SVU SMUT & PREFERENCES

Nick Amaro/Rafael Barba

all credit to @/ElwritesFanworkson archive of our own. this is not my work, the amazing author wrote this.

this one is a little different...

"We are officially approaching the first hour mark. Delightful."

Barba didn't bother trying to keep his emotions in check, didn't mask the annoyance in his voice as he spoke. While not a claustrophobe, he wasn't happy; no sane person would be after being stuck in an elevator for fifty-five minutes. Being stuck in said elevator with the person one had been dangerously close to punching before the doors failed to open, was adding insult to injury. He paced, irritable and increasingly anxious, checking his phone every few minutes with a sinking heart as time ticked by.

Amaro, on the other hand, was silent and still. He'd bitten off his tirade the minute the doors jammed, and was now content to sulk and glare at them until they opened again. It was better than making small-talk with the ADA, as far as he was concerned.

"Oh, by all means, Detective, stand there and pout. You know, you could try getting a signal."

Amaro looked over, the heated anger not quite gone from his face.

"If you can't get one, then I can't, either. The walls must be messing with it."

"Well, fantastic," Barba snapped. He walked over to the doors. Turned. Walked back. Turned.

"Do you have to keep pacing?"

Nick's tone betrayed his annoyance.

"Unlike some people, I actually enjoy having something to do. If you can think of something more productive than pacing to get us out of here sooner, I'm all ears," Barba replied, but stopped his pacing in favor of standing in the farthest corner from Nick and tapping his foot against the ground in a fast, impatient rhythm.

Nick tried to ignore the counsellor fidgeting a few feet to his left. He wasn't enjoying being trapped either, but, unsurprisingly, it seemed like all Barba was worried about was his own inconvenience. It's not as if detectives had things to do, places to be. Not anywhere as important as whatever engagement was making Barba so twitchy.

It must be driving the ADA crazy, not being in control, Nick thought with an inward smirk. If he ignored his own frustration at not being able to get on with his work, the cop had to admit that the reality of Mr. Hotshot Lawyer trapped in an elevator was pretty funny. He allowed himself the satisfaction of knowing that at least he was getting to watch Barba squirm.

Huh. He was squirming a lot, actually. Not figuratively, either, but like, literally squirming, like he was trying to resist scratching an itch or something.

"Hey, if you need to pace, then pace," Nick said, and for a second, Barba looked at him, pale with horror, as if he'd misheard. Then he reddened considerably and shook his head.

"No, no. I'm fine," he muttered, and cleared his throat. Nick furrowed his brow.

That was pretty strange. A thought occurred to him.

"Claustrophobic, counsellor?"

Barba pursed his lips and shuddered, managing a small nod. "Yes it's just... catching up to me. The panic, that is. Just – just ignore me. It'll be fine."

Nick's curiosity was peaked. Something wasn't right, here. Being a detective wasn't something you could turn off, either. He went back to staring at the doors, but made a note every time Barba's behavior changed.

Ten minutes later, the ADA was tapping out a rhythm with a polished, Italian leather dress shoe. Twenty minutes later, he was rocking backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet. At the twenty-five-minute mark, he started muttering to himself.