Starisi h/c with a side of smut,please? Like, aftermath of the accident.

lesbiancarisi:

I’m sorry but I just feel like when Sonny’s dealing with that, he emotionally wouldn’t be in a state of mind for sex. So have some hurt/comfort + physical intimacy //

As soon as Sonny comes home, Peter draws him into a hug. Olivia had texted only enough to fill him in:

Carisi was in an accident. He’s pretty shaken up, and he’s got some scrapes but he’s fine.

He would argue that Sonny is very clearly not fine, but that can wait for when he’s not shaking in Peter’s arms. The broken fragments that Sonny does manage to get out explain why he’s so torn up about it. ‘Couldn’t catch him,’ ‘Couldn’t stop the car,’ ‘Couldn’t save her,’ and other bits and pieces filter through dry sobs and heavy breathing.

“It’s not your fault,” Peter says. “This isn’t on you. You did everything you could.”

Did anyone on the squad, or any of the EMTs tell him that? Olivia’s been wrapped up in her own head lately, and Amanda and Fin… they seem more of the tough love type, if they were even on the scene at all. The way that Sonny thinks, he knows that there’s guilt seeping into his very bones even though none of this was anything he could help.

He guides Sonny to the bathroom to get him out of his bloody and wrinkled clothes, into a hot shower. It’ll sting on the injuries scattering his head and chest, but it’ll help in the long run, especially with getting all the blood off of his skin. He has to hold Sonny upright so he doesn’t slip on the tile, and winds up settling for arranging him at the bottom of the tub and switching from the showerhead to the faucet. Between dragging a soapy wash cloth over Sonny’s body and splashing him with water to keep him warm, Peter hates how little he can do right now. While he has a good idea of what’s going through his boyfriend’s mind, he can’t know for sure until Sonny talks to him. And that’s definitely not happening tonight.

Somehow, after Peter turns off the water and holds out a fluffy towel for Sonny to dry himself with, he winds up with a still dripping wet Sonny in his lap, naked and gripping at his shirt in white knuckled fists as he cries. Peter draws the towel up like a blanket and lets Sonny be small and vulnerable.

“You’re safe. It’s not your fault.”

He keeps repeating that the whole half hour they spend there, and as he carries Sonny to bed, and until they both fall asleep wrapped up in each other.