He was a breath away and Sonny could feel his body on his, moving to the beat. He could see the way Sawyer was looking at him, licking his lips and swaying his hips and Sonny wanted him. Wanted to kiss him, devour him, take him back to Sonny’s apartment and stake claim.
The mere thought was enough to get Sonny hard.
Suddenly Sawyer’s hands were on his shoulders and he was kissing Sonny’s neck, groaning the elder’s name over and over and over as he pressed Sawyer to the stall wall in the bathroom, their jeans barely past their buttocks and everything was warm and rushed and sweaty and Sonny must have slipped because his back collided with the floor and he was gasping, wrapped in a blanket, looking at the ceiling.
“What?” He asked out loud, dumbfounded by the boner he was sporting and the dream that was fading from his mind. “What was that?” And Sonny didn’t know. His body was covered with sweat and he could clearly see Sawyer’s face in his head, flushed, tossed back and he could feel his length in his hand and-
Sonny stood and tried to untangle his sweaty body from the sheet, groaning when they peeled off and left his skin moistened with shame. He was going to have to shower and face Sawyer and then he was going to have to remember how Sawyer’s voice sounded; so absolutely wrecked and wanton it made Sonny want more-
He slammed his hand against the wall of his shower and let the water run over him. He wasn’t going to beat it to his partner- never mind his very straight partner. But what was a guy to do? The dream was still fresh in his mind and every nerve ending in Sonny’s body was alive and screaming for it.
For the first time in his life, Sonny Carisi was ashamed of his boner, and ashamed to take care of it. But he did anyways, getting himself off with a tight grip on himself. He groaned, the sound echoing off of the tiled bathroom walls that surrounded him. When he came, he sagged against the shower stall, head tossed back, the stream of water from his showerhead cleaning him off. The shame rushed through him next and he sighed, grabbing his shampoo to try and wash some of the shame away.
In his mind, it was bad enough that he was lusting after a man- let alone a straight man. How would Sawyer feel if he could see Sonny in his shower, with his head tossed back? Sonny knows how he would feel seeing Sawyer in that situation.
Probably just as shameful.
When he dried off and put his boxers on, he leaned on his bathroom counter and tried to look at himself in the mirror, but he couldn't. Sonny resisted the urge to punch his reflection and instead grabbed his hair gel and left to his bedroom to get dressed, to try and shake the thought of Sawyer from his mind.
Sonny had always known he was bisexual, but he had always almost leaned toward women. Besides, he wasn’t sure where the dream even came from or why he was still thinking about it, buttoning up his vest and slicking his hair back. Really, he should just nut up and get over the fact that he had a sex dream about a coworker.
Which is easier said than done.
Throughout his subway ride Sonny was standing with his arm above his head, swaying as the train shoots down the tube and all he could see was the kid, barely sixteen, who looked exactly like Sawyer but with a broader jaw and slimmer hips. The last thought swung Sonny’s mind back to his dream and he shook his head, wondering if jumping out of a moving subway car will kill him or merely maim him.
His mind drifts the the video he saw online- the one Rollins sent him nearly a month prior- with the man doing exactly what Sonny wanted to do. The audio played in his head (Oh! Somebody, he needs some milk!) and he laughed, looking over his shoulder to avoid making eye contact with Teenager Sawyer. The boy seemed to be interested in him though, and made his way through the shaking car to address him.
“Detective Carisi?” And Sonny’s head turned so violently that he could hear the cracks in it and cringed, “Do you remember me?” Like good gentlemen, they shook hands.
“Apologies, but I don’t.” The teenager smirked.
“I’m Sawyer’s little brother. Thomas. Thomas Lamb.” And Sonny does remember the teenager, barely sixteen years old, from when he brought lunch for the whole squad. He takes Thomas into a hug, then, grinning at him like they were family.
“Right, yeah! Of course!” He cheered, “No, okay, I remember you now. That pasta you brought was delicious.” Thomas laughed, throwing his head back in the same way that Sawyer did. Sonny knew that it must run in the family, maybe an inherited trait from the brother’s father.
“So Sawyer was right. He said you’d remember me by my food. I’m bringing pancakes for you guys today.” The kid, and he is a kid to Sonny, gestures to his bag where a tupperware container is peeking out.
The dream is out of the detective's head in a mere second, ready to get to work and eat Sawyer’s brother’s amazing, heavenly cooking. In fact, he doesn’t think about the dream again until Sawyer volunteers to stay over with Sonny, when they’re alone in the precinct together and when Sawyer reveals some of his personal life to his friend.