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“Do you mind?” Barba asked without looking up from his iPad as Carisi, sitting beside him in bed, settled a hand over the ADA’s crotch.
“No,” Carisi answered, and Barba rolled his eyes, sighing. Carisi grinned at him, and Barba frowned at the tablet, flicking with a finger to scroll to the next page. “I don’t got nothing better to do.”
“Don’t got nothing,” Barba muttered under his breath with a little shake of his head.
Carisi palmed him for a moment before curling his fingers down, grasping Barba’s cock through the cotton sweatpants.
“Your book wasn’t holding your interest?” Barba asked.
“No. You smell too good.”
“My sincere apologies for showering,” Barba answered, shooting him a dirty look before returning his attention to the iPad. Carisi started gently stroking him through his pants; Barba ignored him.
“You don’t feel very excited,” Carisi said after a minute.
“I’m reading.”
“Anything good?”
“Better than your book, apparently.”
“Hey, Raf. You feelin’ frisky?”
Barba sighed, flipping to the next page. He glanced over into Carisi’s lap. “You’re playing with my dick, and you’re the one getting hard,” he said. “What does that tell you?”
“Playing with your dick makes me happy?” Carisi suggested. He continued to fondle Barba through his sweats, his fingers moving in sure and practiced strokes. “If I get this thing working, will you let me do something with it?” he asked.
Barba snorted. “Depends on what you want to do, because you only have until the washing machine is done.”
“When’s that?”
Barba shrugged a shoulder without looking up. “Not long.”
“This is,” Carisi said with a grin, running his fingers up and down Barba’s shaft. “Could be longer, though.”
“That sounds like your problem, not mine,” Barba answered. “If my length is inadequate to satisfy you—”
“Nothing about you’s ever been inadequate,” Carisi said. He moved his hand upward and slid it under the elastic waistband of Barba’s sweats, wrapping his long, warm fingers around Barba’s bare cock. “I just know your potential.”
Barba made a noncommittal humming sound, but he shifted his hips, his thighs sliding further apart on the sheet as Carisi stroked him slowly with a loose, dry fist. Barba could feel himself beginning to stir against Carisi’s palm, but kept his eyes studiously glued to his tablet screen.
“I think something’s starting to happen,” Carisi said.
“Probably your imagination,” Barba answered. “Wishful thinking.”
“Huh. Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Carisi said. He pulled his hand out of Barba’s pants and rolled onto his side toward the ADA, squirming downward in the bed. “I’m just gonna get a closer look and see.”
“Knock yourself out,” Barba answered, his tone laced with indifference.
Carisi pulled the elastic of Barba’s sweats down to his upper thighs and held it there with one hand, sliding his other hand under Barba’s semi-erection to nudge it upward with a knuckle. He glanced up at Barba’s face, and Barba quickly shifted his gaze back to the iPad screen.
“No, something’s definitely happening,” Carisi said. He ran the pad of his thumb partway up the side of Barba’s shaft. “I think I should try…this,” he said, ducking his head and pulling the head of Barba’s cock into his mouth. He ran his tongue around the ridge, up along the slit, sucking lightly, and Barba shifted his leg—the one that Carisi didn’t have pinned to the bed—a bit further.
After a few moments, Carisi lowered his head, swallowing most of Barba’s length until it brushed the back of his throat. He could feel Barba growing, hardening in his mouth, and Carisi smiled around him. He bobbed his head, working Barba up with the ease of practice and familiarity. He knew that Barba was watching him from beneath heavy lids.
The only sounds in the room were their breaths and Carisi’s wet slurping, so the tone of the washing machine finishing its cycle seemed loud, pulling Carisi back to reality with a jolt. He lifted his head, and Barba’s cock—fully hard and dripping wet—sprang back with a small slapping sound. “Shit,” Carisi said, swiping his forearm over his mouth. He shifted out of the way as Barba unceremoniously swung his legs over the edge of the bed and got to his feet, tugging his sweats back over his erection.
“Time’s up,” Barba said. As he walked out of the room, he heard Carisi send up a string of quiet curses, and Barba grinned. He sauntered into the small laundry room and looked down at himself, shaking his head at the sight of the substantial bulge in the front of his sweats. He pulled open the washer and started transferring the wet clothes into the dryer, moving slowly—one article, one sock, at a time.
When Barba finally walked back into the bedroom, the apartment was quiet except for the soft whoosh-tap-tap-whoosh repetition of the newly-started dryer. Carisi was sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard with a pillow behind his back. The blankets were down around his ankles, his bare and impossibly-long legs stretched before him. His erection was tenting the front of his boxers. He was reading his book, or at least pretending.
He glanced over at Barba’s crotch; even through the sweats, it was obvious that the ADA had softened considerably, and Carisi sighed, turning his attention back to the book.
“You gave it a valiant effort,” Barba said, climbing into bed beside the other man. Carisi didn’t answer, and Barba picked up his iPad. He let the silence stretch for a minute before saying, his tone casual, “I’ll give you a handjob if you want. So you can sleep. It’s only fair.”
“Nah,” Carisi said, flipping the page. “You don’t come, I don’t come.”
Barba smiled at his screen. “Well,” he said after a bit, “I suppose you could try fucking me. That usually works.”
Carisi looked up at him. “Usually?” the younger man repeated, sounding deeply offended. He turned and tossed his paperback onto his bedside table.
Barba chuckled softly and let Carisi pull the iPad from his hands. Carisi stretched himself over Barba’s chest, reaching to set the tablet on Barba’s table. Their eyes met, and Barba said, “We really need to get you a more interesting book.”
“More interesting than you?” He paused. “Face up or down?” he asked, raising his brows. He already knew the answer.
Barba laughed. “Now, Sonny, you know I want to watch your face when you fuck me,” he said softly.
* * *
Every brush against his prostate sent a frisson of electricity through him, but it had become nearly impossible to distinguish; his whole body was over-sensitized, tingling like a live-wire, chock full of electricity that needed an outlet. If it didn’t find a release, he was going to explode, or burst into flames. He was trembling with the effort of holding back, of not begging for release.
Carisi had brought him to the brink a dozen times, taking him exactly to the edge and no further, and Barba had nearly reached his breaking point. Nearly. He wasn’t there yet, and he trusted Carisi implicitly. In fact, the only thing keeping Barba from tapping out was the knowledge that he could.
And Carisi was torturing himself as much as Barba. The detective was slick with sweat, his hair stuck to his forehead, his eyes nearly all-pupil but bright as they watched Barba’s face. He had himself braced with a hand on either side of Barba’s ribs, the muscles in his arms bunched and beginning to quiver from the strain. He had one leg bent up, his knee pushed against the back of Barba’s thigh to keep the ADA’s leg levered up. With every slow, deliberate flex of his hips, Carisi sent a shiver through both of their bodies.
Barba had a pillow beneath his hips, but his joints were stiff and achy from holding himself so rigidly. He was going to need ibuprofen when they’d finished. He had one hand on Carisi’s ass, his fingers digging into the detective’s tight flesh as he tried in vain to pull him closer, deeper. The detective’s name was on his tongue, hovering behind his lips; Carisi could see it, and a small smile turned up the corners of his mouth.
Carisi had gotten better at this in their time together. He’d always been good, but now he knew Barba’s body as well as he knew his own. He knew the other man’s weaknesses and strengths, his pressure points and limits. Barba could only marvel at how well Carisi could manipulate and control Barba’s body, taking away all rational thought—and how readily Barba had given him that control.
Carisi looked down between their bodies. Barba’s erection was painfully dark, throbbing hotly against his stomach, leaking a near-constant drizzle of precum. With every flex of Carisi’s hips, Barba’s cock twitched, smearing the pre-ejaculate over his belly; his narrow trail of soft, dark hair was sticky, wet against his skin.
Carisi sank into Barba and stopped. He shifted his weight so he could lift a hand, and he touched a finger to Barba’s stomach, right next to his erection. Barba’s skin quivered at his touch, and Barba barely suppressed the groan that bubbled into his throat. Carisi let his finger hover near Barba’s cock, raising his eyes to lock stares with the other man. They both knew that it would take barely more than a touch, a gentle stroke of a single finger and Barba’s body would convulse beneath and around Carisi’s, and they would both tumble over the edge, spilling themselves until they collapsed in a tangle of slick limbs.
Somewhere in the distance, behind the roar of blood in his ears, Barba heard the buzz of the dryer, and he suddenly knew—he understood a moment before Carisi withdrew, and he cursed himself for not realizing sooner.
Carisi pulled out carefully, grimacing, and for a couple of seconds Barba almost threw a leg around him, almost grabbed him with both arms to keep him from leaving. He barely stopped himself, but he made an involuntary sound, a sound of frustration bordering on actual agony. His arm dropped heavily to the bed. One knee was still bent up, but without the support of Carisi’s knee against his thigh, his other leg slid down to the sheet.
“Sorry,” Carisi said, giving Barba’s hip a quick pat, “my turn to do laundry.”
Barba bit back the angry jumble of words that were fighting on his tongue and closed his eyes, clutching handfuls of sheet at his sides as he drew a deep breath through his nose. His heart was slamming in his ribcage. His skin was buzzing.
He could call him back. If he said the word, Carisi would return and finish what he’d started. Barba mumbled incoherently under his breath, trying to get control of himself. He wasn’t averse to edging—if he were, Carisi never would’ve gotten so good at it—but he wasn’t sure he’d ever been quite so strung-out before, so close to crying mercy.
He could hear Carisi in the other room, opening the dryer. He could practically see the detective, naked, erection dark red and slick with lubrication, as he stood there casually folding clothes.
“You fucking—” he started, barely audible. He cut himself off with a shaky laugh that turned into a groan. He let out a slow breath. “Okay,” he muttered, shaking his head on the pillow. “Okay.”
“You say something?” Carisi called.
“Not a fucking thing,” Barba answered, and he heard Carisi’s soft chuckle.
Barba wiggled his hips on the pillow, trying to find a comfortable position, and winced. He didn’t dare lower his other leg, yet. Carisi had left him wide open and maddeningly sensitive. Even the caress of cool air was bordering on unbearable. Barba lifted a shaky hand and swiped it over his sweaty face, sniffing before letting out another calming breath.
He gathered every bit of his resolve. He wasn’t going to lie around with his ass open to the world, waiting desperately for his boyfriend to come finish him off. Grinding his teeth together to keep from making a sound, Barba planted his hand and foot against the bed and levered himself up, tugging the pillow out from beneath his hips.
He shoved the pillow under his head and stared up at the ceiling for a moment, willing his body under control. After a few seconds he leaned toward Carisi’s side of the bed and snatched the paperback from the table before settling back against the pillow. He opened the book and stared at the tiny black words, trying to force them into focus.
When Carisi finally sauntered back into the room carrying the laundry basket full of clean, folded clothes, the detective’s cock was jutting and his lips were smirking. He set a bottle of ibuprofen on the bedside table beside Barba’s water bottle. Barba ignored him. Carisi went about methodically putting their clothes away in the dresser and closet, and Barba surreptitiously opened the bottle of pills, swallowing several while he pretended not to watch Carisi’s ass moving around the room.
After he’d finished, Carisi walked over and stood beside the bed for several seconds, one narrow hip cocked while he scratched absently at his chest. Finally, he said, “Good book?”
“Hmm. It’s not as boring as I was led to believe,” Barba answered. He glanced at Carisi’s erection. “Guess you find laundry more interesting than I do.”
Carisi grabbed the lube from the table and squirted some into his hand. “The trick is just to think about other stuff,” he said, giving himself a few slow strokes. He reached over and tugged the extra pillow from beneath Barba’s head. “Don’t mind me,” he said.
“I never do,” Barba answered.
“You just keep reading, you can let me know how it ends.” He crawled over Barba’s leg, kneeling between his thighs. Barba bent a knee and tensed his stomach, levering himself up. Carisi shoved the pillow under his hips and pulled Barba’s leg up over his shoulder. He lined himself up, the head of his erection barely nudging its way inside of Barba’s ass.
Barba tossed the book onto the bed and reached up, grabbing a fistful of Carisi’s hair. He pulled the detective’s head down, crushing their lips together. He could feel Carisi’s desperation, as carefully controlled as his own.
“Hard and fast,” Carisi murmured against his mouth.
“Yes,” Barba agreed, and a moment later Carisi entered him with a quick thrust, nailing his prostate and rocking him into the bed. “Jesus Christ,” Barba said; he couldn’t help it. There was no holding back, not anymore. Carisi didn’t pause—he’d promised hard and fast, and Carisi always kept his promises. “Fuck,” Barba said, clutching at the other man’s hip. “Sonny.”
Carisi grabbed Barba’s erection in his slick fist, and Barba’s body tried to buck; Carisi had him levered up and pinned, and Barba could do nothing but mutter a string of semi-coherent curses as his body shuddered and shot thick, heavy strands of semen across his stomach and chest and up to his throat. The feeling of release—of relief—was so overwhelming that Barba was afraid for a moment that he might actually lose consciousness. He held onto Carisi in a frantic attempt to ground himself. If he passed out, Carisi would stop without finishing.
“Raf,” the detective said, Barba’s name a hoarse cry from his throat. Barba pulled the other man’s head down for another kiss. He couldn’t breathe, and the room was spinning around them, but he felt Carisi shudder and pulse inside of him, felt him spill every last drop of himself, and that was all that mattered.
Carisi collapsed against him, unable to support himself. Barba’s leg was still hooked over his shoulder, and he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t focus. He tapped weakly at Carisi’s hip, and the detective shifted, withdrawing carefully but quickly. He pulled the pillow from beneath Barba’s hips and lowered his leg to the bed.
“Breathe, honey,” he said, even though he was still trying to catch his own breath. He rubbed at Barba’s chest, over his heart.
“Christ,” Barba said. “C’mere.” He hooked an arm around Carisi’s shoulders and pulled him down onto his chest. He kissed Carisi’s lips until they both had to turn away to draw air.
“If we stay like this we’ll be stuck together by morning,” Carisi mumbled, nuzzling under Barba’s jaw.
Barba laughed breathlessly. “Good,” he said, and he felt Carisi grin against his throat. Barba hesitated. “But now the fucking sheets need to be washed,” he said, tightening his arm around Carisi as they laughed.