Chapter Text
Rafael stood in front of the freestanding mirror in the corner of their bedroom. The bedsheets that were never without an imprint, random stacks of half-read books and that velvet wingback chair that had been Rafael’s even before he had become a DA but now always seemed to be home to Nick’s clothes, could be seen behind Rafael in the reflection.
But Rafael paid no mind to them right now. He was far too preoccupied with himself, in particular, his outfit. Something wasn’t working, and he couldn’t figure out what.
He’d had this cobalt suit made specifically for this occasion, and by his most trusted tailor. He wanted everything to be perfect for tonight.
Rafael pulled at his sleeve. Was his cuff too short? No, Alberto wouldn’t have got his measurements wrong. Maybe it was the way it was sitting on his shoulders. He pulled at his lapels, shifting them over tense muscles. Resting his hands for the first time in what could have easily been all evening. He observed himself. No, something still wasn’t right.
Next, he tried adjusting his paisley pocket square, changing the fold from a puff fold to a straight one. Yeah, he definitely liked that better.
But now his tie suddenly didn’t look right. He looked like he was heading off for another day in court, not to a fun event with friends and family.
Rafael undid the top button, which opened up the collar, but not enough. He popped open a second button. That was better; at least the chain that held his abuela’s crucifix on it could be seen now. He wore it to every event he wished she could actually be at, settling for bringing her spirit and love with him instead.
Rafael checked over every aspect of himself, glad that he still thought his belt and shoes, both cognac brown, to be grounding the ensemble in warmth and dependability.
What was no longer dependable or brown was his hair.
Rafael tilted the mirror up, unable to withhold the huff of disappointment he made when his reflection showed just how grey his hair was now.
It was fair to say that Rafael had developed an ageing complex since turning fifty. He didn’t hear fifty or fifty-two or fifty-five; he heard half a century. He was over half a century old. He was older than seatbelt laws, modern Miranda warnings... Jaws!
"At what point did history stop being something I studied and something I lived through?" Rafael thought to himself, running his fingers over his beard, which grew whiter each day. But then he remembered the time he mentioned wanting to shave the whole thing off because of it, and how Nick had made a face like a kicked puppy, practically begging him not to.
Anyway, that wasn't the most pressing matter at hand.
Rafael had taken care to style his hair properly after getting out of the shower earlier, using all his products and avoiding any shortcuts he would take on mornings when he was pressed for time. He’d towel-dried, evenly applied the styling cream, and blow-dried on medium heat from front to crown. He’d even switched to cool air and applied a light pomade to set it all in place. But the wave he had achieved in the bathroom mirror earlier, one he imagined a surfer would paddle towards in glee, now flopped forward, annoying pieces falling into his eyes.
He grumbled under his breath about how if Nick had just got him for Christmas that dehumidifier he had asked for instead of going the sentimental route, then he wouldn’t be having to deal with flat-ass hair right now.
Of course, his husband chose that moment to exit their en-suite bathroom, ushering in a gigantic cloud of steam. It didn’t help that he made it look like a steamy slow-motion scene from a telenovela. Steamy in both senses of the word.
“Nick! The bathroom window! Open it, or we’re going to get damp!” Rafael cried from the other side of the room.
“Oh shit, yeah, sorry.” Nick winced, bounding back out of view through the billow of steam to do what was asked of him like the dutiful husband he was.
Rafael felt bad for snapping, but Nick didn’t seem to mind as he emerged once more with a smile on his face.
“I am pretty damp already, though.”
Rafael couldn’t help but let his eyes track the dad-joker as he slowly approached behind him in nothing but a towel.
“You’re not damp, you’re dripping.”
His husband’s smile just widened in that damning way of his, his dark wet hair slicked back and curling at the nape of his neck. Droplets of water were visibly dripping down from the strands, down his flushed chest, getting caught up momentarily in the chest hair that had begun to spring back up from where the shower had flattened it. Rafael didn’t let himself follow where the water ran further down his body, knowing the risk of doing so when they were due to leave soon.
“Maybe dripping pure sex appeal.” Nick grinned, visibly flexing his already pronounced pecs.
Rafael tore his eyes away from the sight, returning his focus to his own appeal. The more he looked at himself, the more he disliked what he saw.
“Well, you’re certainly dripping something all over the carpet.” He muttered.
Nick, of course, picked up on his despondent aura straight away.
“Hey, what’s wrong, corazón?” He cooed, moving closer and reaching out a hand to rub his back.
“No! You’ll get my suit wet!” Rafael barked, stepping out of Nick’s reach.
Nick froze, his hand faltering mid-air. His eyebrows rose slightly at his husband's reaction. Ultimately, though, he dropped his hand back to his side, a tad dejectedly.
Rafael sighed, turning to face Nick. “I’m sorry. I just want to look my best but…” He looked down at himself disapprovingly. “I just look terrible.”
This time Nick’s eyebrows shot up for a completely different reason.
“Rafi, what are you talking about? You look absolutely extraordinary!”
Rafael looked up at Nick from beneath lowered brows, all gloomy and unimpressed.
“If you mean strikingly unusual, then I agree.”
His husband looked down at him as if he had gone crazy.
“Rafael, you honestly looked good enough to eat right now. Like a delicious slice of blueberry pie with a side of caramel sauce.”
Would that even taste good?
“What is it with you and comparing me to food?” Rafael laughed, forgetting for a moment why he was upset.
Nick laughed with him.
Rafael turned back to the mirror and regarded himself again.
Blueberry, huh? Not what he was going for, but... alright.
Unfortunately, his hair still looked like the time Nick had tried to make souffles for Valentine's Day, and they had sunk like the Titanic.
Great, now he was also comparing himself to food!
He gave himself a reproachful look whilst he raised his hands to try to fix things. Rafael curled his fingers under his fringe and lifted the long pieces, attempting to get them to sit up and slope down to the side the way he liked. He scrunched his hands a bit to force his hair to stay in that position. Then, he said a prayer and removed them. His hair stayed in the wave he had constructed all of three seconds before slumping forward again.
Rafael pressed his lips into a straight line, repressing the frustrated scream that sat in his throat.
He hadn’t noticed that Nick had been watching him attempt damage control, which, in that moment, felt harder than any he had had to do in his career as a lawyer. It was only when Rafael turned, intending to fetch a can of hairspray (a last resort because of how crusty it would make his hair), that he noticed his husband's crinkled eyes darting away from him, trying to smother a laugh so hard that his damn near whole naked body shook.
“I’m glad you're finding my wardrobe disaster such a source of amusement,” Rafael grumbled, intending to move around the hysterical statue of David to find that can of hairspray.
Nick quickly moved in front of Rafael, biting his lip before schooling his face.
“I don’t. I’m sorry. Let me help you. What do you need?”
Rafael rolled his eyes. “Just… come with me.” He sighed.
Now they were in the bathroom; the steam had completely dissipated out of the open window by now, so Rafael let his husband persuade him into trying to fix his hair for him.
Rafael sat on a stool Nick had fetched for him in front of the big mirror that took up nearly the entire adjoining wall. He watched Nick as he stood behind him, rubbing his palms together to melt some sort of styling wax he had selected from his own bag of tricks.
At Rafael’s instructions, Nick had replaced the wet towel around his waist with a pair of black boxers, so that when he leaned forward, there was no risk of making Rafael’s shirt damp. Rafael himself had removed his blazer for the time being. The room may be without all that steam now, but it was still decidedly hot.
Before even touching his hair, Nick said soundly, “I think your hair is perfect, Rafi.”
Rafael met his husband’s eyes in the mirror. “It’s far from perfect, and you know that.”
“Nonsense,” Nick said, bringing his hands to the front of his head, finally getting started.
Nick raked his thick fingers through Rafael’s hair, making the strands follow him back. When he got to the top of his head, he pulled the pieces gently up and to the side. Again, the hair did as he directed. He let go, and his hair flopped down, not into the hopeless mess that it was before, but into an effortless side sweep. It already looked one hundred times better.
How the hell! What does he have, magic fingers?
"Magic" was definitely the right word, because Nick swiftly switched to massaging his scalp, before Rafael could protest and claim he didn’t need or want a much-needed head massage. He started at his temple, firm but soft fingertips pressing into all the right places as they slowly travelled around the sides of his head, sticking to the areas which were cut short so as not to ruin the hair he had just styled.
Rafael hadn’t even realised he had closed his eyes or that his head had lulled back to rest against Nick’s sternum, not until he let out an involuntary moan that made Nick chuckle lowly, his chest letting out a rumbling vibration against his ear. He was about to complain about how he had broken his tranquillity when he felt Nick turn his attention to his tense shoulders, warm fingers running down the side of his neck to settle against tight muscles.
Rafael couldn’t stop the drawn-out groan he made when Nick suddenly began working his shoulders. His grip was deliciously deep as he rubbed over the soft fabric of his shirt. Rafael was almost persuaded to discard it; let Nick have complete unbarred access to him.
Nick turned out to be almost just as overcome by the effect his ministrations were having on him.
“Amor mío, if you keep moaning like that, you’re soon gonna feel something else pressing into you.” He said, voice deep and full of innuendo.
Rafael felt the ghost of a smile lift the corners of his mouth, eyes still closed, eyelashes fluttering. He was in heaven.
“I’ll try to contain myself.” He murmured, his voice coming out just as deep.
Nick changed the subject.
“Why are you so tense, Rafael?” He asked, still working on melting all the tension from his shoulders.
“Oh, who knows?” Rafael sighed, opening his eyes and dreamily staring at his reflection. “I know I should feel relaxed now that Zara’s been accepted into NYU, especially after all those long nights spent helping her revise for her LSATs. But since she told us that her focus is going to be on public interest law, as I did, I haven’t stopped worrying about it. Public interest law isn’t as reliable or nearly as rewarding as I fear I’ve made it out to be. It’s a lifelong battle of believing in a system that regularly fails. Not to mention the sacrifices. I just don’t want her to burn out and lose the fight she has right now. Or what if she changes her mind about her plans and feels trapped and won't tell me because she thinks I’ll be disappointed she hasn’t continued to follow in my footsteps?”
“Corazón, Zara adores you.” Nick cooed, leaning down to wrap his arms around his neck, resting his cheek against his husband’s. “And she adores the program she’s chosen. She knows how hard it’s going to be. We’ve raised one smart cookie, Rafael.”
He smiled in his hold, picking up on the fact that once again, Nick had compared someone he loved to a baked good.
“Plus,” Nick continued, kissing his cheek before straightening, “Zara is probably the only person not scared of telling you the truth.”
Rafael’s smile widened, green eyes sparkling as he looked up at his partner. “I love you, Nick.”
Nick bent down, kissing him soundly.
“I love you too… Pápa Lindo.” He whispered against Rafael’s lips, causing him to huff a laugh back.
Nick smiled against his skin as he dragged his lips along his jaw and down his throat, freely inhaling his scent in the crook of Rafael's neck. He could tell that Rafael was trying hard to keep his breathing under control, feeling how his pulse was picking up. He hoped it was him, basically calling him a DILF, that had that effect on him as much as it was his mouth.
Just so that Rafael could in no way mistake his thoughts about him, Nick purred, “God, you get sexier every day, Rafi.”
“Greyer, maybe… fatter.” Rafael mused, slowly losing himself in Nick’s attention again.
That’s one reason why he was surprised and on the verge of letting out a very unbecoming whine when his husband suddenly pulled back and stepped away.
“You better not be starting this again,” Nick said seriously, moving so he could stand in front of Rafael, leaning against the sink, arms folded over his exposed chest.
Rafael looked up at him, bewildered. “Start what?”
“Start putting yourself down because of your age.”
Rafael was about to roll his eyes, and Nick could tell.
“And don’t do that either!” he said quickly, effectively stopping his partner’s most instinctive response to someone saying something he didn’t appreciate.
“Do what?!” Rafael asked, the edge of a laugh in his voice as he was helplessly lost at what Nick was getting at.
“Roll your eyes.”
“I wasn—“
“—you were, and you know it.”
The two men stared at one another, suddenly finding themselves in a staring match to prove how sincere they were. Rafael was losing.
He soon looked away and sighed, rising from the stool he had only sat on for Nick to do his hair. Again, Nick picked up on his intention to leave the conversation, annoyingly quickly, so he soon found firm hands pushing him back down.
Nick kept his hands on Rafael’s shoulders, ducking his head to make him look into his brown eyes as he said, “No, please, Rafael, you have to know how utterly breathtaking I find you, how damn hot I think you are. More so now than when we met thirteen years ago.”
“Well, that’s not overly surprising. You were straight and hated me when we first met.” Rafael couldn’t help but make that argument.
He had found that the older he had got, the more his body changed, the harder he found it, believing this man was still head over heels for him.
Nevermind the notion that he found him more attractive at fifty-five than he did at forty-two!
“Rafael…” His husband sighed, taking his face in his hands and bringing him close enough to rest his forehead against his. “You are my soulmate. It may have taken me far too long to realise it, but ever since the day I married you, I can’t help but be amazed and overjoyed that I get to wake up every day, loving you more than I did the day before. Eres mi vida. Y daría la mía sin dudar para que pudieras verlo."
“Mi alma…” He breathed, Rafael unable to do more than that as he looked up into Nick’s eyes and saw how deeply his partner, his soulmate, felt just that. And, by god did he feel the same.
Rafael surged up to kiss him, clutching on to the back of his head, his waist. He never wanted to let go, not ever. So, of course, it was Nick who had to finally break the kiss.
He took Rafael’s hand in his. “Come on, I know you’ve been itching to pick out my outfit. Then we can go celebrate our spectacular daughter, following in the dream she shares with her remarkable dad.”
Rafael let his husband intertwine his fingers with his, letting him guide him through the rooms of the one place Rafael Barba never felt he had to argue his worth in.