Rafael Barba Oneshots

The Last Scotch

Forlini's was the name of the bar you happened upon while roaming the streets of New York after a long day. The door dinged when you entered, announcing your arrival. Sitting down at the counter, your eyes met with the friendly bartender. "Can I get a glass of Macallan, neat. Please?"

The bartender shook his head. "Sorry, we're all out. My delivery guy didn't come in today and I just sold my last glass."

You banged your head on the table, groaning and whining. It was your first day in Manhattan. Although you officially weren't supposed to start your new job for another month or so, you moved into your apartment early, wanting to familiarize yourself with the city before jumpstarting your new career. After a long day of unpacking boxes, arguing with movers, and feeling homesick, all you wanted was to relax and have your favorite drink.

You lifted your head, batting your lashes at the bartender, "I'm not sure if there are any privacy laws regarding alcoholic beverages, but would you mind telling me who took the last glass, so I can at least try and bribe the jackass into giving it to me?"

"That would be me," said a voice from a couple chairs away. Turning your head, you saw the handsome older man dressed in suspenders, his sleeves rolled up to reveal tan strong forearms. His eyes were a piercing green, a Romanesque nose, hair greying at the temples, a few strands coming undone from the gel he must have placed in his perfect coif earlier that morning.

Your heart skipped a beat. You bit your lip, trying to calm your nerves, not wanting the mysterious man to know the effect he had on you already. "So what are the odds of you handing over that scotch?" You softly said, eyeing the undranken tumbler in front of him.

He smirked, "Slim to none. It's been one hell of a day."

"Same for me." You nodded your head, "It's my first day in New York and it's been a whirlwind to say the least."

He sighed, his eyes went from the glass of scotch up to you before eventually sliding it over. "Consider this my welcome to Manhattan."

"Thank you. That's very sweet." You smiled, taking a sip of the smooth amber liquid. Closing your eyes, you reveled in the slow burn you felt cascading down your throat. "You know I would have just bought another drink."

The man scoffed in feigned offense, "Now you tell me."

You giggled, "Let me buy you a drink. Balvenie is a close second to a Macallan."

"Thanks." He said, accepting the new glass brought out to him by the bartender. "How did you become such an aficionado on scotch?"

You took another healthy sip before swirling the drink around the glass. "It's a long story."

"I like long stories." He replied.

You got up from your chair, moving to the seat next to him, the heady scent of his cologne and the scotch invigorated your senses. "We're going to have to get a bit closer if we intend to have a conversation."

***

How long had you been laying there? It felt like hours when really it was only minutes. The bed groaned as you tested the silk Italian ties that were holding you down. You sighed, laying your head down on the pillow, the blindfold across your eyes prevented you from seeing anything. Your nipples were hard, your center wet while you waited for Rafael to come back into the room.