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Rafael’s at a bar with the whole squad—because drinking is everyone’s second favorite activity after putting away bad guys—when it happens. They’re all celebrating having just accomplished their first favorite activity, so everyone’s loose with relief and alcohol. The celebration’s winding down though: Liv and Fin have finished their drinks and declined refills, and Rollins looks ready to drop.
Then there’s Carisi. Rafael doesn’t know what to make of Carisi yet, though he’s been with the team for almost half a year now. Though chatty at the precinct, endlessly ready with a quip or observation he feels the rest of his co-workers absolutely need to hear, Carisi’s been more reserved at the bar. Rafael can’t tell if something about the setting makes the younger detective uncomfortable, or if it’s the opposite and he simply loses the need to continuously talk when he’s feeling relaxed.
For his part, Rafael’s still good for a couple drinks, should there be any takers. He doesn’t have to be in the office tomorrow, and this trial had been such a hellish two months he now wants nothing more to get good and drunk and sleep well into the next morning for the first time in weeks.
He’s considering offering to buy the next round when Liv and Fin make their goodbyes, Fin insisting Rollins should follow suit and get some sleep. She looks at him fondly, though, appreciating his concern, and agrees to take her leave.
“Sticking around?” Carisi asks Rafael after the rest have left the bar. Carisi’s still got a third of his beer—easily downed should Rafael take his leave, as well—and Rafael’s scotch is only half consumed (and expensive, so it will be savored at a respectable pace). So he nods.
“At least until I finish my drink.”
“And after?”
“I could be talked into getting another.”
Carisi smiles. “I’ll do you one better, Counselor. Let me buy you a drink—you did incredible work on this case, especially with closing. If anyone’s fucking earned a free drink, it’s you, buddy.”
The swearing takes Rafael by surprise, but not unpleasantly so. He smiles in amusement and tilts his head. “Come on, Carisi. Anything’s impressive to a Fordham night school student.”
Carisi’s brows go stern, but his tone is playful when he responds, “You trying to talk me out of buying you that drink, Barba?”
“So it’s not ‘Counselor’ anymore?”
“Only when you play nice.”
Rafael snorts. “Then I suppose that’s the last time I’ll ever hear it. You know full well I never play nice.”
Carisi grins and says, “Okay, okay, finish your drink so I can buy you another before I change my mind.”
Rafael makes a point of taking a painfully slow sip from his tumbler. It earns him an exasperated eye roll from Carisi, and an unexpected hand reaching across the table to pluck Rafael’s glass from right out below his nose so Carisi can down the contents himself with a grimace. “Never could come around to scotch myself,” he says, still frowning.
Somewhere between Carisi reaching his hand out to take the drink and Carisi actually drinking it, is when it happens. Something in the familiarity of the gesture, the comfort of it, has Rafael stunned. Carisi’s never lacked for confidence--certainly there’s no other explanation for his constant suggestions about how Rafael should handle their cases if he didn’t have confidence in abundance--but he’s never expressed it in so intimate a way before. Has always exhibited a stringent respect for personal space, only broken when he feels especially strongly about something. But here Carisi is, sitting in a bar, the most relaxed Rafael’s ever seen him, stealing away Rafael’s drink and swigging it back like that’s not some legitimate breach of the boundaries Rafael thought they had in place.
It’s not that he’s offended or upset so much as he’s just plain shocked. Rafael stares at Carisi dumbly. “That was an expensive drink, Detective Carisi,” he says simply for the relief of having something to say. “Not the kind of swill you swallow in one go.”
Carisi grins wide and looks about to say something before changing his mind. He shakes his head and stands from the table. “Counselor! You suddenly seem to need a refill. What can I get you?”
Rafael swallows, still a bit lost. “Surprise me, Detective,” he finally says.
Carisi winks. “Good answer. And will do.”
As Carisi goes to get their round, Rafael stares at the empty tumbler in front of Carisi’s chair. He knows, objectively, the action was fairly insignificant. They’re grown men—they know cooties aren’t real. But Rafael can’t deny something shifts in his mind. He watches Carisi at the bar and can only see his profile through all the other people. But he can still take in the length of the detective, the arch of his nose, the tendrils of hair escaping their gelled restraints. The bar’s lit low, so Carisi looks softer than he does in the courtroom or at the precinct, and Rafael finds he needs to swallow again, as his throats gone dry.
When Carisi turns from the bar with their drinks, Rafael averts his eyes until he's made it all the way back to their table. When Rafael looks up again, he scoffs.
“Are we suddenly 21 again? Tequila shots, really?”
Carisi shrugs. “Come on, Counselor. Live a little!”
Rafael sighs and grabs a shot, a lime, and the salt shaker. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, then he licks his hand and adds the salt before sliding the shaker across the table to Carisi. If he watches Carisi’s tongue dart out to lick his own hand, then no one need know.
When he’s done with the salt, Carisi raises his drink. “Salud, Counselor.”
Rafael raises his own. “Salud, Detective.”
Lick. Shot. Lime. Carisi smiles at Rafael the whole time.
+++
Something subtle changes when Rafael sees Carisi again at the precinct. He can’t put his fingers on what exactly has changed, and if asked directly about his thoughts on the detective, he’d stick by his standard, “Irritating but effective. Does good work, like everyone else on the team.” While he wouldn’t be lying, he’d certainly be leaving something undefined out. He wouldn’t call it an attraction, but Rafael knows objectively someone else might label his new-found feelings towards Carisi just that.
If Rafael had to pick a word to describe his current thoughts about Carisi, he’d choose appreciation. And if he had to expand on just what he appreciates, he’d start by saying largely Carisi’s work ethic. He’s certainly no better a detective than anyone else on the squad, and God knows there’s no chance he will be till grows up a little more, but he’s got an attitude that SVU sorely needs—an optimism and enthusiasm that Fin and Liv and Rollins all have to remind themselves to cling tightly to. Rafael’s never been optimistic or enthusiastic about anything beyond his ability to do a good job, and he worked hard to build up that confidence. But Carisi seems to produce it in spades and from some innate place inside him untouched by the often-times dreary exterior of the real-world.
Then, if pressed further, Rafael might be willing to admit he’s grown to appreciate a few other non-work related things about Carisi. Namely the length of him. Rafael’s always known, of course, that Carisi is ridiculously tall, and his lankiness only adds to the sense of height. But it really only registers with Rafael after the bar. Carisi’s standing by Rafael while Liv fills everyone in on the latest developments of the case Rafael’s trying to prosecute. The detective’s been mostly quiet for once, and only his folded arms betray his frustration with their current trial. Rafael turns his head to mutter something snarky in conspiratorial irritation when he realizes Carisi probably won’t be able to hear it since Rafael’s mouth is level with Carisi’s chin. Rafael’s used to being shorter than most of the men he meets, but he’s not usually this much shorter. The realization is not wholly unpleasant.
Then there’s the matter of Carisi’s cologne. Rafael’s not sure if Carisi’s just started wearing it or if Rafael’s just started noticing it, but they’re an hour into prepping Carisi for trial, both tired and frustrated, when Carisi finally stands and stamps down from the witness box.
“Requesting a recess, Counselor,” he snaps as he whips past Rafael to leave the courtroom. And it’s in the breeze of his passing that Rafael catches an unmistakable whiff of Acqua Di Gio.
“Granted, Counselor,” Rafael replies coolly, surprised by the information that Carisi is the kind of detective willing to spend fifty bucks or more on classy, if common, cologne. It’s another facet of the man that has Rafael more intrigued than he’s willing to admit, even if someone were to press him.
Rafael’s only saving grace when it comes to his…whatever…for Detective Carisi, is that Carisi is so blatantly heterosexual Rafael feels a little straighter just looking at him. It makes his more affectionate thoughts towards the man nothing more than playful and distracting—a nice alternative to considering the harsh reality of working so closely with the Special Victim’s Unit. At the end of a long day filled with victim testimony, smarmy defense attorneys, and bigoted jury members, Rafael finds it’s quite nice to think instead of the delicate lines of Carisi’s neck as he stretches in the corner of Rafael’s office during another of Olivia’s pep talks about staying positive and supportive for the following day of trial. It’s far more pleasant, as Rollins and Fin bicker about the sincerity of the victim, to watch Carisi’s long fingers fiddle with the button of his blazer, all while knowing there’s no pressure to act on any of his “appreciation” because there’s no chance the feeling is mutual.
He’s only brought out of his daydreaming about the way Carisi’s fingers would look wrapped around something slightly larger than a button when the meeting’s wrapping up. Liv’s wrangled Fin and Rollins back into subdued silence, and dismissed everyone for the day. Liv and two of her detectives are saying goodbye to Rafael, but Carisi stays seated in his chair in the corner. Rafael hastily makes his goodbyes to the team, then levels his gaze back on Carisi.
“You hear a word she said?” Carisi asks with a raised eyebrow.
Rafael shrugs, caught out. “More or less. We all know this trial has gone to shit.”
Carisi gasps and puts his hand to his chest. “Counselor, such language!”
“Right, because you’ve never uttered a single profanity in your entire life.”
Carisi grins. “Yeah, but I’m me and you’re you. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like it when you start to loosen up a little. But you can’t blame a guy for being a tad bit surprised.”
Rafael sighs dramatically. “Fair enough, Detective. I suppose it is a little alarming when a man of such grace and elegance as I deigns to use such common language.”
“God, you’re so full of it,” Carisi says, shaking his head. Then, “You want to grab a drink or some food with me? I’m not ready to head home just yet.”
Rafael checks his watch and thinks of all the files he needs to go back over before tomorrow. Then he thinks about Carisi’s hands. “Sure. But I’m picking the restaurant.”
+++
Rafael’s craving fried plantains, so he takes Carisi to a Cuban hole in the wall within walking distance of his office.
“I’ve never had Cuban food before,” Carisi says, holding the door open for Rafael.
Rafael smiles. “First time for everything, Detective.”
“Please, for the love of God, call me Sonny.”
Rafael raises an eyebrow. “If you insist, Sonny.”
Sonny rolls his eyes. “Look, everyone’s always called me Sonny until I got to Manhattan. Apparently everyone here’s got a stick up their ass about calling me what I asked to be called.” Which is of course when their server arrives to lead them to a table. “Sorry,” Sonny says sheepishly. Rafael smirks all the way to the table.
Rafael thanks their server and then exchanges a few pleasantries with the woman in Spanish. Then he turns back to Sonny. “‘Sonny’ isn’t terribly professional though, is it?”
Sonny rolls his eyes. “It’s just a nickname. You all don’t seem to have any problem calling Olivia ‘Liv’ or Odafin ‘Fin’; why should I be so different?”
“What do you have against your real name?”
“Nothing much, I guess. It’s just, that’s my dad’s name, you know? He’s Dom, and I’m Sonny.”
“I quite like the name Dominick.”
Sonny sighs. “Well isn’t that dandy for you?” Then he disappears behind a menu, only to put it down a moment later. “I’m totally lost. I’m going to let you order for the both of us, Counselor.”
Rafael snorts. “Lucky for you, I have impeccable taste. And if I’m supposed to call you Sonny, you may as well start calling me Rafael.”
Sonny looks surprised at the offer. “Really? Well, okay.”
They sit quietly for a moment while Rafael goes over the menu, then places his order with the waitress. When that’s handled, he returns his attention to Sonny. “You said you weren’t ready to head home. Any particular reason why?”
Sonny sighs heavily and widens his eyes, and Rafael knows he’s in for a story.
“It’s just, my sister, Bella—you remember her, I’m sure—she’s gotten into some blow out with Tommy and’s staying with me right now. And while I love her death, I am not emotionally nor psychologically prepared to be sharing a one bedroom apartment with my very pregnant, and, I'm sorry to say, very bitchy little sister.”
Rafael frowns. “I’m sorry to hear things aren’t working out with Tommy.”
Sonny waves a hand dismissively. “Nah, things are working just fine. This is just how they are. On again, off again, at each other’s throats, singing each other’s praises. Shit’s gotten crazier since the baby and Tommy’s trouble, but they’re already talking to each other again, so I know she’ll be back at home soon.”
“Sounds…passionate.”
Sonny frowns. “You can call it like it is: fucking nuts. Bella is her mother’s daughter, that’s the damn problem.”
“What does that mean?” Rafael asks with some amusement.
“She’s loud, mouthy, and stubborn,” explains Sonny.
“Ah,” replies Rafael. “That explains a lot.”
“And what does that mean?”
“Well, Sonny. You are your mother’s son, too.”
+++
Rafael learns about a week later that things are back on with Tommy and Bella.
“Thank fucking God, am I right?” Sonny mutters as he stirs his coffee.
Rafael allows himself a moment to imagine what it’d be like to run his hands through Sonny’s un-styled hair before answering, “I’m happy to hear it.”
Sonny sips his coffee and slaps Rafael on the arm. “You’re a good dude, Raf. I’m not sure why everyone’s always so scared of you.” Then he turns before Rafael can think of anything to say and walks out of Rafael’s office.
It’s another one of those moments where things shift quietly in Rafael’s head. He praises whatever God is listening once again for making Dominick Carisi Jr. heterosexual.
+++
Everyone’s at another bar, because that’s just how everyone rolls. Only now they’re all celebrating the fact that Sonny’s just become an uncle. Everyone’s been plying him with drinks, so he’s good and buzzed by the time Rafael’s able to join the party. They’re at a different bar than usual—Sonny’s choice—and it’s much noisier than any of their regular places.
“Raf!” Sonny exclaims, earning strange looks from the rest of the squad. Rafael would reprimand Sonny for the nickname, but he enjoys the familiarity it signifies too damn much to do anything about it. He just shares exasperated looks with the rest of the team before saying loudly over the noise, “I’d buy you a drink, but you seem to have that covered.” Sonny’s got a beer in one hand and a shot of something clear in the other. Rafael guesses Tequila.
Sonny leans forward so he doesn’t have to yell himself and says, “Yeah, everyone’s being the nicest to me I think they’ve ever been. I’m loving it—and all these drinks.” Then he tacks on, “Come sit with me?”
Rafael nods. “Let me get a drink first.” Sonny smiles, throws back the shot, and then rubs a hand along the back of Rafael’s neck before going off to grab a table.
Rafael once again exchanges looks with the rest of the team.
“He’s kind of a handsy drunk, isn’t he?” asks Fin.
Liv smirks into her wine glass.
Rollins shakes her head. “He’s having a good time, though. It’s not every day you become an uncle.”
Rafael orders a scotch and a glass of water. “My presence is required,” he says while looking at Sonny.
“We’ll give you a minute before we join you,” says Liv.
Rafael looks at her warily and then heads towards Sonny’s booth. “I brought you something,” he says upon arrival, and deposits the water in front of Sonny.
Sonny smiles. “Thank you, Rafael. I needed this.” He momentarily puts aside his beer to drink from the water glass.
“So, tell me how it feels to be an uncle,” Rafael asks.
“Scary as hell, man! And it’s not even my kid. Can’t imagine how Bella and Tommy must feel.”
“You strike me as the type who likes kids, and especially babies.”
Sonny shrugs. “What’s not to like?”
“Oh, lots of things.”
Sonny scoffs. “You must be an only child.”
“You got me,” agrees Rafael.
Sonny looks about to say something when the rest of the crew shows up and takes their seats, Fin handing Sonny another drink.
“You shouldn’t have,” Sonny says coyly.
Fin smacks the back of his head lightly. “I didn’t. That leggy blonde giving you googly eyes at the bar did.”
Rafael turns to look at the same time as Sonny, and immediately spots the flirtatious blonde winking in Sonny’s direction. Sonny raises his glass to her in acknowledgement, but makes no move to stand and speak to her.
“Not your type?” Rafael can’t help but ask.
Sonny shakes his head. “Not really. But that brunet to her left is definitely more my speed.”
Everyone takes a moment to take in the person Sonny is referring to. The only brown-haired person to the blonde’s left is a well-dressed man drinking a whiskey on the rocks.
“Th-the guy?” Rollins eventually asks.
Sonny downs the rest of his beer and smiles beatifically. “Surprise everyone! I’m bi!”
Rafael drinks his scotch far too quickly and refuses to meet Liv’s eyes. That just changed everything.
+++
The revelation about Sonny’s sexuality has Rafael feeling like he’s been dunked in water. No one else acts any differently, of course. Sonny coming out as bi hasn’t changed anything for them—Liv and Fin and Rollins couldn’t care less about the kind of people Sonny prefers to take home at night. But it signals the abrupt end of Rafael’s carefree crush on the detective, the stakes now raised as they are.
He doesn’t think Sonny notices Rafael’s slight change in behavior around him, as he was never very overt with his attraction to start, but he can’t deny he’s shutting himself off from any extra friendliness around the man. He’s already turned down two separate invitations for dinner and drinks, and the last time Sonny let a hand casually drape over Rafael’s shoulder, he’d shaken him off and made some quip about wrinkling his suit.
“This blazer cost more than your entire education, Carisi. I won’t have you ruining the lines.”
Sonny had huffed. “Jesus, Raf. Who spit in your coffee today?” And then before Rafael had been able to retort, Sonny had turned and given his attention to Fin.
It isn’t that Rafael’s scared of relationships so much as he’s just plain scared of Sonny. He’s young and eager, somehow uncorrupted by the filth he and the rest of SVU, and Rafael by association, willingly wade into every day. Sonny’s an open book, sincere and naïve, and Rafael worries about the ways his own cynicism and reserve might tamper Sonny’s future growth. And he’s a little scared of what Sonny’s sincerity and optimism might do to his own dedication to practical pessimism, if he's being honest with himself. It took Rafael an awfully long time to the kill the urge to hope for the best. He’s always found it much better to focus solely on expecting the worst.
After about three weeks of surly interaction, Liv takes Rafael out for drinks.
“I’m not your boss, and you’re an adult, but I have to say: if something’s going on between you and Sonny, I’d really prefer if you didn’t take it out on each other at work.”
Rafael almost chokes on his drink. “Excuse me?” Liv gives him a look—a long, hard, all-knowing kind of look—until Rafael breaks. “Okay, fine. I’m not getting into this with you, but suffice to say there’s nothing going on with Sonny and I so much as there’s just something going on with me.”
Liv frowns and jumps to the worst possible conclusion. “You can’t possibly have a problem with him coming out.”
“No, of course not. At least, not that kind of problem.”
It doesn’t take Liv long to understand what Rafael means. “Oh,” she says. “Well, that’s not much better.”
Rafael sighs. “Tell me all about it.” Then it occurs to him to ask, “Is it so obvious to everyone?”
“You mean obvious to Carisi?”
“I mean to everyone.”
“I don’t think so. I’m not sure Fin or Amanda knows you like I do. But, yeah, I do think Carisi’s picked up on something. He’s been crankier these past few weeks too, which makes me think apparently he does know you a bit like I do.”
“He doesn’t know me at all, Liv. Not really.” Rafael throws back the rest of drink—he’d gone the cheap route anticipating just such a maneuver—and continues, “It was just nice to think about what things might be like if he did.”
“And how does learning that Carisi is also attracted to men ruin that?”
Rafael shrugs. “The fantasy’s been made real.” Then he gives Liv a wry smile. “Now I have to deal with it.”
They share a moment of silence for Rafael’s pride. Then Liv gets up to buy another round.
+++
It becomes clear to Rafael about a week later that Sonny has in fact noticed Rafael’s new attitude towards him.
They’ve just finished up their first day in court for a new case when Sonny corners Rafael in the courthouse restroom.
“You got a problem with me now, Counselor? Because I’m getting real tired of the shit attitude.”
Rafael takes a step back and looks anxiously around the restroom to confirm they’re alone. “Excuse me, Detective?” It’s like being railroaded by Liv again.
“If you got a problem with me liking men or otherwise, then just come clean about it so we can either deal with it or get past it.” There’s a moment where Sonny looks almost hurt. “I thought we were friends, Rafael.”
Rafael loses some of his composure then. It’s been a long day. “Jesus, Sonny, I don’t give a shit about the fact that you like men.” He rubs his hands, still cool from having just washed them, along his face. “It’d be a little hypocritical if I did.”
When he looks at Sonny again, he finds the junior detective is now the one who looks like he’s been dunked in water.
“Oh,” Sonny replies lamely. “Well, that’s all good then.” He pauses a moment. “So then tell me why the hell you’ve been so grouchy with me for the past month.”
“Can we not do this here?” Rafael asks, still anxious about being trapped in the men’s room.
Sonny looks around, as if having forgotten where they are. “If I ask you to dinner will you just turn me down again?”
“No, Sonny, I won’t,” Rafael replies tiredly.
They end up back at the Cuban restaurant, though Sonny manages not to embarrass himself this time. They haven’t spoken since they left the bathroom, and the first thing Sonny says once they get inside is, “Want to sit at the bar this time?”
Rafael considers the likelihood of his feelings for Sonny coming out in the open during the evening and promptly agrees.
“I’m going to let you order for me again since what you picked last time was so good,” says Sonny as he slides into the stool. “And also because I still feel totally hopeless when I look at the menu.”
“That's because you are totally hopeless, Sonny." Then, more quietly, "Not that I seem to mind.”
They fall into silence again until after Rafael’s ordered their food and they each have a beer in hand. Rafael’s avoiding speaking because he has no desire to talk about his feelings, but he can’t quite figure out why Sonny, famous for leaping without looking when it comes to saying what’s on his mind, is remaining silent.
Finally Sonny rolls his eyes. “So are you ever going to say anything or am I going to have to do all the work here?”
“Forgive me if I’m not so fond of speaking just to fill the silence,” Rafael snaps.
“Is that not why we’re here, though?”
Rafael closes his eyes a moment and breathes through his nose. “I know I owe you an explanation—and an apology—Sonny, but that doesn’t make this any easier.”
Sonny sighs. “Fine, then I’ll make it easy for you.” He swigs his pint to gain some liquid courage. “You like me, don’t you? Like, like-like me?”
Rafael tears at the label on his bottle, unable to answer. He hadn’t thought he’d have to jump right in to this part of the conversation.
But his silence seems to be enough for Sonny, whose mouth is slowly twisting into a grin. “You do. You like-like me.” Rafael looks up at the ceiling and mutters, “Ay, Dios mio,” while Sonny starts gaining steam. “You want to hug me. You want to kiss me. You want to date me.”
Rafael snaps his eyes back to Sonny and scoffs. “Are you quoting Miss Congeniality to me?”
Sonny shrugs and sips his beer. “Always wanted an excuse to. So you don’t deny it though? You got the hots for SVU’s newest and most brilliant detective?”
Rafael lets his head fall into his hands. “Against my better judgement,” he mumbles through his fingers.
Then there’s a cool hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “It’s okay, Raf. I like-like you too. Still doesn’t explain why you’ve been such a fucking ass, though.”
Rafael leans back into the touch and lets his hands return to tearing at the label on the beer bottle. “When you came out at the bar, it was like…it made what had previously been nothing more than a happy little distraction concrete in a way I wasn’t prepared for.” He looks at Sonny, though it’s difficult to face him. Rafael’s faced down murderers and rapists, abusers of all stripes, while in the courtroom. But something about Sonny’s green eyes has him wishing he could look anywhere else.
Sonny’s hand falls away from Rafael’s neck. He looks like some of the weight Rafael’s been bearing has shifted to him. All the levity’s left his eyes. “I guess it’s just kind of hard to believe, you know.”
“So I’m not allowed to have feelings now?”
Sonny tsks. “Oh, shut up. You know that’s not what I’m saying. But feelings for me? Come on.”
“And why the hell not?” Rafael all but spits at Sonny.
Sonny looks at Rafael like the answer is obvious. “Well…because you’re you. And I’m me. Pretty sure we've had this conversation before. And I’m kind of the worst—don’t think I don’t know it. It’s like you said, right? I am my mother’s son: loud, mouthy, and stubborn.”
If Rafael weren’t so tired of denying his feelings, he’d verbalize just how damn wrong Sonny is. But as it is, he's tired and would much prefer to just get right to the point. So Rafael mutters an exasperated, “For fucks sake,” under his breath, and then abruptly pulls Sonny’s face down to meet his own so he can plant an earnest kiss against Sonny’s lips. Because if there’s one thing Rafael knows how to do earnestly, it’s this.
There’s a small oomph of surprise from Sonny, but then he’s opening his mouth so Rafael’s tongue has better access and stepping awkwardly off the stool so he can more easily lean into Rafael.
As afar as first kisses go, Rafael has to admit it's not too shabby.
They part after a moment, coming up for air, only to find the bartender looking at them in surprise. “Can I get you anything else?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Sonny says quickly, grinning. “Two shots of tequila. All the fixings.”
After Sonny salts his hand, he passes the shaker back to the bartender instead of to Rafael. “Thought we’d try something different this time,” he explains. Then he extends his hand towards Rafael’s mouth.
“So I see,” Rafael says.
Sonny lifts his glass. “Bottom’s up.”
Rafael raises his own glass and takes Sonny’s wrist in his free hand. “Bottom’s up,” he echoes, then licks a stripe along Sonny’s hand.
Sonny shivers and takes back his hand, licking the remaining salt, watching Rafael intently as his tongue drags along his skin. Then he winks.
Rafael shakes his head, but he’s smiling fondly. He brings the shot glass to his mouth.
Lick. Shot. Lime. Rafael smiles at Sonny the whole time.