.
Then, in the uber, there were those looks, nothing too noticeable, not that the driver cared. Their knees might have touched once or twice or most of the time, but it was a car.
The second the elevator doors were closed behind them, Sonny had Barba all but crowded in the corner, cupping his face, thumb softly stroking down Barba’s cheekbone, their noses almost touching.
“What,” Barba muttered, his green eyes gold-freckled from the overhead lights, “would be the gentlemanly thing to do now?”
“Kiss me,” Sonny said.
What a shame it was Barba only lived on the 14th floor.
Sonny had been in Barba’s apartment before – once, and there’d been a dog there, Barba’s neighbor’s dog, who’d eyed Sonny the whole time like she knew and didn’t approve – but he hadn’t entered it in the best possible way back then, which, it turned out, was to stumble inside, mid-kiss (of the good, ungentlemanly kind) and trying to wrestle Barba’s jacket off of him with Barba doing the same thing to Sonny, so they ended up all tangled up and wrapped around each other and still very dressed, but also so turned on they might as well be naked.
That, Sonny thought somewhere in the back of his mind that wasn’t busy not thinking at all, was how he hoped to always enter Barba’s apartment from now on.
He barely noticed them kiss-walking past the kitchenette and towards the couch. They were both still in their jackets when they sat – fell – down, and at last took them off, each his own, only for Sonny to grab Barba’s tie and draw him into a kiss again, sinking into…
“What? What is it?” Barba asked breathlessly against Sonny’s cheek. He didn’t seem that interested in the answer but kept nudging Sonny’s jaw with his nose to have him turn his face around again for further smooching.
“Does your couch always look like this?”
“No, usually it’s void of sexy law enforcement,” Barba muttered against Sonny’s neck. “I mean, I guess I’m law enforcement, bu-”
“Do you just live on it?” At last, Sonny turned his head to him with a chuckle, his forehead almost colliding with Barba’s.
“It’s a rejection nest,” Barba said, giving a belated little shrug at Sonny’s expression. Reluctantly, he backed away the tiniest bit, when Sonny sat up straighter, still holding on to Sonny’s shirt, though, as if he was just politely waiting for the conversation to be over before ripping it off.
Likewise, Sonny still had his fist wrapped around Barba’s tie, but let go now to fully sit up, when his gaze fell on the coffee table. He looked back at Barba with a big grin, expecting a blush, but Barba just snuggled closer and reached out for the bottle and glass on the table.
“‘Aquarium of the Dead’,” Sonny read the title of a dvd next to the scotch, while Barba filled the glass and put it down in front of him. Sonny looked up.
“Sorry, just one glass,” Barba smiled.
“Well,” Sonny said. “Rejection nest.”
Barba tilted his head in a half-nod-half-shrug.
Sonny held up the dvd, lifted his brows.
“What?” Barba asked and took a sip from the bottle.
“Aquarium of the dead,” Sonny said.
“Yeah. I expected to come back here in need of comfort viewing and booze, honey.”
“Aquarium,” Sonny said. “Of the Dead.”
“It’s got everything one needs to restore feelings of self-worth and faith in life as a whole,” Barba said. “Scary fish, a zombie octopus, zombie sea otters that are never on scree-”
The rest of Barba’s explanation was cut off by Sonny kissing him like they were entering his apartment again, dragging him underneath himself with one swift move until they were both almost buried under the pile of blankets sliding off the back of the couch.
Sonny broke the kiss with a laugh, shielding Barba from the corner of a blanket and leaned his forehead against his. “D’you have a victory nest, too, somewhere?”
Barba closed his eyes. It made Sonny’s heart ache – the good ache – for how much it looked like he was basking in the tenderness of their embrace, shirts and ties and all, just so happy to lie in his blanket-nest couch with Sonny wrapped around him, holding him. It was heartbreaking, Sonny thought, only not that, the opposite, a good kind of heartbreak, for which there was no word.
He stroked Barba’s cheek with the side of his thumb, just underneath the edge of his bruise.
“Don’t know if victory is the right word,” Barba said, “but there is a bedroom, yes.”
Sonny definitely wanted to screw Barba through every flat surface available – and, hell, you could always be adventurous with curved surfaces, too – but he also didn’t want this moment to end. Barba underneath him, neck slightly craned as if to look at him, though his eyes were closed.
Slowly, gently, Sonny leaned in to peck his bruised cheekbone, a featherlight brush of lips against skin. Barba made a tiny noise, not quite a moan, not really a whimper, and opened his eyes.
Sonny kissed him, softly, turning them on their side so he could wrap one leg around Barba’s, drawing him closer against himself, the pillow-and-blanket fort rising around them like a sand castle, and when he withdrew to tell Barba he actually preferred the couch, that’s when he saw the blood on the headrest.
Barba shot him a questioning look at his frown and squiggled in Sonny’s arms to turn his head and find out what had caught his attention.
“Oh,” he said. “Didn’t see that, sorry. I thought it all went on my shirt.” He looked back at Sonny with an apologetic grimace.
“It all,” Sonny echoed.
“Well, no,” Barba said quickly, “not it all, all the blood, I had a minor nosebleed the other day… Sorry,” he repeated, stretching his neck to look at the spot, “that’s… a bit gross. Maybe bedroom after all.” He smiled.
“The other day,” Sonny said. “When some guy punched you in the face.” It wasn’t a question and he didn’t move away or sit up, still looking down into Barba’s face, arms wrapped around him, the back of his curled up fingers softly touching his cheekbone.
“Yes,” Barba said after a moment. He sounded unsure, but not of where this was going, more like he hadn’t really decided, yet, whether to lie or not and was surprised by his own voice.
“On your own couch in your own home.”
Barba met Sonny’s gaze, held it for a bit, then sighed, deflated in Sonny’s hold. “Yeah.”
He smiled, not quite apologetically, not really self-deprecatingly – something in between. “Might be as good a time as any, now, to have the talk, as unromantic as it is. Me, I’m fine with everything but actual pain. Anything that hurts, as in really hurts, not my thing, and that definitely includes-”
“Holy fuck, is that what happened?”
“No, that,” Barba vaguely gestured for his face, “wasn’t what he was into.”
“I meant he hit you cause you said stop,” Sonny snapped, resisting the urge to sit up and, well, punch something. One of the million blankets around him maybe; that’d be the smart thing to do, after all, no physical consequences there.
“Ah,” Barba said. “Yes.”
Whatever Barba had expected Sonny’s reaction to be, it apparently hadn’t been Sonny dragging him closer, into a tighter hug, legs disentangling and just holding him, pecking his temple. He didn’t flinch, but he tensed as if startled.
“Shit,” Sonny said. “I’m sorry, Raf.”
“Uh…” Barba said, carefully hugging Sonny back again. “Just so you know, I… don’t make a habit out of… I mean… That was the first… well, the first time in a long-”
Frowning, Sonny pushed him back a little to look at him. “What?”
Barba arched his brows. When he bit his lower lip, he looked as helpless as Sonny had seen him.
“Just…” he started, trailed off again. “I… really want this.” His hands on Sonny’s back grabbed the shirt there, then let go as if he’d noticed.
Weird how one’s heart could melt while hammering like that, Sonny thought. Shouldn’t melting be quiet?
“Want this… Us?” Sonny asked. “Us to… be an us? So that in the future if you were to bring home people to, uhm, well, and they’d hit you, I’d be mad at you almost as much as them for… bringing them home in the first place? You… want that?”
Christ. He’d thought he’d gotten better at talking ever since he’d kissed Barba, but apparently osmosis was a myth after all.
Yet, when he looked up again, all he saw in Barba’s eyes was a loving, if somewhat amused smile, and it suddenly hit him how much it looked like Barba’s old ‘Goodness, did you guys hear what Carisi just said?’-expression. How had he ever missed that?
“Yeah,” Barba said. “Exactly that.”
“Good,” Sonny said softly against his lips and kissed him. “I want that, too. And obviously, you know what comes next.” At Barba’s expression, he added, “You gotta tell me who it was so I can arrest him. That’s assault.”
Barba snorted. “Nah, you arrest the guy who beat up your boyfriend, no one will be able to prosecute him, will they? And it’d be a he said/he said, prosecutors hate those.” He shook his head. "It was just some asshole, anyway. I attract those, apparently. Even Liv thinks so.”
At Sonny’s dry look, he smiled, “Until now, of course.” He cupped the side of Sonny’s face with his palm, leaning in till he could nudge Sonny’s nose with his. “None of the assholes ever called me adorable.”
“That should’ve been the first red flag,” Sonny said.
Barba pulled back just enough so he could look at Sonny, studied him for a moment. “You know when I said you didn’t grow on me?”
Sonny’s gaze shot down to where their hips were touching.
“No,” Barba snickered, giving him a playful shove. “When I said that wasn’t it? That’s cause you didn’t have to, it’s been pretty much like this for me from the moment we met.” He shrugged as if sorry to break the news.
Sonny nodded. “So naturally you made sure to point out what an imbecile I am at every opportunity.”
Barba winced. “You never heard of pulling pigtails?”
“It was more like psychological warfare,” Sonny said. “Pretty hot, I admit it, but… Your flirting style isn’t exactly gentle teasing, counselor,” he added the title with a little chiding tilt of his head.
“Maybe cause I wasn’t flirting, but panicking.”
“Then your panicking needs work.” Sonny smiled at Barba’s soft snort. “Is it the old ‘I don’t get to have nice things’?” he asked.
“I’m that easy to read, huh?”
“See?” Sonny said softly, stroking Barba’s cheek with his thumb again. “There you go again. You could’ve just said, ‘Wow Sonny, your people reading skills are mind-blowing’ and yet-”
“I’m that easy to read.”
“You built a Sad Nest on your couch that looks like straight out of a Dystopian Plague film before you went on a date and then still invited the guy back to your place,” Sonny pointed out.
Barba looked around as much as he could without moving much. “Yeah,” he agreed.
Sonny wanted to tell him he loved him right there and then, but stopped himself just in time. “I’m not saying I can fix that,” he said, “but I want to be present while you do.”
Barba nodded slowly. “That’s a good line.” He grinned.
“Good to know you can still be a dick,” Sonny laughed, withdrawing his hand to give Barba’s shoulder a mock manly squeeze. “I’d miss that otherwise, it used to really turn me on.”
“Used to.”
“Okay, but,” Sonny asked, completely ignoring Barba’s suggestive tone, “if you don’t get to have nice things then why did you summon me on a date? After, what, ages of pining?”
“External forces.”
Sonny’s eyes widened. “Benson made you?”
“She didn’t make me.”
“Like when she talks you into taking cases to trial Matlock couldn’t win?”
“She doesn’t talk me into anything,” Barba said, “Matlock’s a defense attorney, and a terrible one, and no one made me ask you out.”
Sonny looked at him.
“I got very drunk and it just happened. And I’m glad it did.”
“Aw,” Sonny pecked Barba’s nose, “that’s sweet. Is Benson going to arrest the asshole, then?”
Barba sighed. A mock long-suffering, extremely happy sigh that Sonny thought was probably the first of many such sighs he would get to hear from now on and wasn’t that wonderful?
“Querido, drop it. No one’s arresting anyone for anything.” He gave a lopsided, unsure smile when his gaze met Sonny’s. “What?”
“That’s really hot,” Sonny said, shifting closer so he could loom over him a little, look down into his pretty eyes.
“What is?”
“You know exactly what,” Sonny said and kissed him, no sweet pecking this time.
When they came up for air, Barba grinned up at him. “Oh, that’s perfect,” he said. “Bilingual exasperation AND bitchy sass turn you on. We’re gonna have so much fun, carino.” He winked.
Sonny chuckled, withdrawing when Barba tried to kiss him again. “You said there was a bedroom? That true?”
“Would I lie to you?”
Sonny considered his reply. “Are there more blankets in it, because I think if there are, that might freak me out a little.”
“Every blanket in the apartment is on this couch.”
Rising to his knees, effectively straddling Barba, Sonny said, “Then lead the way.”
“I don’t want to say it,” Barba smiled, “but you need to get off of me for that.”
“Yeah,” Sonny said, hit by a sudden idea, and reached over to grab his jacket from the coffee table, “in a second.”
He fished out his cell phone from his pocket and dropped it onto the couch after quickly typing something that resulted in an almost instantaneous ping from Barba’s phone on the table.
“Now,” Sonny grinned and swung his legs up and over Barba to slide off the couch. He started to unbutton his shirt as he walked down the hallway without turning around. “That way?”
Trusting Barba to check his phone and see the newly added calendar appointment of “breakfast” for the next morning, Sonny continued to undress, dropping items of clothing along the way.
THE END