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“This is nice,” Carisi said, for possibly the fourteenth time. “I’ve never had Mountain Dew in a wine glass before.” He took a sip. “You know, if you’d told me you were out of wine, I would’ve brought some with me.” He considered, then added, “Actually, now that I think about it, I should’ve done that anyway. My mom would kill me for my manners.
Barba waved a hand. “The flowers were enough. It’s fine. So strange that all the shops were sold out of alcohol. But my liver is currently throwing a parade and tearfully hugging its loved ones. How’s the food?”
Carisi gave a queasy smile. “You really like garlic, huh?”
Barba had been on edge all evening. Their first two dates had been, well, nice. They had been dancing around each other for years, but Carisi’s charm had worn down Barba’s usual reticence. His kindness, his decency, his humour, his strength, that lovely face, all of it had crept under Barba’s defenses, inch by slow inch.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d built a wall. A solid, sturdy wall. But then came Carisi, with David Hasselhoff on a bulldozer, happily tearing it down piece by piece. And Barba had let him.
Because he was an idiot.
Because now, here they were. Date three. The unspoken threshold where things were expected to shift.
Barba’s stomach coiled.
Carisi wanted him. Barba had no misconceptions about that. The way his breath hitched ever so slightly when they were close, a barely there change that made Barba’s pulse quicken. The casual press of his fingers against Barba’s back when they sat side by side. The wide, unabashed grin he wore whenever Barba eviscerated his colleagues’ work ethic to their faces, sometimes even to his face. It was impossible to ignore, impossible to pretend it wasn’t there.
And it unsettled him.
What had he expected to happen? That the world would conveniently end via nuclear strikes and get him out of it? No, Barba wasn’t that lucky.
But he had hope. Which brought him back round to his previous assessment. He was an idiot.
He had kept his distance from the moment Carisi stepped into his apartment.
With expertly timed stirring, strategic oven-checking, and even an urgent call to his mother, who was both baffled and annoyed that he was interrupting The Masked Singer, Barba had successfully distracted, dazzled, and deterred Carisi just enough to get him seated at the table without questioning the absence of his usual hello kiss.
If he played his cards right, he could keep this up until their golden wedding anniversary.
“So, how many courses did you say we were having again?”
“Seven.”
Carisi eyed him, then his plate. “Right, right.” He poked at his food. “And will Henry VIII be joining us, or…?”
“Oh, it’s a… a Cuban thing.”
Carisi twirled his fork, lifting a bite of pasta. “It is?”
“The courses, I meant. Come on, eat before it gets cold.” Barba hesitated. “Or… take your time. I wouldn’t want you to get a stitch.”
“Uh. Noted?”
The silence sat between them as they ate. Barba focused intently on his food, taking the smallest bites imaginable, as if sheer willpower could make the meal last forever. He chewed so slowly that by the time he swallowed, the previous bite had likely already been digested
Barba risked a glance up.
Carisi was staring at him again, expression soft, his eyes only oval because Carisi hadn't figured out how to defy biology and physics and turn them into heart shapes.
God, he didn't deserve him.
“That was just… I didn’t know you could have a garlic crème brûlée.”
“Oh, it’s a Cu--”
“Cuban thing, yes, you said.” Carisi put down his spoon and cleared his throat. “Thank you, Raf. It was… uh, delicious.”
Barba offered a weak smile, then, with an air of resignation, began gathering the plates.
“I’ll help you load the dishwasher,” Carisi said, rising.
The dishwasher!
“Actually, I prefer to do them by hand!” Barba blurted, grabbing every plate within reach as he made a beeline for the sink. He turned on the tap with a little too much enthusiasm. “You go have a seat, and I’ll handle this.”
Carisi leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Raf, you just fed the five thousand. You used everything in your kitchen. Including a paintbrush. You’ll be here all week.”
Barba, up to his elbows in suds, gave a vague noise of denial. “Please. You’re my guest. Go take a seat. I think I have something on the planner. Ah, yes, Meat the Flockers.”
“ The… the poultry industry exposure thing. I heard that was gross. And graphic. Plus… we just ate an entire coop.”
“Is it? I heard it was riv--” Barba cut himself off as he turned to see Carisi watching him, eyes soft and affectionate, a look so love-struck that it made something inside him twist.
With a lovely smile, Carisi picked up a dish towel and held it up. “I’ll dry, you wash.”
Barba stared.
Carisi shrugged. “What? You think I’m gonna let you do all the work?”
A warmth bloomed in Barba’s chest, so unexpected and overwhelming that he almost couldn't breathe. It was a strange, confusing thing. Barba tried to push it down, ignore it. He knew what this was.
His heart was already on the verge of breaking, no need to make it worse.
“Okay. Thank you,” he managed, his voice a little softer than he intended.
Carisi’s face had gone ghostly pale, his mouth slightly ajar as he stared at the television screen in silent horror. His wide eyes ran from the screen to Barba, then back again.
“A hammer?”
“Told you it was riveting.”
“I think I just became vegan. And whatever it is where you are anti tools.”
“More Mountain Dew?” Barba asked, holding up the two-litre bottle.
Carisi swallowed hard. “No, thank you.” He gave his belly a self-conscious pat. “I think I’m done for the evening. I’ve certainly never had three courses of pasta before.”
“I’m glad you liked it,” Barba said, keeping his eyes forward. “I could give you the recipe if you like?”
“There was a reci-- I mean, yeah that would be great.”
“No problem.”
Carisi, momentarily shaken from his stupor, glanced over at him. “Hey, what are you doing all the way over there?”
Barba darted his gaze to the middle of the sofa, where he had meticulously arranged a fortress of five cushions between them. He exhaled, slow and weary, before offering Carisi a tired little smile.
Carisi, smiling belovedly, shoved the cushions off the couch with one sweeping motion, moved closer and draped his arm along the back of Barba’s chair. The feel of him was immediate, every breath, every slight movement a tangible presence against Barba’s skin.
This was so unfair. Why did Barba have to be so hot?
Carisi’s arm slid down to his shoulders, fingers drifting lightly to the back of Barba’s neck. Barba felt the whisper of fingertips twining gently in his hair, curling strands between them with an absentminded tenderness. His fingers ghosted lower, trailing featherlight down the nape of Barba’s neck.
Barba’s eyes fluttered shut, his head tilting back slightly-- just a fraction, but enough. It felt absurdly, infuriatingly good.
“The bookcase!” He sprang up so fast that he nearly knocked over the Mountain Dew.
Carisi blinked at him, then glanced toward the bookcase. “The-- what now?”
“The books. That’s chaos. Look at it.”
Barba’s voice was clipped. His nervousness wrapped around each syllable like a rubber band stretched too tight.
“I’m sorry,” Barba continued, already crossing the room. “I won’t be able to concentrate now that I’ve noticed it. I'm horrifically embarrassed. What you must think of me. I'll understand if you want to go.”
Carisi looked from Barba to the bookshelf. “What’s wrong with it?”
“The order.” Barba dropped to his knees in front of it, hands working frantically as he began pulling books from the shelves, stacking them into uneven piles. “It’s all wrong. Oh, this is going to take hours. Sorry about this. Call me when you’re home safe.”
Carisi wandered over. “It looks alphabetical.”
“Yes, but I prefer them by… publication date order.”
Carisi crouched down beside him. “I mean, I’m not a librarian, but that feels…” He trailed off. A softer smile touched his lips. “I’ll help.”
“Oh, you don’t have to--”
Carisi knocked their shoulders together, gentle but firm. “I want to, Raf. I love doing anything with you.”
Something in Barba’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, hard
Carisi reached for a book, turning it in his hands. “Alright, boss. You call the shots.” He held up the first one. "Endless Night, Richard Laymon. 1987."
Barba took the book with a limp smile, placing it on the shelf.
Carisi grabbed another. "The Traveling Vampire Show, Richard Laymon. 2000."
If the previous smile had been weak, this one had keeled over in the emergency room.
“Lightning, Dean Koontz. 1988. Rose Madder, Stephen King. 1995.”
The funeral was in full effect for this one. His teeth gave a very moving eulogy.
Carisi continued. “Intensity, Dean Koontz. 1995. The Rats, James Herbert. 1974.” He halted, smirking. “I want it noted that I haven’t made fun of any of these. Yet.”
“I like horror, so sue me.”
“I might. And I’ll represent myself for the secondhand trauma you’re causing me with this schlock.”
Barba rolled his eyes. “What's that one?”
“Oh, this one?” Carisi held it up like he'd found it on a skip littered with dirty needles. “ Pride and Prejudice and Zombies? You can level with me. Do you read these at gunpoint?”
“How are you this much of a book elitist?”
“This bookcase faces your front door. These should be hidden like drug paraphernalia or porn.”
“Wow! Just wow.”
“I was expecting heavy volumes of law. Serious tomes. Important pieces of literature. Not … Jesus. They made a book out of Chucky?”
“My head is littered with law all day every day. I like to… empty it.”
“And fill it with killer dolls.” Carisi nudged again at his shoulder, and Barba’s heart gave a pathetic flip. “No, I like it. You contain multitudes. Horror, a ludicrous filing system and a borderline unhinged garlic fixation. It's cute.”
There was seance underway for Barba's smile but the planchette wasn't moving.
After a long moment of quiet, Carisi spoke.
“You doing okay, Raf?”
Barba let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He glanced at Carisi, who had stayed right where he was, not reaching, not pushing.
His lips twitched. “Sure.”
“It’s just…” Carisi hesitated, rubbing his mouth, eyes moving over Barba with a mix of concern and what Barba was horrified to recognise as sadness. “I couldn’t help noticing that all evening, you’ve come up with multiple reasons to keep me at arm’s length.” His voice dropped low, weak. “I’m a big boy, Raf. I can handle it. But if this… if this isn’t working for you, you can just tell me.”
Oh.
This was it.
Barba had known it would happen eventually. He’d been a fool to think he could keep skirting around it.
His fingers traced over the title of Night in the Lonesome October, needing something to do. Anything.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
Carisi turned toward him, expression open, patient. “Raf.” His voice was soft as he reached out, resting his hand lightly over one of Barba’s. “You can tell me anything.”
Barba’s fingers curled around the spine of a book, gripping too tight, the edges pressing into his skin. He should have prepared for this moment. Practiced the words. He’d known, known this was inevitable, that he couldn’t keep dancing around it forever.
But now that he was here, the truth sitting on his tongue like lead, his throat had gone dry.
He forced himself to breathe.
“Sonny.”
His name came out shaky. Carisi’s head tilted slightly at the tone, blue eyes locking onto him with unwavering focus. Patient. Caring.
Barba licked his lips, then exhaled in a scatter.
“Sonny, I’m… you know how climbing Mount Everest is really interesting to read about? It’s this grand, majestic thing, and everyone talks about it like it’s the pinnacle of human achievement. But you’d never actually want to do it, right?”
“Am… am I Mount Everest? Because I’m actually average height and--”
“No, no! I mean-- Everest sounds incredible in theory, right? Like the idea of standing at the top of the world, feeling like you've conquered something massive. But when you actually get there--there's no oxygen, you're using dead people as placemarks, the air’s so thin it feels like you’re suffocating, the sherpas secretly think you're a selfish prick for trying to do it in the first place and risking their lives just so you can slap a summit photo into your next presentation on ambition, perseverance, and 'owning the next wave of electric vehicle infrastructure.' It’s cold, and it’s dangerous, and it’s so much harder than you could have ever imagined.”
“... Did someone tell you that I’m climbing Everest? Because I’m not.”
“No, the metaphor got away from me there. Apparently, I have unexplored feelings on people who climb Everest.” He shook his head. “Let’s try this again.” He took a deep breath. “I’m asexual.”
The words landed between them like a flung brick.
Barba kept his eyes trained on the book in his lap, but he felt the way Carisi stilled beside him. A small stumble in his breathing, his body tensing, just for a second.
Then, a shutter of movement. A glance away before Carisi’s grip on his hand tightened.
“Asexual…” he murmured, his voice slower now, careful, like he was tasting the word for the first time. “That’s where you don’t feel attraction, right?”
Barba clenched his teeth, forcing himself not to look away. “I am attracted to people,” he corrected. “I sometimes feel fleeting desire, but as a whole…” He swallowed, his throat burning. “I don’t want it reciprocated.” His grip tightened on the book. “Ever.”
Carisi was silent for a beat. Not the kind of silence that came before a rejection. Just waiting.
Then, gently…
“What does that mean for you?”
Barba let out a slow, shaking breath.
Not how does that work? Not are you sure? Not can you still…? Just… what did it mean for him.
God, he was wonderful.
“It means…” He sighed, pressing the heel of his hand against his eye for a second before dropping it. “Jesus, I’ve had this conversation so many times, you’d think I’d have cue cards printed by now. Pamphlets ready to hand out. Boning Barba and Why You Can't Do It. But I never know how to explain it in a way that makes sense. ”
Carisi didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just listened.
Barba swallowed, forcing himself to continue. “I like kissing. I love kissing. I like being close to someone, sometimes. Skin, warmth, intimacy.” He hesitated. “I like giving my partner pleasure. I don’t faint at nudity. I… I like when my partner, um, pleasures themself with me there, as they watch me. It’s just… not always there for me. And when it isn’t, it’s like my body and my mind refuse to connect.”
His face burned. He shouldn’t be embarrassed, but he was. God, he was.
“I like to, um--” He let out another weak, bitter laugh. “I like to touch myself.” He refused to look at Carisi as he admitted it, his fingers gripping at the book instead. “I have those urges, sometimes. I want --” He gave a broken breath, shaking his head. “I don’t know. The act itself. Another touching me, like that. That’s what I don’t want. What I’ve never wanted.”
His voice wavered. “And you have no idea how many hours I’ve spent scouring the internet, trying to figure out my particular flavour of crazy. Only to get completely overwhelmed at all the labels. I don’t know what I am. I’m just me .” He swallowed, fingers drumming against the book’s cover. “It means…” His voice faltered. He gritted his teeth, trying again. “It means that for most of my life, I thought I was broken.”
Carisi sucked in a breath, barely audible, but Barba caught it. A touch of something in his expression. Pain, anger, something protective curling at the edges of his jaw.
Barba’s lips twisted in something that had no right identifying as a smile. “I spent years thinking I’d grow out of it. That maybe I was just a late bloomer, or that I had some kind of… of mental block. I convinced myself I just hadn’t met the right person.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “And when I did meet someone I cared about, I thought, ‘Okay. Now it’ll be different. Now I’ll want it.’”
His voice dropped lower, rougher.
“It never changed.”
Carisi didn’t move, didn’t let go.
Barba took a breath. It felt like breathing in ground up glass.
“I’ve tried, Sonny.” His voice was low, raw. “I’ve tried to push past it. To… to give people what they wanted, to be the kind of partner I thought I should be.” His throat clenched, but he forced himself to go on. “I told myself if I just loved them enough, if I could just get out of my own way, then maybe--maybe I could change.”
He swallowed hard, fingers tightening around Carisi’s like they were the only thing keeping him tethered.
“I’ve had people trying to rationalise it. Call it a low sex drive, ask if I’ve tried pills, or search for some hidden trauma I’ve forgotten. I was breastfed too much, perhaps. Or breastfed by the family cat. They couldn’t accept this was just the way I was. Every time I set a boundary, it became something to work around. A challenge. A problem to solve.” His voice turned bitter. “Something they thought I’d eventually be okay with, if they were patient enough, if they just… warmed me up to it.”
Beside him, Carisi was still, but the air around him shifted, his body tense with something Barba didn’t dare look at.
Barba shook his head, his eyes dropping to their joined hands. “I’ve had partners who promised to respect it, and the moment we got close, it was like-- it was like they forgot.” His breath shuddered out of him. “Like they thought I was just scared, or inexperienced, or--” he let out a hollow, humourless laugh--“playing hard to get.”
His nails pressed into his palm, sharp enough to sting. “And when I pulled away, when I flinched, I was the one being unreasonable. I was the one holding something back. I was never enough as I was.” His voice cracked, just slightly, but he forced himself to keep going. “I became something they had to fix .”
Carisi’s fingers twitched in his.
Barba squeezed his eyes shut.
“I tried to let them.” His voice was barely above a whisper now. “I thought-- maybe they could. Maybe they were right. Maybe if I just stopped fighting it, if I just let them--”
An inhale from Carisi. His grip on Barba’s hand tightened-- not harsh, never that, but strong. There.
Barba swallowed against the lump in his throat. “But it didn’t work. It never worked. It just made me feel… less. Like there was some part of me missing, some piece I was supposed to have that just-- wasn’t there.”
Something bitter passed over Carisi’s face, his jaw tightening. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, but laced with something dangerous.
“Tell me no one hurt you, Raf.”
Carisi’s grip on his hand was firm, his other hand curled into a fist against his knee. His whole body was tense, as if holding himself back. His face was blank, but his voice. His voice had dipped into something cold.
Barba hesitated. “No one… no one forced me, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Carisi let out a slow breath, shoulders easing, but only slightly.
“But I was pushed. Every time I tried to draw a line, it felt like I had to justify it. Had to convince them I wasn’t withholding something on purpose. And if I wasn’t fighting them on it, then I was… tolerating it. Trying to endure it. Pretending.” He breathed shakily. “That kind of thing. It wears you down, Sonny. It makes you wonder if maybe… maybe… they’re right. If maybe it is just in your head.”
Carisi’s eyes darkened. His fingers flexed against Barba’s, like he wanted to hold on tighter but was afraid of gripping too hard.
Barba forced himself to laugh, but it was a poor imitation. “I can’t tell you how many times I convinced myself I just needed to try harder. That if I loved someone enough, I could want what they wanted.” He glanced down, his breath coming uneven. “But the truth is, I don’t. I never have. And I never will.”
“That’s not exactly filling me with a warm fuzzy feeling, Raf. Enduring is not consent.”
Barba let out another weak laugh, the sound brittle, unsteady. It toppled over as it tried to stand. “No, no, you’re right. You’re right. That was a long time ago, though.”
“That doesn’t change anything.”
"No, no, it doesn’t," Barba said. "But I fought for this-- for myself. I spent too long trying to shave off edges, sand myself down, break apart and reassemble into something that fit where I was never meant to belong. I won’t do it anymore. I like who I am."
He let loose a breath, the memory of all those wasted years pressing against his ribs.
"And if protecting that, protecting me , meant never searching for a place, never forcing myself into spaces that would only cut me to size, then so be it. I would be alone. And I would be whole."
A beat. A breath.
"But then you happened." Barba felt his eyes sting, a piercing, unwelcome heat rising, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. "And suddenly, I forgot everything. All the rules I made for myself, all the walls I built to keep safe. I let them crack for you. I know this isn’t what you signed up for, Sonny. I never meant to deceive you. I’m so sorry. I just... I didn’t see you coming."
Carisi’s brows pulled together, but not in the way Barba had feared. There was no rejection in his eyes, no recoiling. Just thoughtfulness. Kindness.
“Raf,” he said slowly, “this isn’t something you need to apologise for.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
A long silence stretched between them.
Then Carisi moved.
Slowly, carefully, he pressed close, lifting their joined hands to press a gentle kiss to Barba’s knuckles. “You never have to change who you are for me, Raf. I won’t pretend like sex never crossed my mind, because, well, you’ve seen yourself. You’re gorgeous.”
Barba nodded.
“But I don’t need you to be anything other than who you are,” Carisi said. “You don’t have to give me anything you don’t want to.” His thumb traced over Barba’s wrist. “I just want you. However you’ll have me.”
Barba stared at him, heartbeat hammering, something thick and unfamiliar clogging his throat.
He tried to speak, but no words came.
“I know what the world tells you,” Carisi continued, his voice certain. “That love and sex have to be the same thing. That if you don’t want it, if you don’t want me, it means there’s something wrong with you.” His fingers graced against Barba’s, safe and solid. “But that’s bullshit.”
Barba let out a shaky breath.
“Whatever you need, whatever you don’t. I’m here.” Carisi’s grip tightened, just slightly. “You don’t have to force anything. You don’t have to fix anything.” His eyes searched Barba’s face, open, earnest. “I just want you.”
“You say that now,” said Barba, “but you’ll change your mind.”
“I know you’ve had bad experiences, Raf,” he replied with a hint of frustration setting up residence in his tone. “I know you’ve got every reason to be wary.” His fingers twitched against Barba’s, like he was resisting the urge to pull him closer. “But I am not in the business of hurting people. Of hurting you. That’s not who I am.”
Barba looked away. He wanted to believe him, but he’d heard promises before. Had felt them snap like brittle china under his feet.
Carisi let out a breath, softer this time, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, rougher. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I think you hung the moon one day and the stars the next.” His thumb traced absent circles against Barba’s skin. “Every single person who ever had the chance to love you and blew it? They were idiots, Raf. Complete, absolute idiots. And I may be many things, but I’m not an idiot.”
Maybe Barba was top of his class for gullibility, with honours, but he didn’t believe so. He believed Carisi.
“Sonny--”
"I promise you this now: I’ll never try to fix you, and you’ll never have to fix me. You’re perfect, just as you are." He paused. "And as long as you don’t try to make me join your book club, I’m not going anywhere."
He looked at him with an expression that was achingly beautiful. One that explained the invention of the camera, yet could never truly be captured. “Don’t go changing to try and please me… ” he hummed.
“Can…” Barba’s throat felt tight, his heart too big for his ribs. He licked his lips. “Can I kiss you?”
Carisi beamed, and if Barba had hung the moon, then Carisi had made the sun, because it was stunning, dazzling, almost too much to look at.
They were still on the floor, surrounded by books in disarray, covers scattered around them like fallen leaves. Barba shifted, moving in closer, and Carisi met him halfway. Their lips brushed, cautious, hesitant, like they were both afraid to press too hard, to break the moment.
A promise, not a demand.
Carisi’s hands moved, sliding up, threading through Barba’s hair with a fragility that made something deep inside him ache. Barba sighed into the kiss, letting himself lean into it, into him.
Then Carisi pulled back just slightly and pressed a kiss to his cheek, featherlight and pure.
Barba’s chest felt too tight.
“Raf,” Carisi murmured, voice thick with something Barba didn’t dare name. “That was amazing but…” He faltered.
Barba blinked, still caught in the moment. “But?”
Carisi made a face. “Garlic.”
Barba let out a startled laugh, his head tipping forward against Carisi’s shoulder.
“So much garlic,” Carisi groaned dramatically. “Do you have a spare toothbrush so we can try that again properly?”
Barba was still laughing as he nodded, pushing himself up. Carisi followed, grinning as they made their way to the bathroom.
They stood side by side, brushing their teeth, smiling at each other in the mirror between spits. Barba felt so light he was in danger of hitting the ceiling.
“Please tell me,” Carisi said, rinsing his mouth, “that you don’t actually cook like that, because if so, you are never allowed near a stove again.”
Barba smirked, wiping his mouth with a towel. “I may have… panicked a tad.”
Carisi let out a loud laugh and, before Barba could react, pulled him into another kiss, quick, playful, perfect.
They kissed again, slower this time, lingering.
Barba’s breath caught as Carisi’s hands slid up his back, fingers spreading wide. He let himself melt into it, let his own hands move, one curling into Carisi’s shirt, the other settling against his jaw.
Carisi deepened the kiss, just a little, his tongue brushing tentatively against Barba’s bottom lip before pulling back, waiting. Barba felt the question in it, the careful is this okay? before he leaned in and answered, tilting his head, parting his lips further to let Carisi in.
A soft sound rumbled low in Carisi’s throat, a pleased, aching sound that sent something electric through Barba’s chest.
Carisi’s fingers slid up into his hair again, threading through the strands, tugging just enough to make Barba gasp against his lips. Carisi caught the sound, swallowed it, chased it with another kiss, deeper, firmer, but still so damn gentle.
Time blurred. All Barba knew was the heat of Carisi’s mouth, the way he kissed like he meant it, like he wanted nothing more than to learn every curve, every hesitation, every shuddered breath.
Felt the promise in his arms, that he wouldn’t push, he wouldn’t take. Not him.
When they finally broke apart, Barba was breathless, heart hammering, lips tingling.
Carisi placed his hand gently around Barba’s neck, his forehead resting against his. The smell of mint, fresh from their shared breath, lay between them, blending with the soft scent of Carisi’s aftershave. Carisi’s fingers lightly brushed through Barba’s hair before he pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek.
“Look at us, Raf,” Carisi murmured, his voice low and sincere. “We’re perfect together.
Barba opened his eyes, meeting their reflection in the mirror. Carisi moved behind him, arms wrapped securely around his waist, his chin resting lightly against Barba’s shoulder. His own hands covered Carisi’s, enveloping it.
As he looked at their reflection, his chest ached with something unbearably light, unbearably beautiful, like a crystal bathed in moonlight, its edges shimmering with a fragile glow.
They fit.
He turned in Carisi’s arms, caught his hand, and without a word, led him to the bedroom.
Barba lay back against the sheets, watching as Carisi followed him down, bracing himself on one elbow, hovering just enough to give space. His other hand ghosted over Barba’s side, not taking, not demanding. Just there.
Carisi kissed him again, slow and gentle, always gentle, always making sure. Every touch was light, careful, as if Barba might slip through his fingers if he pressed too hard. He could feel Carisi waiting, listening , to his breath, the way his body responded, learning Barba’s unique language fluently.
“If--if you want to, uh--” Barba started, his voice barely above a whisper. He reached for the button on Carisi’s shirt, fiddling with it, not quite meeting his eyes.
Carisi pulled back slightly, a small frown forming between his brows. “Want to what?” His voice was gentle but firm. “I’m not taking anything you don’t want to give. And I know you, Raf. I’ll know if you’re just saying what you think I--”
“No, no--” Barba’s fingers tightened in the fabric, his throat suddenly thick. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve Carisi. How had he gotten so lucky? “Thank you, no. I meant--if you wanted to, um, enjoy yourself. While, uh, looking at me, that would be… nice.”
For a second, Carisi just blinked at him, then let out a bright laugh.
“It would, thank you,” he said, grinning, “but I am currently weighed down by the entire supply of pasta you stole from the people of Italy.”
Barba huffed out a breathless laugh.
“If I was coeliac,” Carisi continued, “that endless meal would’ve been a murder . ” He pressed his lips to Barba’s nose, voice softening. “What I’d rather do is kiss you senseless and then fall into a food coma. If that’s okay with you?”
At Barba's nod, Carisi kissed him again, slow and deep, and for a moment, Barba felt like they were two whole pieces finally finding the right place to exist side by side, no need to change, just be.
And in that kiss, Barba realised-- this was enough.
They were enough.
A simple smile curved on his lips as he kissed him back.