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The first time Rafael gazed at those baby blue eyes he knew Juror number 6 would become a nuisance. Rafael would be lying if he said the dimples had not been a reason to keep him for the jury. Or the loose curl at his forehead. Or his rosy, plump lower lip.
The case had been rough from the start, witnesses that were refusing to testify and no actual footage of the assault. He was allowed to indulge in some eye candy if it helped getting through the trial without completely losing his mind.
Rafael had repeated over and over that evidence was lacking. That they needed more before bringing it to trial. Something to hit the guy with no chance of ever getting out if it made it through the grand jury. To his surprise, it did. But there was the problem of the missing security tapes from the restaurant across the street. He knew Amanda and Nick were working tirelessly to get a hold on them. Until then, the case was a shaky table with a bad leg.
Presenting an opening argument was a skill he had perfected over the years. Words flowed without obstacles as he strolled around and looked at each juror with years of wins under his belt to support his confidence.
However, juror number 6 had decided to be a distracting little shit — no, Rafael had no idea if the outfit the man had chosen was purposely chosen to distract him. But it sure felt like it. On Monday morning nonetheless. If he tripped over his words once, no he didn’t. He walked back to his seat, adjusting his tie and reaching to pour himself some water as the defense gave their opening.
Rafael should have paid more attention, but words fell on deaf ears as he gazed shamelessly at the man. White shirt paired with a black, white and blue striped tie. It was simple, but it fit him. His hair looked soft, Rafael wondered what it’d feel like to run his hand through it. Or maybe pull it to expose more of that long neck as he left marks all the way down to his — jesus. He had to get laid sometime soon. Or drunk.
Rafael had gone home that afternoon with an itch he couldn’t shake. He tried a shower, letting the cold stop the thoughts before they got more inappropriate to control. Then, he set to work on reviewing his next steps for the following morning, a glass of bourbon at his side to get the edge off.
It quickly drifted to the man’s long hands, to how it would feel having those fingers work him open, wrapped around his length or suck the digits in his mouth to stay silent for him. There was the matter of his lips, which were too fucking distracting. It seemed he had a habit of biting them when he was thinking, or just sticking his tongue out to wet them every so often. He knew those lips would look perfect all stretched out around him, taking every inch of Rafael until he came deep in the back of his throat.
Rafael was not a 20 something freshman with a crush. But God, he was fucked.
On Wednesday morning, Rafael stood in front of his mirror, hair already styled and a mess of suit jackets and vests laid on his bed behind him. In the end, he went for a simple white shirt with an intricate paisley design tie with red and gold undertones. He turned around, checking his perfectly tailored silhouette with the black jacket and pants hugging his ass just right. Satisfied, he went over to an open drawer, there also the matter of the pocket square.
He couldn’t remember a recent time where he had to second guess his choice for color or type of fold. But still, Rafael’s hand hovered over them, his other hand scratching his neck. Red or black? Two-peak or a straight fold?
Rafael pulled out his phone, snapping a quick picture of both options and sent it to Rita.
"Which one do you think matches better with this?"
He attached another picture of his suit in front of the mirror.
Rafael threw the phone on the bed with a groan and went back to pacing around the room. He glanced at the clock, realizing if he didn’t leave in the next five minutes he’d be royally late.
There was no ding back. Rafael huffed, accepting defeat, he picked up the red silky material and arranged it into a three-peak fold.
———
"What if it was an emergency?!” Rafael said, sprinting to catch up to Rita as they walked up the stairs to the courthouse. “You would've left me to die..."
"Okay, but, was it ? " Rita replied, arching an eyebrow as they entered the place.
"It could have been!" Rafael retorted back with an exasperated huff. "With friends like these, who needs enemies?"
Rita didn't dignify that with a response. They walked together right before Rita halted, almost tripping into her at the sudden stop. She turned around, fighting a smirk as she lifted a hand to correct Rafael’s crooked tie.
"You didn’t need my help.” She said and Rafael looked away. “You chose well, he's gonna love it."
Hold on. "What?" Rafael gaped, trying to play it cool, briefcase swinging at his side. “It’s an important trial, I’m not sure what—”
“Good luck, Mr. Barba.”
With a knowing grin, Rita turned on her heels and disappeared behind the brown doors. Rafael stood outside, petrified for a few seconds. Christ. Was he being that obvious? There was no way she knew of his current fixation on a juror. No way.
The following days were also torture. The damn security tapes were nowhere to be found and he was pretty sure the defense was creating good reasonable doubt by tearing down his witnesses. Of course it was too dark to see, of course some of them were too far away to recognize the defendant or too drunk to make a proper ID.
Rafael’s not-crush was also beginning to make his life entirely more difficult. At first, he thought he was going crazy. He could feel eyes on him, but there were always eyes on him. It forced him to keep up appearances, wear a prideful grin and make a conscious effort to stop his hands from shaking if things were going awry.
But after glancing sideways once, he noticed the man had starred back. More specifically, at his ass as he walked past to his desk after a cross-examination. There was a weird sense of a mission accomplished, that was the whole point, after choosing his best suits for a week. But still, when he sat down, he frowned, trying to convince himself that moment didn’t happen.
Sometimes he got stares full of hate or jealousy. He knew what it felt like to be looked at with apprehension for the way he dressed, or anytime he walked past someone whilst speaking Spanish to his mother on the phone. He was not used to eyes undressing him as he walked by.
“Mr. Barba?” Judge Barth’s tone let him know it wasn’t her first time calling his name. Shit. He perked up, blinking a few times to clear the fog away. “Your next witness?”
“Yes, sorry, Your Honor,” Rafael quickly stood up, twirling a pen in his hand. “The prosecution calls Joseph Kaplan to the stand.”
He could swear there was a grin on juror’s number 6 face after that.
———
“Three fucking days.” Rafael grumbled, walking down the stairs of the courthouse, cheeks puffing as he tried to reel his frustration in. “Three days deliberating to come up with a not-guilty verdict?”
“Barba, I’m sorry —” Olivia said, trying to match his hurried steps.
“I told you, we could have waited for more definitive proof to build a stronger case, but no, you had to push!” He went on, his free hand gesturing wildly at his side, his other fingers white-knuckling his briefcase’s handle.
“Are you saying this is our fault?” Amanda interjected, getting in front of Rafael to stop him from walking further.
“If you had found the tapes—”
“And if you had prepped the witnesses better—” Amanda sneered right back. “Or better yet, if you had not spent the entire trial looking at the hot juror, we could have won this.”
“Excuse me?” Rafael replied, eyes narrowed at her. He had enough of whatever this was. He knew the case was doomed from the start, and he tried anyway. He tried.
“You heard me!” Amanda doubled down, his face getting closer to his, he could see the frustration up close.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Rafael replied, mustering the little fake confidence he had left. “We didn’t lose this case because of your, frankly, ridiculous assumptions”
“Right, so you didn’t wear your tightest pants on purpose? You were flaunting all over the place!”
“Rollins —” Olivia warned, stepping between them, pushing Amanda away from him.
Barba held a hand up, shaking his head with a bitter laugh. “You know what? I don’t have time for this.” He curved around them, resuming his previous path to the closest bar he could find. “Have a good evening, detectives.”
He didn’t miss Rollins’ eye roll or Olivia’s sigh, but he had no intention of going back and forth as if that would change the jury’s verdict. It wasn’t even worth it, they lost the case and he knew it was going to happen either way.
He walked faster through the streets, annoyed at the late March winds disrupting his hair. Annoyed at the slow walkers, at the cabs honking, at the stupid neon sign outside — Rafael stopped right in front. Whatever, he just wanted a drink. He could ignore the glowing pink cocktail glass pasted in front if it meant he could forget about the whole affair faster.
Mid-afternoon, the place was relatively empty. There were black chairs in front of the bar, a pool table right at the end, next to a run-down jukebox and a small dancing area. A few of the round tables with stools were already occupied with friends who seemed to be having a hell of a nicer time than Rafael remembered having in a few months.
Rafael headed straight to get the bartender's attention, placing his jacket at the back of the chair and loosening his tie. A one page menu was placed in front of him with cocktail names that sounded as ridiculous as the witness statements given during the whole trial.
Rafael read through the names, the classic Cosmo and Daiquiri were there, but they got worse as he went further down. “Porn Star Martini…” Rafael’s eyebrows shot up at the next one. “Pink Tip Mojito?” Rafael muttered, his disbelief making him miss the tall, blue-eyed figure sitting next to him.
“Oh, I’d love to taste that.” Juror number 6 interjected, wiggling his eyebrows. Shit, was that—? The man had a grin on his face, probably at Rafael’s wide-eyed expression. Rafael gulped, a flush creeping up to his cheeks. “I’ve heard the Blow Job Shot is also good, pretty sweet.”
Rafael felt light-headed and there was zero alcohol in his body. He’s too sober to have that sort of conversation with frustration still traveling in his veins. The man’s knee bumped into him and the pathetic shudder that went through him would mortify him for days.
“Got it, I guess, I’ll have one of those,” Rafael gestured at the bartender.
“Hey, you can put it on my tab,”
“Oh no, no, you don’t have to—“
“Come on, Counselor, take it as a little pick-me up, alright?” The man insisted, directing the most adorable puppy eyes he had ever seen at him. “My treat”
“Fine.” Rafael finally accepted, relaxing in his chair.
“Besides, who knows when’s the next time you’ll get a Blow Job for free?” Came the quick reply, Rafael would have choked on his drink if he had one.
Christ. Rafael stared, mouth agape as the man simply winked at him and retreated back to his table, swaying those skinny hips in a pair of sinful tight jeans.
He should leave. Really. Forget about the drink, pick his stuff up and retreat to his office where he could wallow over his loss and a bottle of good bourbon instead of the colorful, weird looking cocktails everyone had.
But he didn’t want to. He made a half assed attempt of getting up but the brown looking drink with whipped cream was placed in front of him. He grabbed the glass, turned around to see juror number 6 looking right back with a strawberry daiquiri in his hand. He toasted towards him and returned to the conversation with two other men at his table.
Rafael took the calculated risk of throwing caution to the wind just enough to let himself enjoy the feeling of being desired.
Four Blow Job Shots and two Naked Lady cocktails later, Rafael had forgotten all about the failed case. Instead, he looked at his not-crush dancing near the jukebox. He had a weird, but endearing rhythm going as he swayed to Disco Inferno with one of his friends.
Rafael watched him twirl around to the lively beat, kind of impressed at how, at some point, he managed to get in a few choreographed moments of groovy moves straight out of Grease or Footloose .
The song changed to ABBA’s Summer Night City , and the man’s movements went from the robot to his hips swaying slower, long lines captivating Rafael’s attention.
When the night comes with the action
I just know it's time to go
Can't resist the strange attraction
From that giant dynamo
He sang along, loud and without worry of being off-key. Through the whole thing, Rafael could not stop looking. He desperately looked for a reason to stop himself, but technically, there was none. If he wanted to just give Sonny a few tips on footwork, maybe grab his hand, spin him a little, grab his waist to direct him…he could.
Whatever progress he had made of getting over his pretty face was gone. Juror number 6 walked over to him. Rafael twirled around, downing the rest of his drink like he was definitely not staring. Nope.
“Enjoying the view, Counselor?” His voice had an amused, knowing tone to it.
Damn it.
“Your Hustle is too stiff, and really, you could do with a few footwork lessons.” Rafael replied playfully.
“What are you? Part-time lawyer, part-time dance teacher?” The man chuckled, sliding next to him again.
“No.” Rafael shook his head, definitely needing another drink for this. “But I’d make a great dance teacher.” He gestured to the bartender, ordering two more daiquiris for both.
“Can I get an introductory lesson, Counselor?”
“Depends, juror number 6—”
“Dominick Carisi Jr, but everyone calls me Sonny.” The man finally revealed, offering his hand to shake Rafael’s.
“Sonny, huh?” Rafael hummed, it fits. Even if it sounded like a toddler had given him the nickname. There was certainly a sparkle in his eyes, in that bright smile too. Dance conversation forgotten, he went on. “So, did you follow me here or was it a happy coincidence?”
“I was here first!” Sonny ran a hand through his hair to push the sweaty locks back. Rafael wanted to do that for him. “I saw you come in a few minutes later and considered if you were the one that — Counselor?”
Shit. Right. He can’t just gaze at someone’s chest peeking out from the top of his practically half unbutton shirt. Maybe he was drunker than he thought. And the way Sonny kept calling him Counselor in that sultry tone didn’t help at all.
“Sorry —uhm, you were saying?” Rafael snapped his eyes back to his face, licking his lips at the sight of his blue eyes looking right back with something…something else. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was beyond amusement or curiosity. The buzz in his veins was making it hard to think.
“Am I distracting you, Counselor?” Sonny purred, leaning into his space in a way that made Rafael’s breath hitch.
“You’re giving yourself too much credit.” Rafael replied, failing to pull back and put some space between them again in the process.
“If you say so…” Sonny did it, turning his body around. Rafael almost whined at the loss, freckled chest out of view now. Both their drinks were ready, he watched Sonny bring the glass to his lips, wondering if he’d be able to chase the strawberry taste on his tongue with his own. He watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and the urge to kiss and lick around there that he had been controlling with a flimsy chain all week snapped.
“Okay — fine, you were, you have been .” Rafael blurted out, the alcohol charging his courage. “This entire week has been a mess and you were sitting there distracting me, which never happens, by the way.”
That perked Sonny’s attention, who returned to his previous position to look straight at Rafael again, legs spreading before leaning back in and trapping Rafael’s knees between his.
“Did you wear this shirt just to make me question my ethical duty?” Rafael added, hands itching to slide it down his arms and onto his bedroom floor.
“Maybe, I figured if you were giving a show, I couldn’t be left behind, y’know? Lawyers are so hard to impress…” Sonny replied cockily.
“Me? I looked boring as hell with—”
“Boring? You call a red and white striped shirt with a red tie and black fitted vest ‘boring’?” Sonny countered, cocking his head in disbelief. “Or that one grey suit with the windowpane pattern, with the light blue tie with stripes and—oh and the red pocket square that day.”
“I mean, those were just okay…” He tried to downplay it, fighting a satisfied smile.
“Just ok? Those pants look perfect on you.” Sonny scoffed, growing passionate about his fashion choices. “If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold me in contempt?”
Christ. There was a giggle, maybe they both were, at the stupid joke. “I don’t think that’d qualify for contempt, no. Judge McNamara might consider it though…” He trailed off, trying to stifle another laugh. “Since when do you know so much about suits anyway?”
“Uhm,” This time it was Sonny who darted his eyes and flushed an impossibly dark shade of pink. “I have a cousin who’s a tailor, I picked up a couple things.”
Rafael hummed, finally taking a sip from his drink too. He was unused to having someone actually acknowledge his clothing choices with so much detail. But also relieved at the fact he wasn’t the only one paying close attention. He wasn’t going insane yet.
Somebody to love was up next, the beat matching Rafael’s growing expectation for the rest of the evening.
“Well, Sonny, I appreciate your attention to detail.” Rafael said, watching a pleased smile appear on the younger man’s face at the praise. If Rita were there, she would certainly have a sugar daddy joke in there somewhere. There was a moment between them, both sippìng from their drinks, considering the next movement that would seal it together.
I work hard (he works hard)
Everyday of my life
I work till I ache my bones
At the end (at the end of the day)
I take home my hard-earned pay all on my own (yes, on my knees on)
Rafael was not used to being noticed that way. In which scrutiny came from a place of appreciation instead of judgment. He had become used to his suit being an armor. From the pocket square he chose in the morning to perfectly clean shoes, he made sure no part of the outside was open for critique.
He could not allow doubt or hesitation slip through the cracks. If he was composed, there were less chances of someone wanting to look beyond the cocky exterior to find a weakness. No one would suspect the pacing around in his office before a trial. No one would know the countless nights spent going over failed trails looking for where he went wrong. Looking for a piece of evidence he missed, a question he should have asked or an objection he should have made.
It had been too long since he even allowed anyone to get too close. Maybe the shitty cocktails were clouding his judgment, the walls coming down, just enough, to allow some self-indulgence. There was a tall, funny, blue-eyed man right in front of him who didn’t seem to care Rafael had lost the trial and how could he say no?
Somebody (find me), somebody find me somebody to love
Can anybody find me somebody to love?
The ethical boundaries stopped him from smashing their lips together in an alley next to the bar— no, in the cab on their way to his apartment, stopped right after the Not Guilty verdict was read.
“Would you like to get out of here, Counselor?” Sonny said, almost as if he had read his mind.
“I thought you’d never ask.”