Warnings: afab reader, age gap, intern!reader, Rafael Barba x Sonny Carisi x reader, threesome, power imbalance, mentor kink, authority kink, dirty talk, spit, facefucking, rough sex, vaginal sex, oral (m receiving), spanking, hair pulling, degradation, praise, dom/sub dynamics, no aftercare, boss/employee relationship, reader used as a teaching tool
a/n: Day 15 of Kinktober 👩⚖️✨ okay listen… Barba locking the chamber doors and deciding to give both you and Sonny a “lesson” was just too good to pass up. I had way too much fun writing smug, sassy Barba taking full control and dragging Sonny (new ADA baby, awkward but so eager) along for the ride. Reader’s just stuck in the middle of this authority-power trip, and honestly? She’s not complaining. This one’s definitely heavier on the mentor/authority kink side and it got long because Barba doesn’t do anything halfway.
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The hum of fluorescent lights has long since become a background ache in your skull, the kind of sound that only late nights in the DA’s office seem to produce. Case files are spread across the oak desk in uneven stacks, sticky notes and red pen scrawls like battle wounds across their pages. You rub your eyes, blinking at the tiny print, when ADA Rafael Barba’s voice cuts clean through the silence of the bullpen.
“Still with us, Cariño?” His tone is lazy, but there’s a blade behind it. He leans back in his leather chair, waistcoat open, tie loosened. Even at this la late hour looks composed, like exhaustion is something that happens to other men.
“Yes, Mr. Barba,” you answer quickly, straightening in your chair. An intern’s reflex; never let them see you slouch.
A smirk ghosts over his mouth as he sets his pen down. “Good. I hate wasting my time on interns who wilt after sundown.”
The sting of his words makes you swallow. Before you can respond, there’s a knock at Barba’s half-open office door. ADA Dominick Carisi Jr. pokes his head in, hair mussed, sleeves rolled up, his tie hanging limp like it gave up hours ago.
“Barba,” Sonny says, voice carrying that easy Staten Island roughness. “You still here? Thought maybe you’d headed home already.”
Barba tilts his head, eyes narrowing with something that isn’t quite annoyance. “Unlike you, Fordham Law, I don’t believe in leaving things half-finished. Come in. Close the door. You too, Cariño.”
Both you and Sonny hesitate, but the tone of Rafael’s voice left no room for anything other than obedience. Rafael notices your small shift in posture, the way your pen stutters in your grip. His gaze sharpens, the way it always does in court when he smells blood. “Relax,” he drawls, though the command lands like anything but comfort. “You’ll learn faster if you do.”
You rise from your desk and make the few short steps across the bullpen into Rafael’s office. The heavy click of the lock behind you is louder than it should be. You feel it like a gavel dropping, final, echoing.
“Take a seat, Cariño.” Rafael motions towards the empty chair in front of his desk. You sit without hesitation.
Sonny lingers by the wall, awkward in his own skin, clearly wondering why he’s been dragged into this after-hours scene. Rafael pushes back his chair and stands, circling slowly around the desk until he’s behind you. You can feel the weight of him there; the warmth of his body, the scrape of leather soles against hardwood.
“Two fledglings,” he muses under his breath, almost to himself, almost like he’s savouring the thought. “One barely out of the nest.” His eyes flick toward Sonny, who bristles. “The other still soft enough to mould.” His hand settles on the back of your chair, right at your shoulder, his thumb brushing fabric like an afterthought.
“Rafa…” Sonny starts, but Barba’s head snaps toward him, one brow lifted.
“Barba,” Barba corrects, voice smooth, dangerous. “You’ll address me properly, night school. Especially if you expect to learn anything in these chambers.”
There’s something about the way he says chambers that makes your pulse stutter, a double meaning wrapped tight in velvet. Sonny’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, trying to mask nerves with a crooked smile.
“Right. Barba,” he says. His hands flex uselessly at his sides.
Barba smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He leans forward, his lips so close to your ear that you swear his words sink straight into your skin.
“Pay attention, both of you. Consider this… a different sort of mentorship.”
The last syllable is still warm against your ear when Rafael straightens, his palm sliding from the back of your chair to your shoulder. The pressure is light but commanding, coaxing you up out of your seat before you realise you’ve obeyed.
Your knees brush the edge of his desk. His hand stays planted, steadying you there, while his other hand flips a folder shut with an almost bored flick. The sound of paper snapping closed rings sharper than it should in the charged quiet.
Sonny clears his throat from across the room. “I’m not sure I follow what kind of… uh… mentorship we’re talkin’ about here.”
Barba smirks, that small, lethal thing. “That’s exactly the problem, Carisi. You never follow fast enough. Which is why you’ll be observing closely tonight.” He glances back to you, gaze lingering, unapologetic. “And participating when I say so.”
Your pulse races. Rafael’s fingers trail down from your shoulder, brushing over the thin fabric of your blouse until they hover just above the curve of your elbow. It’s maddeningly controlled, a slow test. He tilts his head toward Sonny.
“Come here.”
Sonny hesitates only a second before he pushes off from the wall, moving forward like a man walking into deep water. His broad frame looks awkward beside Rafael’s sharp elegance, but his eyes, those bright, restless blues, can’t seem to leave you.
Rafael notices. He always notices.
“Closer,” Barba instructs, voice silk over steel. He nudges you a step sideways with his hand until your hip brushes Sonny’s thigh. “There. That’s better. Now you can both pay attention.”
The air between the three of you feels heavy, humming, like static before a storm. Rafael adjusts his cufflinks with deliberate care, the movement calculated, theatrical.
“Lesson one,” he says, his gaze darting between you and Sonny, “is presence. Command. You don’t stumble through it. You take it.”
Then, without warning, Rafael’s hand cups your jaw, tilting your face toward his. The kiss is firm, claiming, with a slow slide of his tongue that leaves no room for misinterpretation. You can taste scotch and mint on him, and the faint scrape of stubble as he tilts deeper.
When he pulls back, your breath is caught somewhere in your throat. Rafael doesn’t give you time to find it again. He turns your head toward Sonny, keeping his hand at your chin like you’re a piece of evidence being presented to the jury.
“Now you,” he orders softly.
Sonny’s eyes widen. “Me? Rafael, I…”
“Do you need a court order?” Barba cuts him off. “Show me you can follow directions.”
You can feel Sonny’s uncertainty like heat against your skin, but then he leans in, awkward at first, lips brushing yours with a hesitation that makes Rafael click his tongue in irritation. Rafael’s hand doesn’t let you pull back; he holds you there, pressed between his command and Sonny’s attempt.
When Sonny finally deepens it, nervous but eager, Rafael’s hand shifts, palm flattening at the back of your neck, keeping both of you exactly where he wants you. His laugh, low and mocking, curls hot at your ear.
“Better. But God, Carisi, do try to keep up.”
Rafael’s words linger, sharp as glass, while Sonny pulls back just enough to look at him. His face is flushed, pupils blown, his jaw working like he’s biting down on a hundred comebacks he doesn’t dare say aloud.
Barba releases your chin only to slide his hand lower, fingers tracing the hollow of your throat. He presses lightly, just enough to make you swallow. The weight of his palm is a claim, casual and devastating.
“This,” Rafael says, voice low and deliberate, “is how you hold someone’s attention.”
His thumb strokes back up the side of your neck as his other hand skims down your waist. He takes his time with it, mapping every inch through your blouse until his fingers find the waistband of your skirt. He tugs, not enough to undo it, just enough to make the fabric bite against your hips.
You exhale, shaky, and he hums in satisfaction. “See, Carisi? No hesitation. She’s already listening to me without a word.”
Sonny shifts, hands flexing like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “Yeah, well, maybe that’s ‘cause you’re you, Barba,” he mutters, though his eyes never leave the path of Rafael’s hand.
Rafael smirks, cruel and amused. “Excuses already? You disappoint me, night school.” He huffs impatiently “Your turn. Put your hand here.”
He takes Sonny’s wrist without ceremony, dragging it forward until the man’s broad palm rests against your waist. Sonny’s touch is hesitant, careful, but Rafael covers it with his own hand, pressing it firmer against you.
“Dios Mio Carisi… not like you’re handling evidence,” Rafael scolds. “She’s not going to break.” He guides Sonny’s fingers lower, sliding them across your hip, grazing the top of your thigh where your skirt rides up.
You inhale sharply, and Rafael purrs approval. “There. Did you feel that? That’s control.”
Sonny licks his lips, nodding. His voice is rougher when he says, “Yeah. Yeah, I felt it.”
Rafael leans closer, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear, but his words are for Sonny. “Then don’t waste it. Do it again.”
Sonny swallows hard, but this time his hand moves on its own, cupping your thigh, thumb brushing the hem of your skirt. His touch is still tentative, but the heat of his palm sinks through fabric, spreading fire across your skin.
Rafael watches like a hawk, sharp eyes narrowing, then steps in behind you, his chest pressed flush to your back. His hands land on your hips, anchoring you. “Better. However, she looks like she’s waiting for something more, doesn’t she Counsellor?”
Before Sonny can answer, Rafael’s hand slides boldly up the inside of your thigh, dragging your skirt with it until cool air hits skin. His fingers stroke just beneath the edge of your panties, teasing, deliberate.
Your breath stutters, and Rafael’s laugh rumbles low against your spine. “Pay attention, Carisi. This is where you stop playing nice.”
The words curl around you like smoke, Rafael’s breath hot against the nape of your neck. His fingers press firmer against the dampening fabric of your panties, dragging a sharp gasp from your throat. He tilts his head, satisfied, while Sonny shifts uneasily beside you, caught between wanting to look away and being unable to.
“Rafael…” Sonny starts, voice rough, uncertain.
“Not Rafael.” The correction slices sharp. “Barba. You’re in my chambers, Carisi. Don’t forget it.”
There’s a hum of authority in the reminder, and Sonny flinches before nodding. “Barba,” he says, the word heavy in his mouth.
Barba’s hand strokes you lazily through the thin fabric, each brush of his fingers deliberate, coaxing, while his other hand hooks into Sonny’s tie and yanks him closer. Sonny stumbles forward until he’s right against you, so close you feel the heat rolling off his body.
“Watch,” Rafael instructs, his tone patient but merciless. He presses harder, rubbing slow circles that make your knees tremble. “Every reaction is leverage, you take it, you use it.”
Sonny’s jaw tightens. His eyes drop to where Rafael’s hand is working you, and his breath comes faster. He wants to touch; you can see it in the twitch of his fingers, but he doesn’t move.
Rafael notices. Of course he notices.
“Pathetic,” Barba mutters, and in the same motion he drags Sonny’s wrist up again, pressing it against your thigh and shoving it higher, until his fingers slide beneath the hem of your panties. Your breath catches, sharp, when Sonny’s rough fingertips brush over the slick heat there.
“Jesus,” Sonny groans, his touch faltering, uncertain. “She’s…”
“Don’t postulate, Carisi. Perform.” Rafael’s hand covers Sonny’s again, curling his fingers properly over your folds, guiding him like a teacher correcting a student’s grip on a pen. The dual sensation makes your head tip back against Barba’s shoulder, your mouth falling open, a helpless, defeated whine falling from your lips.
“There. You feel that?” Rafael’s voice is a low growl at Sonny’s ear, his lips almost brushing the other man’s skin. “That’s how you make her beg. Now keep going.”
Sonny obeys, clumsy but eager, working his fingers against you with more confidence now. The pressure builds, each stroke dragging you closer. Rafael doesn’t let you drift too far, though; his free hand slips up, undoing the buttons of your blouse one by one with infuriating slowness.
By the time the last button is gone, you’re trembling between them, blouse hanging open to expose the lace of your bra beneath. Rafael tsks, sliding the fabric down your arms like peeling away layers of a shoddy defence. “Pretty. Too pretty to waste behind a desk.”
He dips his head, mouth grazing the line of your shoulder, sucking a mark into your skin while Sonny works his hand frantically between your thighs. The contrast makes your legs quake.
Rafael pulls back, surveying the scene like a painter studying his canvas. “On your knees,” he commands, his hand pressing at your shoulder.
Your knees hit the plush rug before the words fully register. Sonny’s hand slips free as you sink down, the loss making you whimper. Barba’s smirk curves wider.
“Carisi,” he says, gesturing to you like a prize. “Don’t embarrass yourself.”
Sonny looks startled, then his gaze drops to you; kneeling, blouse open, lips parted. His breath stutters, and then he fumbles with his belt, the clink of metal loud in the quiet chamber. He’s already hard, straining against his boxers, flushed to the tips of his ears as he frees himself.
“Go on,” Rafael encourages, voice sharp but laced with amusement. “Give her something to do while I supervise.”
Sonny swallows, then steps closer, guiding his cock to your mouth. His hands hover, unsure where to rest, until Rafael growls, “Her hair, Carisi. Hold her hair. Show her you want it.”
Sonny obeys, threading his fingers through your hair as he presses forward. You open for him, lips stretching around his girth, tongue working eagerly. His groan is immediate, raw, echoing in the office.
Rafael chuckles, standing behind you, one hand stroking down the curve of your spine until it settles on your ass, squeezing hard. “Don’t get sloppy. She deserves precision.”
His hand slides lower, tugging your panties aside, fingers thrusting inside you in time with Sonny’s shallow thrusts against your lips. The double invasion has you moaning around Sonny’s cock, the vibrations making him curse and buck harder.
Rafael’s voice cuts through, commanding, taunting both of you. “Good girl. Take him deep. Don’t let him think he’s the only one who can keep you full.”
Sonny’s hips stutter, his grip in your hair tightening as his head tips back. “Rafael…fuck! She’s –”
“Don’t say my name like a prayer unless you mean it,” Barba snaps, curling his fingers inside you just right. Your cry is muffled around Sonny’s cock, but it’s enough to make him groan loud and broken.
The rhythm builds; Rafael’s fingers working you mercilessly while Sonny loses himself in your mouth, every sound from him half-guilt, half-need. You’re nothing but sensation, stretched taut between their control, each man pulling you closer to the edge in his own way.
Rafael, of course, keeps talking, voice steady even as he drives you higher. “Look at you. Two of my pupils… neither of you could last five minutes without me,” Barba says, his voice steady even as his fingers pump mercilessly inside you. “And now? Look at you – already wrecked.”
The words slice through the air like his cross-examinations in court. Your mouth is stretched around Sonny’s cock, your throat working as he groans helplessly above you, hips jerking forward with every desperate thrust. Spit drips down your chin, slicking his shaft as he sinks deeper into your mouth.
Rafael’s fingers curl just right, knuckles grinding against your walls, the heel of his hand pressing perfectly against your clit. You can’t breathe, can’t think – only moan around Sonny, the vibration making him curse and buckle at the knees.
“Jesus, Barba,” Sonny gasps, voice breaking. His hand fists in your hair, rougher than before, like he’s finally surrendered to instinct. “She’s… fuck, she’s unreal…”
“You’re postulating again,” Rafael snaps, his voice a whipcrack. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers, plunging them deeper, harder. “Cut it out or I stop the lesson.”
Barba chuckles darkly, lips brushing your ear as his fingers twist cruelly inside you. “Good boy. Now… watch how a real man takes her.”
He yanks Sonny back by his tie, pulling his cock from your throat with a wet pop. You gasp for air, spit glistening on your lips, chest heaving. Before you can beg, Rafael hauls you up, spinning you and bending you hard over his desk. Case files scatter like confetti, pages fluttering to the floor.
The polished wood is cold under your cheek, but Rafael’s heat is immediate, pressing into you from behind as he shoves your skirt up. He rips your panties down with one sharp tug, the fabric tearing at the seam.
“Hands flat,” he orders. His palm smacks your ass hard, the sting radiating. “Don’t move unless I say.”
You obey instantly, fingers splaying across legal briefs as Rafael unzips. The sound is sharp, final. A second later he’s thrusting into you in one brutal stroke that makes your mouth open in a strangled cry.
“Fuck,” Sonny blurts, his voice strangled as he watches.
Barba’s groan is guttural, Spanish curses slipping through clenched teeth as he buries himself to the hilt. He holds you there, hips pressed flush, before dragging out slow, deliberate, only to slam back in with a force that rattles the desk.
Your legs shake, knuckles white against the wood. Rafael sets a rhythm; hard, punishing, relentless. Every thrust drives you forward, makes the papers beneath your hands crumple.
“Look at her, Carisi,” Barba growls, his voice low and dangerous. “Taking me like she was made for it. And you…” his hips snap forward, forcing a cry from your lips “…you get the privilege of bearing witness.”
Sonny is panting, shifting from foot to foot, cock still slick and hard in his fist as he strokes himself at the sight. “Barba she’s… fuck, she’s so…”
“Put that mouth to use,” Rafael interrupts, grabbing Sonny’s wrist and dragging him closer. “I told you… don’t waste my time. She can take both of us.”
Sonny hesitates only a second before he presses his cock back to your lips. You open wide for him, still gasping from Barba’s brutal rhythm. Sonny groans as you swallow him down again, this time rougher, deeper, his hand braced at the back of your head.
Now you’re pinned completely; Rafael’s cock pounding you from behind, Sonny filling your throat. The double stretch has tears streaming from your eyes, drool dripping down your chin, your body strung taut between them.
Rafael bends over you, chest pressed to your back, his voice in your ear like molten steel. “Good girl. Taking both of us, gagging and dripping, exactly where you belong. Don’t you dare stop until I tell you.”
He fucks into you harder, cock slamming deep, his pelvis grinding against your clit with each thrust. The sensation is unbearable, your orgasm clawing at you, building sharp and fast.
“Control yourself,” Rafael barks, thrusting harder to punctuate. You moan around Sonny’s cock, the sound vibrating through him, and he nearly sobs, hips jerking helplessly.
The tension snaps. Your orgasm crashes through you like lightning, your entire body shaking as you clamp around Barba’s cock, muffled screams swallowed around Sonny.
Barba snarls, slamming into you harder, chasing his own release. “That’s it. Milk me. Show Carisi how it’s done.”
Sonny groans, broken and high, spilling hot down your throat. His hips twitch as you swallow him, your moans vibrating around his length until he’s gasping, undone.
Rafael holds out just a moment longer, growling curses in Spanish, before he buries himself deep and cums inside you with a guttural groan, hips grinding as he empties into you. His grip bruises your hips, holding you pinned while you convulse beneath him.
The office has descended into chaos; panting breaths, sweat-slicked skin, the smell of sex thick in the air. Case files litter the floor like fallen verdicts.
Rafael pulls out slow, his release dripping down your thighs. He tucks himself back into his slacks with infuriating precision, already composed. Sonny staggers back, still catching his breath, shirt damp with sweat.
Barba adjusts his vest, smoothing it as if he’s preparing to walk into court. His smirk is razor-sharp as he surveys the two of you; Sonny flushed and trembling, you bent over his desk, undone.
You remain bent over the polished wood, blouse hanging open, thighs sticky, chest heaving. Your knees threaten to buckle the moment you try to stand, and you cling to the desk for balance.
Behind you, Rafael is already composed. Of course he is. His vest is buttoned again, cufflinks refastened, tie smoothed neatly back into place as though he hasn’t just fucked you senseless with his cock buried deep inside you. He looks down at you like a prosecutor reviewing evidence – smug, collected, utterly untouchable. “Look at you,” he says at last, lips curling into that cruel little smile “Look at the mess you made,” as he gently pats your ass mockingly.
Sonny, on the other hand, is a disaster. His tie is askew, shirt clinging to him with sweat, hair sticking up in wild tufts. He’s leaning against the wall, still catching his breath, his cock barely tucked back into his slacks. His cheeks are blotched red, his jaw tight, like he’s trying to figure out how to look professional again when he can’t even stand straight.
“Rafa… uh, Barba,” he stammers, correcting himself at the last second. His voice cracks anyway. “That was… Jesus. That was…” He shakes his head, unable to find the word.
Rafael slides his gaze toward him, eyes glinting. “Unprofessional? Unethical?”
Sonny swallows, tugging at his tie. “I was gonna say… intense.”
Barba hums, unimpressed. He steps closer, adjusting his watch with meticulous care before brushing invisible dust from Sonny’s shoulder. The motion is patronising, intimate.
“You’re sloppy when you’re nervous,” Rafael observes coolly. “We’ll need to fix that.” His eyes flick downward, deliberately, at the bulge still straining against Sonny’s half-zipped pants. “Though not tonight. Clearly, you’ve been overextended.”
Sonny’s ears go crimson. He glances at you; still bent over the desk, blouse askew, lips swollen, perfection. He looks away fast, like the sight might undo him all over again.
Barba’s smirk sharpens. He places a hand on the small of your back, pushing you upright just enough to make you look at him. Your legs tremble under the shift, your vision still hazy.
“And you, Cariño…” he murmurs, eyes sweeping your wrecked form. His thumb brushes the corner of your spit-slick lips, wiping away a trace of Sonny. “You showed promise. Though I expect more discipline next time.”
Your chest rises and falls quickly, your voice catching when you try to respond. “Next… time?”
Rafael chuckles, low and knowing, as he leans in to fasten the last undone button of your blouse himself, fingers deft and infuriatingly slow.
“You think mentoring you and teaching you survival in this industry can be done in one night?” He steps back, smoothing his vest with satisfaction. “Hardly. Consider this your… orientation.”
Sonny groans, scrubbing a hand down his face, but doesn’t argue.
Barba strides to the door, unlocking it with a sharp click. He glances back at both of you, still dishevelled and ruined, and his smirk deepens.
“Seven a.m. sharp,” he says, voice smooth as a closing statement. “If you’re late, don’t bother showing up at all.”
And then he’s gone, leaving the heavy oak door swinging shut behind him.
The silence left in his wake is deafening.
Sonny shifts uncomfortably, looking at you, then at the scattered case files, then at the door again. His mouth opens like he might try to say something; to apologise, to joke, to say anything, but no words come out.
You’re both still there in the ruined aftermath of Rafael’s office, catching your breath, the ghost of Barba’s control lingering like a verdict already passed.
Time waits for no one, but it rewards those who honour it.
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