Archive of Our Own

"You don't like the defendant much, do you?"

Sonny glanced automatically over at the empty chair where Daniella Fiorello would be sitting during the trial. "No, I don't."

"Why is that?" Barba was still seated, pen poised over a notepad.

"I don't much care for liars. Ms. Fiorello lied about her whereabouts at the time of the incident, she lied about her relationship with the victim, she lied about the life insurance policy, and she lied about owning the gun," he rattled off, watching Barba nod and cross off a couple of lines on the page. "We gave her every chance to come clean and she didn't."

"So it's not because she's a woman?"

Sonny frowned, caught off guard. "What? No, of course not. I don't have a problem with women. I like women."

"What is it exactly you like about them?" Barba tapped his pen impatiently against the page when Sonny didn't reply. "Do you need me to repeat the question?"

He hadn't been sure he heard him right. "I dunno exactly…" He looked around the courtroom but there was no one else to share his confusion. "I like lots of things. How they laugh, I guess. How they smell. Their general… shape? I dunno. Everything."

"Do you like your women – what's the word…" Barba leaned back in his chair, pursing his lips. "Do you like your women stacked, Detective?"

Sonny chuckled nervously. "Stacked? Yeah, sure."

"Legs for miles?"

"Doesn't hurt. Look, what-"

"What about hair color? Blonde, brunette, redhead – do you have a preference?"

"Not really." He shifted in his seat. "I'm not that picky, I guess."

"'Not that picky,'" Barba repeated, voice heavy with irony. "So all in all you're a pretty typical example of a straight American guy, correct?"

"I dunno about typical…"

"Yes or no, Detective." He drew a line through something else on the notepad that Sonny couldn't make out no matter how much he craned his neck.

He sat back, clasping his hands in his lap. "Yeah. Yes. I suppose," he said finally.

"And yet you think about me when you masturbate." Barba set his pen down, cocking his head. "Would you consider that typical behavior for a straight man?"

Sonny blinked.

"Detective." It was not a request.

The denial was on his tongue.

Barba's eyes narrowed. "Neither of us likes liars, Carisi."

Sonny closed his mouth, ears burning.

"Now at this point I would ask the judge's permission to treat you as a hostile witness despite the fact that you are ostensibly testifying for the prosecution, and it would be granted, so pretend all of that has occurred." Barba rose, buttoning his suit jacket as he moved out from behind the table. "Do you find me attractive, Detective?"

He shrugged, a jerky motion. "Sure. You're a handsome enough guy, pretty slick dresser – I can see how someone would think that."

Barba looked towards the empty jury box, sharing a knowing smile with jurors that thankfully weren't there before turning back. "But do you specifically find me attractive?"

"Yeah." He blushed, squared his shoulders. "Yeah, guess I do."

"Is that why you think about me when you jerk off? Despite thinking of yourself as straight?" Barba waved a hand before he could answer. "Don't answer that."

He slumped in his seat, watching Barba pace, feeling like a naughty child the nuns had gotten hold of.

"Do you think about fucking me?" Barba faced him, arms crossed and leaning back against the table.

He hesitated – honesty, Sonny, honesty – then shook his head once. "No."

Barba's eyebrows rose and his arms dropped slowly. "Do you think about me fucking you?"

"Ye-" He had to clear his throat. "Yes." He shifted in his seat, adjusting himself and hoping it wouldn't be noticed.

No such luck. Barba, half sitting on the edge of the table, crossed his legs at the ankle. "Please, feel free to demonstrate for the court the manner in which you think about this."

Sonny knew what that meant, and he knew there was no getting away from it no matter how mortifying it was. Without looking down, he undid his belt and pants, drew his half-hard cock out through the slit of his boxers and gave it a self-conscious stroke.

Barba's lips quirked. "So. How would I fuck you, Detective?"

"Sometimes…" Another stroke. Another. "Sometimes I think it would be slow, on the couch in your office. You keep a bottle of lube in your desk drawer, and you'd use a bit on your fingers to loosen me up. Saying things like how I'm practically a virgin and you don't want it to hurt my first time."

"Considerate of me," Barba murmured, drumming his fingers on the table.

"Not really," he said, spitting in his hand and palming the head of his cock to make his movements easier, bashfulness squashed by his typical nerviness. "No offense but you can be a smug dick sometimes, thinking you know better than everyone else, and this wouldn't be any different. Taking your sweet time," he hissed, breath hitching. "Even after you finally stick it in you still take forever, pushing my face into the couch cushion and saying how you never get any free time and how you're- You're gonna make the most of it."

"That's not inaccurate," Barba said, rocking back on his heels. "I work a lot of overtime, you know."

"Oh, I know, believe me." Sonny eyed him, slouching down in his chair and spreading his legs, knees knocking against the wooden divider of the witness stand. "Sometimes I think…" He slid his feet restlessly against the floor, under the chair, as he pumped his cock.

"What?" Barba looked at him like he already knew, and there it was, that air of superiority Sonny shouldn't have found so hot. "What do you think?"

"Sometimes I think it would be just a quickie between meetings," he said. "Give it to me fast and hard because you don't have time for anything else." He started to pant as he jerked himself a bit faster, staring hard at Barba despite his renewed embarrassment.

"What, no foreplay?" Barba frowned. "My schedule isn't that tight. Maybe."

"You- You'd let me blow you first," Sonny admitted, and this he couldn't say while looking at him. His head lolled against the chair back, and he stared up at the ceiling, fisting his cock. "I'd get on my knees and suck you, make a mess of it 'cause I-I don't get much practice. Any practice." He rocked his hips up, squeezed his cock just below the head, trying to control himself, trying not to blow his load too early. "You'd criticize my technique, say it's sloppy but at least it's good for something, and then you'd bend me over the conference table and shove your way in. Wouldn't even have to spit on me 'cause I'd done all the work."

"Do you like it rough, Detective?" Barba meandered forward, hands in his pockets. "Seems like you do. Have you always? Is that how you like it with women?"

He shook his head, gasping, wanting him closer. "N-no, I just- I think about you givin' it to me, really givin' it to me, sayin' if I can't keep quiet you'll never do it again, you want someone- Someone discrete-" He gave up and moaned the way he so desperately wanted to, hearing the throaty sound echo strangely thanks to the courtroom acoustics.

Barba leaned on the barrier of the witness box, smirking at him. "You are a bit of a loudmouth, aren't you?"

Sonny braced one hand on the barrier, dangerously close to where Barba's elbow rested. "I-I can shoot my mouth off sometimes, yeah. And I- But you wouldn't if I didn't-"

"Wouldn't what?" The smirk disappeared. "I wouldn't what?"

He groaned again, face red, rocking his hips up to meet his hand moving furiously on his cock. "You wouldn't- I have to say Daddy please or you wouldn't make me your bitch-" And he bit his lip hard, body gone tense and shuddering at the look on Barba's face, and his groan was loud in his own ears as he pressed his sweaty face to the pillow and came all over his stomach.

For long minutes Sonny laid panting in the dark, disoriented, feeling his heart thudding away in his chest. Then he groaned again, heavy with disgust, an altogether different sound from earlier, and covered his face with his hands.

What the fuck?

"Carisi. Hey."

He looked up to Rollins's perplexed expression.

She tipped her head at him. "I think you can hang up now."

It took a moment for him to parse what she meant; he sat up, tipping the chair back onto all four legs, and dropped the phone handset back into the cradle. How long had he been sitting there listening to the dial tone? Had he even called anyone? He couldn't remember.

"Y'all right? You're pretty quiet."

"Nah," he said, busying himself with some paperwork, avoiding her low-level concern. "I mean yeah, I'm fine. Tired."

He flicked a glance up at her as she went back to her own work. Yup, still hot. Too bad working across from an attractive woman all morning hadn't done anything for his mood, and wasn't that a bad omen all by itself?

He chewed the end of his pen, too preoccupied to get any real work done. He hadn't managed to get back to sleep last night; a cold shower and brisk scrub had only woken him up more, and he'd spent a miserable night watching nature docs on Netflix and trying not to think too hard about the mess of shit his brain had come up with. At night it had seemed easy enough to attribute it all to stress; to too much caffeine after five; to those questionable Thai leftovers he had for dinner.

But it wasn't so easy during the day, and it all lingered in his mind like a bad smell. He'd found himself on the subway, crushed between a cute art student-type with a portfolio case that kept jabbing him in the ribs and a tired-looking waitress who bore a startling resemblance to Kat Dennings, and instead of taking a moment to appreciate either he stood there chewing over shit that wasn't even real.

Why had he – or his dream self – said any of that? He frowned deeply. None of it was true, had never been true. He absolutely did not think about Barba fucking him. Not on a couch, not on a table. Not in a plane or on a train or in the rain that stayed in Spain. Maybe other people thought about that kind of stuff, but not him.

Looking down at Kat Dennings Lite standing before him meant looking straight down her uniform top, and while her baby blue bra didn't match the drab olive green of her shirt it was a nice view regardless. He could easily imagine unbuttoning her shirt, pushing his face between her ample breasts while she bounced on his lap on the grandma chic couch she undoubtedly thrifted with her roommate. That was more his speed. Not… whatever he'd said in that dream. Hell, he barely remembered any of it.

He bit the end of his pen, surreptiously looking at Rollins. She had her hair up, head bent over a file, and as he watched she absently scratched her neck with one finger. It was a nice neck: pale, clean line. Real swan-like. Her fingers moved to her collarbone, rubbing the skin pink, and yeah, that's the kind of thing he liked. Slim, delicately-boned hands moving against creamy skin. Women's hands.

Not men's hands. Definitely not a man's hands on his body, thicker fingers slicked up and pushing-

Something bounced off his nose and Sonny jerked, teetered dangerously in his chair, dropping his pen as Rollins sniggered.

"Man, you're really out of it, huh?" She was crumpling up another Post-It note ball, getting ready to bean him again.

He caught her next toss, flushing. "Got a lot on my mind," he mumbled, tipping his chair onto the back legs to scoop up his pen from the floor, feeling like there was a big flashing neon sign broadcasting what exactly he had on his mind. Things he had no business thinking about.

"Well, I hope for your sake you're on the ball this afternoon or Barba's really going to give it to you," she said, leaning her elbows on her desk.

The chair legs skidded across the floor and he went down hard.

Sonny had somehow completely forgotten that he had trial prep with Barba that afternoon. His first time, and wasn't that a kicker? At least they weren't doing it in an empty courtroom.

It being prep. Not it it. Which they would never, and what was he even thinking? Seriously, no more three-day-old takeout.

Not that being in Barba's office was really much better. For such a large room in such a busy building it gave off a remarkable impression of intimacy when it was just two people working. And that's all they were doing, working. Perfectly normal. And it must have been a little boring too because despite his best efforts Sonny found his eyes drifting continuously back to the couch. It was a nice couch – one of his uncles had owned something similar back before he got divorced. Sonny remembered staying over weekends and sneaking down to the den to watch the scrambled channels.

It had seemed big back then, but now he saw that it really wasn't. Two grown men couldn't… Well, probably couldn't… Why was he even thinking about this?

Just a hypothetical he was trying to work out, he told himself, eyeing the couch. Nothing else to it. Like a brain teaser.

Maybe if he was on his stomach…

"Detective?"

His eyes snapped back to Barba, sitting on the other side of the conference table, which was mostly clear of the usual papers and folders and boxes and did look rather sizeable and sturdy. It could easily bear his weight, Sonny thought, and realized after a moment that he had completely missed whatever it was Barba had just said. Again.

"I, uh-" He scratched his hot neck. Was it always so warm in this room? "Say again? I didn't catch that, sorry."

Barba's mouth was one firm disapproving line as he tapped his pen against the notepad. "I said…"

Sonny flushed at his tone, resolving to do better, give the man his full attention. Not that that was hard – he was… interesting. To watch. Between his even tone, expressive gestures, and casual intelligence, Sonny could see how easy it would be under ordinary circumstances to sit around for hours on end and listen to him talk. Jurors had to love him – that wasn't a new observation either, Sonny'd thought that with more than a tinge of envy from the moment they'd first been introduced.

Not to mention his appearance. Barba looked good – Sonny didn't have a problem giving credit where credit was due. He'd never seen an ADA with such an obvious love of fashion, but he pulled it off, that was just the truth. A purely objective statement of fact, nothing weird about it, and besides, it was 2014 – couldn't a man admire another man's ensemble without meaning anything by it?

But it probably meant something when he found the sight of Barba slipping his thumb under the thick navy strap of his suspenders so alluring. Dragging the digit idly up and down, scratching his chest as he read something off the file spread open before him, a soft sound of fabric rubbing against skin-

"Yes?"

Sonny looked up from Barba's chest to his face.

"Did you say something?" Barba adjusted the strap and picked up his pen again.

Caught out again, Sonny shook his head. "No? I don't think so?" What could he have said? 'Do what you were just doing again but slower'? Not that he had any reason to say that, unless he- No. He crushed that thought down as deep as it would go.

Barba peered at him for an excruciating minute before abruptly looking away, leaving him free to exhale. Then he was up on his feet, circling around the table with his empty mug to the small coffeemaker unluckily located behind Sonny. "You want another?"

Sonny shook his head, furtively looking over his shoulder at Barba fiddling with the machine. There was only about a cup left in the pot, and Barba brewed it far stronger than a normal person could handle, and now that he was closer Sonny knew that there was no way in hell that suit was off the rack – not that he ever thought it was. Barba wasn't an off-the-rack kind of guy, and with pants that fit that well? Had to be bespoke, Sonny thought, pretending for a moment that he was even remotely interested in Barba's clothes as he stared at his ass.

How did a man end up with an ass that fine? Sonny couldn't figure it out. It was unnatural.

"You sure you don't-" Barba's words died seconds after he turned around.

Sonny felt the blood rush to his face, eyes now locked on Barba's crotch. He couldn't look up, but he couldn't look away either. He was stuck. Paralyzed. Because they both knew Sonny had been checking out his ass, and that… that was not okay. That was not- Well, maybe it was normal, but for other people. People who weren't him. Checking out men's asses was not what he did, and he gulped, eyes tracing up the line of Barba's suspender strap, and he was-

Sonny shot to his feet. "I-I'll be right back," he blurted out, almost tripping over his feet as he rushed to get away.

He was halfway down the hall by the time he realized he'd left all his stuff back in the office and there wasn't really anywhere for him to go. For him to hide. A supply closet he wouldn't fit in, and- Thank God. A public bathroom.

He pushed in, door swinging shut with a creak behind him. A couple of urinals and a single stall, and he went to the sink, running the cold water and splashing his face, trying to wash away the memory of Barba's expression. That crooked smirk, the narrowed eyes, like he knew exactly what Sonny had been doing and didn't…

No. No way.

He stared into the mirror at his dripping face, color still high and eyes still wide. He looked guilty, and if there was one thing he knew it was what guilty looked like. And damnit, he should feel guilty: he'd been checking out another man's ass, and that was putting it lightly. He'd been gazing at it. Admiring it like it was a new car he'd love to test drive, and what the fuck was that about? That- He didn't do that. That wasn't what Sonny Carisi did. That wasn't what straight guys did, and if anyone was straight it was him. Hand to God.

But he couldn't stop thinking about how Barba had looked at him, how it had been like the last moments of the dream all over again, the ones he'd tried so hard all day to forget, and his stomach twisted around the sick feelings of déjà vu and something he was afraid was arousal. He ran the water again until it was as close to icy as it was likely to get, splashed it on his face, but it didn't do any good. What he really needed was a full-body dunk to shake the feelings, shake the memory of how – just for a split second – he'd imagined putting his hands on that incredible ass and squeezing, wondering how it would feel in his lap, and he'd felt more enthusiasm for the idea than he had that morning when he'd thought the same thing about Kat Dennings Lite, and when had he become this person? Where was all of this coming from? It was ridiculous, nobody just… woke up gay.

Did they? They didn't. Did they?

He wiped shaky hands over his face, smoothing back his hair, and briefly – very briefly – considered trying to drown himself in the sink before he caved and ducked into the stall, door swinging shut with a bounce as he unbuckled his belt and opened his pants, shoving his hand down the front of his boxers to grip his cock. He leaned to the side, head and shoulder pressed to the cool metal of the partition, and stroked himself.

The bathroom door banged open. Heart in his throat, he listened and prayed. But if there was a God he wasn't looking after Sonny Carisi that day because the next thing he knew the stall door was swinging open, catching him in the side, and Barba was crowding in beside him.

"What-" his voice died in his throat as Barba swept his eyes over him. This wasn't like before – this was worse than before because Barba kept looking from his face to his hand, still moving on his exposed dick like it had a mind of its own.

"I should've known," Barba said, locking the stall door behind him. There really shouldn't have been enough space for both of them, but he shoved Sonny back until he stood over the toilet, legs spread and feet planted.

"You left in such a hurry, I was worried," Barba said, answering a question he hadn't asked. "But I guess you just got tired of eye-fucking me, huh?" Then he tugged his pant legs up and dropped to his knees.

"I was not eye-fucking you," Sonny said, grabbing at the top of the partition to steady himself.

Barba pushed his hand away from his cock and leaned forward, grinning. "Yeah, you were," he said, and licked a stripe up his bare flesh.

"Oh God," he moaned, the sound carrying in the small bathroom as his hand flexed around the upper edge of the cheap metal, his other now-empty hand wavering over Barba's head. He couldn't bring himself to actually touch him, not like he'd ever touched a woman. Couldn't be an active participant, but then again it wasn't like he was the one on his knees. Surely one mouth was as good as another?

Oblivious to his indecision, Barba put his own hands to immediate use, one settling on Sonny's hip, pressing hard over his shirt, thumb in the crease of his hipbone, the other to his cock, gripping it high up the shaft, and Sonny couldn't have moved away even if he'd wanted to when Barba slurped at him.

"Oh God." Cock stiffening further as Barba pumped it, the circle of his hand was almost too tight, but he licked the slit so delicately, looked up at him as he gave tender flesh a kiss, and Sonny's legs felt like rubber as he clung one-handed to the stall, bracing his other hand against the wall for support.

"Is this why you were so shitty at paying attention earlier? Too busy thinking about this?" There was that smirk again just before Barba bent his head and took Sonny's dick into his mouth properly.

"N-no, I wasn't- I'm- I'm not gay," he stuttered out lamely, sweaty palm sliding against the wall as Barba's hand squeezed his hip when he jerked forward, contradicting himself by wanting more of that wet heat. He needed more and was incapable of asking for it because the only words he had were denials. Instead he arched forward, letting his body do the asking for him as he pushed into Barba's mouth, groaning loudly.

Barba leaned back, cock slipping from between his lips, but his hand picked up the slack immediately. "You need to shut the fuck up or we're both going to get fired," he said, tugging at him. "Do you understand?"

Sonny nodded, biting his lip, hips rocking forward automatically.

"Say 'I understand.'" He gave the head a series of short, quick licks.

"Ah! I-I understand," Sonny whispered, trying so hard to be quiet as Barba resumed sucking like a pro, like Sonny had never before imagined he could, and he covered his mouth with his free hand, trying to smother his whimpers and failing miserably when he felt the tip rub along the inside of Barba's cheek.

Again, Barba pulled back, glaring up at him this time. "Christ, they can probably hear you down the hall," he said, but the corner of his mouth twitched and he lapped up the leaking precome readily enough, not in any rush. Certainly not objecting when Sonny took his cock in hand and rubbed it against Barba's stubbled cheek, leaving behind shiny trails and, forgetting himself, Sonny let out a heartfelt moan at the sight.

Maybe it didn't matter after all that he wasn't the one on his knees.

"Should've gagged you first," Barba said before tilting his head to mouth the crown, swirling his tongue, and that was just dirty pool. Sonny came, groaning wretchedly as he imagined pulsing into Barba's mouth, and he banged his forehead against the flimsy partition, feeling it creak as he leaned weakly against it, hand gripping his cock. There wasn't anyone to see how he covered his face with his clean hand, gasping, and he was thankful for it.

While cleaning himself up, Sonny realized he had two options, neither of which involved repressing. When you jerked off to the thought of a guy blowing you, it's time to admit that maybe there's something going on that's a little out of the ordinary.

But he was getting distracted from the problem at hand. Two options. The first was to fake a sudden bout of food poisoning and leave; the second was to fake a sudden bout of food poisoning, pretend it had passed, and wrap up the rest of the prep session. The former was appealing because it meant an immediate end to his torment, but then he'd probably have to do trial prep again – not to mention Barba would, on some level, be annoyed with him. Not that he'd express that annoyance in so many words – who got mad at a person for getting food poisoning? Only a total dick.

Okay, so Barba would probably express his annoyance in so many words, and Sonny really didn't need to aggravate anyone deliberately, he did that enough by accident.

The latter was unappealing but at least he'd come off better; theoretically he wouldn't have to see Barba again until he testified; it would all be over. And food poisoning was a great excuse because then all of his inattentiveness became instantly explicable and leaving abruptly became a non-issue instead of weird. Not to mention his current state: a little flushed, a lot embarrassed. Vaguely damp from dunking his face in the sink and trying to drown himself.

Food poisoning was a bulletproof excuse.

Two obvious choices.

Of course he didn't factor in his own participation in either plan, nor his mouth. Trust Sonny Carisi to find a third option that involved getting himself jammed up.

Rollins didn't even wait for him to sit down before she pounced on him. "So what did you do to deserve that?"

If there had been a break between Barba's office and Benson's, Sonny wasn't aware of it. He'd gotten yelled at in both. "I don't know," he said, covering his face with his hands. "What usually happens? I said something."

"That's rather self-aware of you," Rollins said. She was laughing at him. Fine, it beat yelling. "Now you know what to work on for the future. Not talking."

He flipped her off before covering his face again.

Rollins didn't ask any more questions, either content to let it drop or waiting him out, but whatever she'd expected him to say was not what she got.

"Rollins, is Barba…" Sonny used what he thought was a subtle yet expressive hand gesture that was promptly lost on her. Must have been a cultural difference.

"Is he what? What was that?" She repeated the gesture back to him. "What does this even mean?"

"You know." He hunched over the desk, looking around furtively, ignoring how she mockingly copied him. "Is he… is he a queer?"

"Oh my God," she said, and started laughing immediately, but it sounded very different now. It was the oh ho ho ho of horror, the kind of sound a person made when someone else fucked up big time right in front of them. She slouched back in her chair, waving her hands and shaking her head. "I don't want to know. I thought I wanted to know, but now I know that I don't want to know."

"Well, is he?" His question wasn't remotely connected to the case or what he'd done but let her think it was. Sonny didn't need to explain himself to her.

But he did need an answer because if he tried to figure it out alone he'd make an even bigger ass of himself than he already had, and he could not afford to do that. He had to ask a woman about this – didn't they all have gaydar or whatever? – and the pickings were slim.

Rollins was still shaking her head. "I don't want to know what this has to do with anything. Your case doesn't even- The Fiorellos- No. Don't tell me. I don't want to get involved."

Sonny knew what all that blather meant. "You don't know, do you?" Fuck.

"Oh, trust me, I know," she said. "And I know that A: it doesn't matter. And B: it doesn't matter. And also C: that you can't just call people queers. This isn't the 80s, got it?"

Sonny smoothed his hair back, nodding. "Yeah, I hear you." Rollins didn't have a problem with… gay people. That was nice to know. So she wouldn't judge him if the moment he got home he went looking for gay porn just to see if this whole… thing was Barba-specific or not.

Oh God.

"Right. Good." She picked up her pen like she really thought she was going to get any work done, and then set it back down. "Look, like I said, I think I've made it abundantly clear that I don't want to know, but my advice to you is to apologize as soon as possible. Are you still testifying?"

"As far as I know," he said.

"Okay, that's good. That means he's not really as mad as you think," Rollins said. Was she trying to be reassuring? It was sort of working. "Do a good job on the stand, and then afterwards offer to take him out for a drink or something. Make it clear you want to mend fences or eat crow or whatever idiom fits best for whatever you did."

"What if he doesn't go for it?" There was a chance he wouldn't go for it. Sonny was great at sticking his foot in his mouth, he'd had years of practice. And Barba hadn't taken kindly to his implying that the entire concept of prep was pointless when trials were so often rendered moot by the DA's tendency to plead out the undeserving in the eleventh hour, which was totally not a new opinion to have!

"Are you kidding? Who turns down free booze?"

She had a point.

The subsequent few days went by in a haze of mild anxiety, bad porn that gave Sonny a renewed appreciation for the flexibility of the human body but otherwise did nothing for him, and plateauing confusion. He had not woken up gay in general, it seemed. He'd just woken up gay for Barba. Totally different. Way bigger problem.

But he wore his second-best suit to court – his best suit was a tux and he wasn't wearing that – and didn't fuck up on the stand, and Barba gave him a look after cross that might have been approving.

Because Sonny wasn't a total cliché, that look did not do funny things to his insides. It just made him feel horny.

Way bigger problem.

"Counselor." Sonny was waiting when court adjourned for the day.

"Detective." It didn't sound as chilly as it could've. Promising. "Did you need something?"

Sonny stuck his hands in his pockets; his palms were sweating. "No, I- That didn't go so bad, huh?"

Barba looked at him for a moment, then started walking. "Adequate," he said over his shoulder as Sonny hurried to catch up, exerting every ounce of self-control he had to not check out his ass.

"I'll take 'adequate.' Hey, look-" Touching him was a big mistake, and Sonny pulled back his hand as quick as he'd grabbed his arm. "Look, about what happened? What I said… it was stupid."

Barba stopped and stared at him, ignoring the dirty looks people were giving them as they stood in the middle of the hallway. "You called my entire job bullshit."

Sonny winced. "Like I said, stupid. Totally stupid. No excuse for how stupid."

"Hm." Barba hadn't left yet, so either he was thawing or he was enjoying the sight of Sonny squirming like a worm on the hook. Too close to call.

"Let me make it up to you? Buy you a beer or… whatever? Say I'm sorry more?" Sonny tried to ignore how accidentally close to flirting this was. He wasn't flirting. He was being apologetic.

"You haven't said sorry once yet," Barba pointed out.

"Well, I am. Sorry. I am sorry," Sonny said, as sincerely as he could, sounding a bit insincere as a result. "I'm not being sarcastic, I mean it. Your job isn't bullshit. Sorry. Bygones?"

Barba snorted, checked his watch. "Look at that – it's seven o'clock. Happy hour."

Sonny tried not to grin.

Which is how they ended up in a booth at a local bar where every round was Sonny's to pick up. The trip there and the first five minutes were brutal, but liquor was the great social lubricant for a reason and before he knew it Barba was giving him tips and they were… not friendly, exactly, but a hell of a lot friendlier than before. That was great. That was good for their professional relationship. Sonny was going to take Rollins's advice more often.

And everything would've been fine if they'd left it at five beers and called it a night, but they didn't, and Sonny's magic number had always been nine. He never remembered this, but get nine beers in him and suddenly things started seeming like far better ideas than they had four beers ago.

Four beers ago he'd been listening to Barba talk about some witness who tried to stab a juror, watching his hands move as he spoke, but now Sonny was at nine beers and he was doing more than listening to anecdotes and watching. He was thinking. He was imagining. He was imagining those fingers threading through his hair and pushing his head down to Barba's lap, and-

Fuck it, he thought, realizing that if he didn't carpe noctem his brain was just going to torture him later anyway with the kind of graphic what-ifs that would make a Playgirl editor sweat to read them. As if it wasn't already torturing him.

Besides, he could always blame it on the booze later if it didn't work out. Wasn't that what Katy Perry's song was all about? Getting drunk and putting the gay moves on someone? Or tipsy, in his case.

"Fuck it," he muttered, and took another swig of his beer. Number ten.

"Pardon?" Barba didn't get an answer because Sonny was too busy sliding around the booth, slapping both hands on his face to hold him still, and planting one on him.

It was not a very good kiss. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't great either. It could've been worse. Sonny'd had worse. He'd had a girl puke on him on the subway once, that had been way worse. This was just… stiff. And moister than it should've been, which he admitted was entirely his fault. Nerves.

After a rather awkward moment they pulled away from each other simultaneously.

"The fuck?" Barba looked… not angry. Surprised. But not like 'he was going to punch Sonny' surprised, which was good because he had kind of a scrappy look to him, and Sonny was currently working an all-time personal best in time elapsed since last broken nose, and he'd really like to keep that streak going. Not that he'd picked a good way of going about it.

"I'm not gay," he blurted out in response, which was quite possibly the stupidest thing he could've said and they both knew that immediately.

Barba squinted at him. "Your hand on my dick says otherwise," he said with a very slow smile.

Sonny pulled his hand away. He hadn't thought he could blush anymore than he already was, but he was wrong. He wasn't entirely sure it was being caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar that was making him feel so hot; some of the blame had to be owed to the alcohol in his bloodstream and the look on Barba's face. He was not reacting the way Sonny had feared he would. It was freaking him out more.

"I'm not," he said again, looking at Barba's hand laying on the table, next to his sweating bottle of beer. Fingers spread, palm down, unclenched. No tension. Barba was fucking devoid of tension. Cool as a cucumber. If only Sonny could say the same.

"I'm sensing a 'but' here," Barba said. At least he hadn't laughed. Sonny didn't think he could've handled it if he'd laughed.

He dug his thumbnail into a scratch in the table, dragging it along the worn down wood. If he said it there would be no taking it back, no denying it anymore. But if he didn't say it… Christ. He was seventeen all over again and hitting on his older sister's college roommate. Hadn't ended well but goddamn had it been educational while it lasted. He had to focus on that, on past success, or he was going to throw up.

"But…" He dropped his hand from the table to Barba's thigh, above the knee. Hopefully he wouldn't notice it was trembling. "But I want to fuck you."

There was a heart-stopping pause as Barba looked at him, not saying anything. Long enough for Sonny to contemplate eating his gun in the bathroom. Then: "That's… flattering, I guess, but I stopped being 'just a phase' for straight guys back in college."

It took Sonny a moment to work out what that meant. In a strange way it was almost a relief. So gaydar was a real thing after all. "No, this isn't… a phase," he said, admitting it as much to himself as to Barba. "I'm not into guys." He backed that up by skating his fingers along the inside of Barba's thigh, tracing over the inseam.

"Uh huh." Barba slouched back, arms resting along the top of the booth.

"I'm not." The lady doth protest too much. "I just…" He sucked his lower lip, staring at his hand only inches from Barba's crotch. There was a dick in those pants that he clearly wanted but couldn't consciously bring himself to touch. This was the stupidest thing he'd ever done and he couldn't stop. This plane was going down. In flames.

Bad metaphor. He needed to not think about flaming. Or going down.

Or maybe he needed to think about it more.

"I want you to fuck me," he said. It didn't sound smooth or seductive in the least, just sort of breathy and nervous. He couldn't manage to lay on the charm like he would normally with a woman.

The ensuing silence felt like an agonizing eternity, and he lifted his hand from Barba's thigh and snagged his half-empty beer instead, gulping it, unprepared for how Barba plucked it from him. He watched him swallow the last of it down and wipe his mouth on the back of his hand.

"Are you going to be weird about this?" Barba asked.

Sonny shook his head vigorously, glancing around to check that no one was watching them, which of course they weren't because it was Thursday night and the Yankees were winning. "Nope." Yes.

Barba's smirk was a touch more crooked than before, like he knew from past experience exactly how weird someone like Sonny could get. "And how do I know you're not going to waste my time?"

He thought of their earlier frankly awful kiss and winced, but Barba hadn't left yet. That was a good sign, that meant he was willing to be convinced, and Sonny could do that. If it meant getting laid he'd sell ice to eskimos.

He gave the room a quick once-over again before he leaned in, putting his hand back on Barba's thigh a hell of a lot higher than before. "Because what I lack in experience I more than make up for in enthusiasm."

Barba laughed, rolling his eyes. "Are you serious? That's what you're going with?"

Sonny shrugged, acting like he wasn't nervous as fuck as he brushed Barba's crotch with his thumb. That was progress. Personal growth. Maybe by the end of the night he'd be comfortable putting all his digits on another man's dick. At Barba's indrawn breath, he said, "It's worked for me so far. Let me convince you."

"You think you can?" Barba asked, absently rubbing the side of his empty beer bottle in a criminally suggestive manner.

All kinds of responses jumped to the tip of his tongue, but Sonny settled for squeezing his thigh and sliding out of the booth, grabbing his jacket, hoping his brief dizzy moment went unnoticed. "I'll pay your cab fare if I'm wrong," he said, turning on his heel and walking out, praying he hadn't misjudged the situation. He wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders, but he knew that Barba was inherently curious, prone to giving people the benefit of the doubt, and, like most men, probably couldn't resist a virgin. It was strange to think of himself that way, but that's what Sonny was in this situation, and if he had to lean hard on it to get what he wanted then he would. Even if it freaked him out at the same time it turned him on.

He'd been leaning against the side of the building, waiting just long enough to be wishing for a cigarette, when Barba finally appeared. Sonny beckoned him forward into the alley with a confidence he didn't entirely feel. The change of scenery, sleazy as it was, helped a bit – there was no way he would've been able to kiss him again in front of all those people, even if none of them had been paying attention. An alley was still public, and clichéd to boot, but at least it was dark and there wasn't anyone around to see him back Barba up against the wall.

He was shorter – at least that was normal. Sonny hadn't kissed anyone taller than himself since he was thirteen. But the rest of it was still weird, and, now that he was paying attention, not just in the way that kissing someone new was weird. Barba smelled like a man, like cologne instead of anything soft and flowery, like beer instead of… Actually, the beer wasn't unusual. But there was a faint scrape of stubble against Sonny's palms when he cupped his face, and the greasy feel of gel when Sonny pushed his fingers through his short hair, and-

They shouldn't have been doing this. They were in an alley, for Christ's sake, wasn't that proof enough he shouldn't be doing this? Normal people made out in bars, they weren't afraid of being seen, of what other people would think, and what would his father say-

"Relax," Barba murmured against his lips, hands feeling huge against Sonny's sides, fingers splayed lightly over his ribs, barely pressing against his shirt. No pressure but it just made his heart race faster, the cool night air and nerves working at sobering him up in an unwelcome hurry.

Relax, be cool, he thought, closing his eyes and leaning in.

He didn't open them even when Barba walked him back across the short width of the alley. When his shoulders hit brick Sonny just clenched his eyes shut tighter, sucked on Barba's tongue and let him push his knee between his legs. Wasn't this what he wanted?

Not that he'd ever imagined this. In Sonny's mind it had always been straight to the sex, dick out or bust and usually both, one right after the other in that order. But this was good too. Good because this was something he knew how to do once he calmed down; because he didn't have to think; because Barba was the one crowding him up against the wall, grinding on him with a lazy rhythm that was pure torture, and Sonny grabbed at hips that were so much sturdier than what he was used to.

He moaned openly as Barba tilted his head back to kiss the underside of his jaw, and stared up at the gloomy haze that was perpetual light pollution, distant flashing reds and whites of a plane barely visible. Slid his hands around to Barba's back, under his jacket, and he looked down his nose at him.

"Alright?" Barba whispered, nipping his chin and pulling his shirt out of his pants so slowly he almost didn't notice. His hand was cold when he slid it under Sonny's shirt, up his side over warm skin, and Sonny desperately wanted to believe it was the temperature difference that made him jump. "Alright," Barba said again, and it didn't sound like a question that time. It sounded calming, and like something suspiciously close to an order, and yeah, Sonny could roll with that. Maybe.

Sonny did the only thing he could think of: he put his hands on Barba's ass. To be honest, he'd been downright gentlemanly for far longer than he would've been with a girl. Tipsy and making out in an alley? Try as he might – and to his mother's endless disappointment – Sonny Carisi was no Boy Scout. He would've been all up in that the moment he got the green light. Why should this be any different? It wasn't. It really wasn't. He had to keep telling himself that.

So he went for it, pulling him in deliciously closer, rewarded by Barba biting his lip and grinding up hard against his thigh. Sonny turned his face away, cheeks hot, laughter still nervous despite his best efforts. "Please tell me you're convinced," he said unsteadily, looking back to the street and watching oblivious civilians walk past the end of the alley.

Barba grabbed his chin, and Sonny didn't have any other option but to stare down at him as he rubbed his swollen lower lip. In the shitty half-light it was impossible to say what color Barba's eyes were, only that they were glittering and intent as he watched Sonny suck on his thumb. At this angle his eyelashes looked as long as a woman's.

"You've made a pretty good case for yourself," Barba said, but his real answer was his hand between their bodies on Sonny's cock, rubbing him through his pants, and he smiled in the dark when Sonny, groaning, bit his thumb just above the knuckle.

The trip from the bar to Barba's apartment was a blur, and if Sonny was being honest the apartment itself was a blur too. Carpet or hardwood floors, open concept or closed – who gave a shit? The guy could've had a fucking hamster running around in a plastic ball for all Sonny cared. All that mattered was that Barba owned a bed.

And it was a huge bed with white sheets that seemed to glow in the dark. The kind of sheets Sonny had always wanted to own. The kind of sheets that had a thread count in the thousands and were made using all-natural cotton that probably came from some exotic socialist utopia, and was he seriously thinking about agriculture while he was lying on Barba's bed? Jesus. He had to get his head straight.

Speaking of straight…

"Hands and knees," Barba said, little more than a voice in the darkness. As Sonny clambered into position there was a sound to his left: a drawer rolling open and then closed, and anticipation and anxiety twisted into a sick knot in his stomach as he spread his knees for balance, feeling more than a little ridiculous. Naked and waiting, knowing Barba was going to touch him, had to touch him, but he didn't know when or where and maybe if he'd had some idea he wouldn't have flinched when Barba's hand settled on his shoulderblade.

"Sorry," he murmured, hands clenching in the sheets, trying to relax. Surely it was far too late in the game to still be freaking out? It was never too late.

"Don't apologize," Barba said, smoothing his hand down his back in one long slow stroke. Did it again, like he was petting him, and it was weird but kind of soothing, even when he finally palmed Sonny's ass. The bed dipped down by his feet, weight shifting up towards him. "Spread your legs," and he hurried to comply, and then Barba was close behind him, hand oriented differently as he dragged it down Sonny's back, parallel to his spine, waiting for him to relax again.

"So you've really never been with a man before?" Fingers skated over his waist, his hip, down the side of his thigh.

Sonny shook his head, closing his eyes. Easier to do that than continue straining them in the darkness. "No."

"Ever fucked a woman in the ass?" Barba's knees pressed against Sonny's, his thighs close against his own, and God, that was strange, and he had to think, distracted by something brushing against his ass.

"Once," he said. "It was… different," he hedged, when what he really meant was 'weird' and 'not as good as pussy,' but now was not the time to be saying things like that. "Time-consuming," he said, feeling a little foolish when Barba chuckled darkly behind him.

"But you have some idea of the importance of preparation," he said, rubbing his thumb along the line of Sonny's spine, following his tailbone to brush over his asshole. He backtracked, rubbing his hole again, huge hand squeezing a cheek slow and deep when Sonny clenched up. "You know that's the opposite of what you want to be doing, right?"

Sonny hung his head between his shoulders, nodding, trying to relax, trying to think calming thoughts, not about big-titted cotton-pickers and wasn't that vaguely racist? It felt vaguely racist. And he calmed down for all of three seconds or until Barba touched him again, whichever came first, and he hadn't expected this either. This level of difficulty.

He was so tense he was shaking, trying to stop and only making it worse, and Barba heaved a sigh, muttered something that sounded like, "Going about this all wrong," but at least he stopped torturing him and clasped Sonny's hip instead, leaning over him, and yeah, that was Barba's dick he felt, and he was so focused on that that he completely missed what Barba said.

"Wait, what?"

"Spread your ass for me," Barba said again, plain and simple, and Sonny's head came up and he stared at the headboard. By rights the flush that traveled down his body should have made him glow red as a neon sign. He considered the position he was in, the position he would be in, and realized he'd be more vulnerable than ever. And that- None of this was typical, nothing he was used to, and even as he wanted to shake his head and say 'hell no' he was pushing his face into one of Barba's marshmallow-like pillows and reaching back. Far too late in the game to stop now, but that belief did nothing for his almost overwhelming feeling of self-consciousness. Now he understood why some people only ever fucked with the lights off.

There was a plastic snap, like a lid being popped open, and then something-

"Fuck!" Sonny lurched away, only succeeding in forcing his face deeper into the pillow. Something wet and cold, and he realized it was one of Barba's slicked up fingers when the other man murmured an apology.

"Forgot," he said, and there was a pause, a sound of skin rubbing against oily skin, and when he touched Sonny again it was considerably warmer. No preheated lube for district attorneys, it seemed, but it was better, even if Sonny still tensed up. "Easy, easy," Barba said, voice low and even. "Relax."

"Stop fucking telling me to relax," Sonny grumbled into the pillow, shifting, resettling his hands. "It's not- Oh."

So maybe it was helping, just like it was helping that Barba didn't stop touching him this time, didn't stop rubbing his exposed asshole, didn't stop circling the puckered muscle with his fingertip, gliding slippery and easy over him, a continuous sensation that made a new, considerably less nervous, sweat break out fresh over Sonny's body.

He still wasn't ready when Barba pushed the tip of his finger into his ass, but he was starting to think he was never going to be ready. It felt invasive, wrong, even as he let out an embarrassingly high-pitched noise as it started to move slowly in and out.

"God, you're tight," Barba said, inching in firmer than before, easing off the moment he met resistance. "This could take hours."

Sonny shoved his face into the pillow, groaning miserably at the thought, clenching around what had to be Barba's knuckle, thick and hard, and he bore down against him, not cutting him any slack this time, and Sonny took a deep breath and-

"That's it, good boy," and Sonny made the kind of sound he listened for when he was with a woman. Something embarrassingly breathy in the soprano range, an accidental sort of noise, like they couldn't help it, and he knew he couldn't help making it again when Barba twisted his finger in a tight circle and began to work him for real.

He was just getting used to it when Barba pulled his finger out, all the way this time, and he rocked back before he could stop himself.

"You want it?" That sound again – had to be a bottle of lube – and Sonny squirmed on the bed to shift his weight, get his knees better placed, moaning when he felt dry knuckles rub the underside of his sac. "That's not an answer," Barba said sternly.

Sonny pressed his face against the damp pillowcase. "Yeah."

Suddenly two fingers rubbed over his hole, slick and probing, and Sonny pressed back, making a frustrated noise when they retreated.

"You want it?" Barba repeated, and there was the finger again, rubbing, pushing in easily when Sonny rocked back against it, and he'd been wrong before when he'd thought he'd never be ready because goddamn was he ever ready for this. "Show me how much," Barba said, so unnecessary when Sonny for once was one step ahead, holding himself open and rocking back on his knees, fucking himself on Barba's finger, his cock hanging half-hard and neglected between his legs.

"That's it. That's it, work for it. I know you can, c'mon…"

Barba kept up a steady stream of patter, low and encouraging and going straight to Sonny's head, and he was an overheated mess when he gasped and said, "Gimme another, I can take it."

Barba screwed his finger deep into him, making him whine, knuckles pressing against the sensitive skin next to his stretched hole. "Are you sure? You're still so tight, I don't think-"

"No, no, I can take it," Sonny insisted, wiping the sweat from his face into the pillow. "I can, let me show you-"

Barba's free hand covered one of his own, squeezing even as that awful finger curled inside him. "I don't know…" But obviously wanting to be convinced, and Sonny knew that note of doubt was just for show but he responded to it anyway, his normal urge to prove himself cranked to the max by Barba's teasing.

"Just give it to me already, gimme another finger, gimme your cock, just- I don't care," he babbled. "Stop being such a fucking tease and fuck me with- With- With whatever, it doesn't matter, I can take it. I promise I'll take it, you don't need to wait, just fuck me, fuck me, Daddy, please, I- Christ." He knew his mouth had gotten away from him, gotten him in trouble like it always did, but he still whined unhappily when Barba pulled his finger free.

"…'Daddy'?"

Sonny whimpered into the pillow. He hadn't thought it was possible that he could be any further humiliated, and now the chance that he might get fucked at some point in the near future was the only thing keeping him from trying to smother himself. Holy Mother, it wasn't enough that he had to be a little – a lot – gay, he had to be weird about it too. Typical.

His grip slipped; he was working a full-body sweat like he'd run two marathons in a row, his arms were aching, fingers cramped, knees twingeing, and none of it mattered when Barba rubbed his crack with two fingers before thrusting them roughly into his hole. "Oh, fuck."

"Is this what you wanted?"

Sonny rocked back against him, blood pounding, the obscene sound of Barba's fingers working him open filling his ears. "Yeah, yeah." He felt something against his thigh, and when it smeared a sticky streak against his skin his breathing kicked up another notch.

"Say it. Tell me what you want me to do," Barba insisted, curling his fingers and rubbing some spot deep in Sonny that made him suck in a breath, suck in another like he was going to scream but he couldn't, he couldn't get enough air.

"Say it."

"Oh, oh Jesus," he gasped, pushing back against him but there wasn't anywhere to go, Barba was pressed up close behind him now, one hand slipping over his tense stomach. "Jesus and Mary and- Christ," he yelled into the pillow as Barba palmed the head of his cock. "Fuck me, I want you to fuck me."

Barba pulled his fingers out and took a slippery hold of his wrist. "Now say it like you did before."

Something thicker, blunter than fingers, pressed against him, and if Sonny thought he couldn't sink any lower he was wrong. "I-I-I-"

Barba nudged his hand away, gripped his sweat-slick hip, holding him in place as he poked the tip of his cock into his well-greased hole. But he didn't move anymore than that, even pulled out when Sonny tried to rock back against him.

"Motherfucker."

"Sonny," Barba growled, and maybe that was all it took, someone calling him by the name all his friends and family knew him by for a change, something intimate and wasn't that pathetic? Or maybe it was Barba's hand on his cock. Who could say?

Sheets twisted up in his hand, Sonny panted, "Fuck me, Daddy, I want it, I want it so bad- Ah!"

Barba knocked his other hand away and, clinging to him, shoved his dick in his ass and began to give him exactly what he wanted. It hurt, even after everything they'd done, but it was a good hurt, a stretching, satisfying burn that made Sonny wish he'd done this years ago. Thirty-four was way too late to realize how good this sort of thing was, definitely too old for the kind of anxiety he felt, and he tried not to think about all those wasted college years as he fisted the sheets and moaned like a camgirl, content to let Barba do all the work in pounding him, bracing himself on his forearms and finding it a better angle.

Barba's hand slid along his back, grabbed his shoulder. "Tell me- Tell me how long you wanted this."

Sonny forced himself up, balanced again on his hands and knees, shaking from adrenaline and the impact of Barba's thrusts. "Weeks, months, since- Fuck- Since I met you- Fuck."

"Up, up, get up." Barba jostled him until he was kneeling, leaning awkwardly forward, and it was more important to grab tight to the edge of the headboard than it was to push his hair out of his face, sweat dripping into his eyes. He groaned as his knuckles scraped the wall with every brutal stroke, Barba's body heavy against his own, tucked in close enough for their skin to stick together. "Say it, say it again."

"Fuck me, Daddy," he gritted out, and bit his lip when Barba wrapped a hand around his cock and started pumping him hard. "Do it, fucking-"

Barba bit at the tense muscle of his shoulder, his free hand splayed over Sonny's chest, hips slamming against him, and Christ almighty he wasn't going to be able to walk-

His orgasm hit him like a suckerpunch, and he dropped his head forward and banged it on the headboard, stars exploding before his eyes, but he thought wildly that it was Barba's thumb moving furiously over the head of his cock that was to blame for that last bit. He couldn't stop gasping, a ragged, wounded-sounding noise, keeping it up even after Barba stiffened behind him and came at last, hand slipping down low to Sonny's belly, other hand still cradling his throbbing cock.

Sonny was convinced for a wild and terrifying second that he couldn't move. He couldn't possibly move. Sweat was rolling into his eyes, and he hurt. He hurt everywhere, mostly his head, and it would be just like him to have concussed himself the first time he got fucked by a man.

But Sonny wasn't concussed, even though it sure as shit felt like it when he tried opening his eyes. The morning sunshine was too much to bear and they slammed shut in protest. A concussion might have been less embarrassing because, God, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been this hungover. Not to mention that he was on the floor, he was fully dressed and on the floor, tangled in a blanket, and the top of the bed looked awfully far away when he peered up at it over his shoulder. He- Jesus, his head was killing him, and he didn't know if it was that or the stickiness in his pants that had woken him up.

Another one of those dreams, or at least he thought it was a dream. He prayed it was a dream, inbetween prayers that his hangover would miraculously disappear, but his memories of the night before were a bit hazy, and he groaned and rolled over, feeling sick and miserable in a way he couldn't chalk up to hard drinking all by itself.

"Detective, can I have a word?"

Nothing good ever happened when someone asked him that. Sonny drained the last of his terrible vending machine coffee and looked up, hoping against hope that maybe this time the earth would crack open and swallow him.

Barba had just come out of Benson's office and beckoned him forward after checking his watch. "Walk and talk, I've got somewhere to be."

Sonny hauled himself up to his feet, ignoring Rollins's curious look, feeling a lot like a kid being called to the principal's office. It was a familiar sensation made worse by his brain surely leaking out his ears and skin that had to be two sizes too tight.

This was why he didn't drink like he was still a freshman. So very much not worth it.

Their 'walk and talk' ended up being all walk until they reached the elevators, and Sonny looked blearily over at him, hating how not shitty he looked, unsettled when he caught himself thinking of how much better Barba had looked… Well, not last night, as it turned out. At least not on this plane of reality. Not that he was upset about that – quite the opposite. It was definitely relief making him flush hot and cold, not the lingering memory of a dream that just wouldn't go away.

"About last night," Barba started, unknowingly interrupting Sonny's angsting.

He winced, dropped his gaze to the tile floor and scratched his ear. "Yeah, about that. I was- I mean, I'm not, but- I- That is to say-" and he stuttered himself into silence.

Barba was staring pointedly at the floor indicators. "Let's just agree to forget it ever happened."

Sonny nodded very carefully, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. There was a nasty taste in his mouth that he wasn't sure was just the result of all the booze. "Already done," he mumbled, hopelessly wishing it were true.

"Alright." Barba shifted from one foot to the other, swapped his bag from one hand to the other. "Not that it wasn't flattering," he said abruptly, glancing at him. "But even if I was… I don't sleep with people I work with."

"Yeah, I get that." Sonny licked his lips and swallowed. He was going to throw up. He was going to throw up very soon.

"Okay. Good. Glad we got that sorted out." The elevator dinged and the doors slid open, and Barba actually managed to look like he wasn't running away. His hand hovered over the button. "Detective…"

It was not a very good kiss, and after an intensely awkward moment they pulled away from each other.

"The fuck?" Barba looked… not angry. Alarmed.

"I'm not gay," Sonny blurted out in response, which was quite possibly the stupidest thing he could've said.

Barba squinted at him, confusion visibly growing. "Neither am I."

Sonny waved him off, heading for the nearest bathroom. "Catch you later, Counselor." He had a lot of dry-heaving to do.

If only he'd woken up gay in general.