I always come to your inbox to drop idea for kicking your imagination so I was thinking about Javi P. Especially him saying he resigned form DIA that morning and can you imagine him immediately getting kiss cuz “that’s the hottest thing you ever said to me babe” because they can finally start they dream - having family at his pops ranch. Chucho seems like the best father in law. I want this man as a bestie for Javis girl
Thanks nonnie for this request. I’m sorry it took so long 🥰
Forever Starts Today
Pairings: Javier Pena x f!reader
Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, breeding kink, shower sex, soft morning sex, javi is a cowboy, just horny/domestic Javi, mentions of starting a family, cursing, fluff.
Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰
A tired yawn slips past your lips as you lift Rosa’s file, checking what medication she’s due when a soft knock at her door startles you.
“Girl, your man is at the nurse's station looking for you.” Your eyes flick towards the clock - 7:30, half an hour left - before meeting Maria’s gaze and nodding as she takes the clipboard off you.
“Seems a bit on edge. If you wanna head out early, I’ll cover for you.”
“Thanks,” you say with a smile as you walk out of the room. It doesn’t take long to spot Javi, leaning against the wall with his legs crossed. His suit is a little wrinkled and his tie is loose around his neck. He lets out a frustrated sigh as his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose and you know he’s stressed.
“Hey,” you call softly and he smiles when he locks eyes with you but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Hermosa.” He pushes off the wall and walks with determination towards you, pulling you into a tight embrace. With his face buried into the crook of your neck, he lets out a contented sigh.
“Everything ok?” His arms, which are circled around your waist, pull you closer. “It is now”, he whispers, his breath tickling the skin of your neck.
“Maria’s gonna cover for me. Why don’t we head home?” He hums softly, kissing your neck before pulling away. His tired eyes take you in and he leans in and kisses you gently on the lips before taking your hand in his and leading you out of the hospital.
He doesn’t say much other than to ask you how your shift went and the drive home seems longer than usual. When you both finally cross the threshold of your home, Javi is quick to throw his keys on the kitchen counter before grabbing a glass and filling it with whiskey.
“Bad day, huh?” His gaze meets yours and he lets out a long sigh. “Something like that. Amor, there’s something - fuck - maybe you should sit.”
He places his hand on the small of your back and leads you to the couch. Taking a seat beside him, you rest your hand on his thigh as he leans back, resting his head against the back of the couch.
“What’s wrong, Javi? You know you can tell me anything, right?” His eyes open and his tired gaze lands on you as a soft smile edges its way onto his face. “I know, amor. I, fuck - I resigned from the DEA.”
You’re stunned into silence.
He resigned. You never thought you’d see the day. Your lack of response has him on edge and he reaches out and caresses your cheek softly with his thumb. “Hermosa, say something.”
Broken from your trance, you let out a squeal as you move your legs over his lap so you're straddling his thighs. Grabbing his face between your hands you pepper kisses along his cheeks and lips.
“You’re - you’re not mad?” He questions with a smile. Shaking your head you lean in and kiss him hard on the lips before pulling away and resting your head against his.
“Baby, this is the best news ever. It’s like - the hottest things you’ve ever said to me.” Javi laughs. His head is buried between the curve of your breast as his shoulders shake from the force of it. You haven’t seen him laugh like that in a while.
“What?” You ask with a smile. His eyes meet yours and he gently reaches out to move a strand of loose hair behind your ear. “It’s not the hottest.”
“Oh no, it is.” He continues to laugh as he wraps his around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “So, what now?”
“It’s up to you, amor. We can stay….” You cut him off with a shake of your head. “Let’s go home. To America. To Laredo. I’m sure Chucho will be thrilled to have us back.”
Javi’s heart flutters at your words. His face is full of love and adoration as he looks up at you in his arms. “Yeah? Is that what you want, Hermosa?” Want to settle down back on the ranch and have a family?”
“Yes. That’s what I want.” You rest your head against him, his brown eyes are full of warmth as they stare back.
“Thank you, mi amor,” he whispers and you furrow your brows in confusion. “For what, Javi?”
“For being so understanding. I was - fuck, I was nervous as hell on the way to the hospital thinking you’d be upset I left my job. Lost all that good money and….” You quiet him with a finger on his lips.
“You don’t have to thank me. You’re my husband and I love you. I’m always gonna support you. No matter what.”
“Te amo, mi amor.” He pulls you in for a searing kiss before gently laying you back on the couch, his body covering yours as he begins to strip you out of your clothes.
“Let’s say goodbye to the apartment Pena style,” he murmurs as he kisses his way down along the curve of your breast, disappearing between the apex of your thighs. “Oh!”
***
You didn’t accept the transfer the hospital was offering you, instead choosing to work at a local health clinic near the ranch. The hours were better allowing you to spend more time with both Pena men.
It was a nice change of pace and Javi was a different man now that he wasn’t always looking over his shoulder. He took to ranch life better than you had hoped and he seemed happier.
Pulling up the long drive to the house you spot Javi in the distance on his horse Cash and the sight of him - dressed in his dark denim jeans, chequered shirt and that damn cowboy hat - has heat pooling between your legs.
When you pull up at the house you dash inside and up the stairs to your en-suite, stripping out of your scrubs and into the large walk-in shower. The warm water relieves the ache in your muscles but does little to quell your growing arousal.
With a featherlight touch, you skim your fingers along the skin of your stomach until you reach your bundle of nerves. You begin to rub in a slow circular motion, a soft gasp escaping your lips.
“Starting the fun without me, Hermosa?” Javi’s deep drawl startles you and you almost slip when his warm hands catch you around the waist, pulling your back flush with his chest. His bare chest. “Jesus, Javi. You scared the shot outta me.”
His soft chuckle makes you smile and you slowly turn in his embrace, eyes quickly taking him in before you meet his gaze. “How’d you get here so fast?”
His eyes, which are blown wide with lust, arch playfully. “Saw you coming up the drive and started heading back. Knew you’d get all wet seeing me dressed like that.”
“Oh, so you did that purposely, huh?” You tease, feeling his cock twitch against your thigh.
“Better believe it, amor.” His lips meet yours in a passionate kiss as his fingers skim down along your ass, squeezing the soft cheeks in his hands.
“Tan hermosa mi amor,” he mumbles as lips trail kisses along your neck towards your breasts, pulling a nipple into his mouth. “Oh fuck, Javi. Please I - I need you.”
“What do you need, mi amor?” He asks as he pushes you back against the tiled wall, lifting your leg over his waist as he lines himself with your entrance. “Need you to fuck me, Javi.”
With a roll of his hips, he buries himself inside your heat, the slight stretch causing you to gasp into his mouth. “Mierda. Always so tight, amor.”
With each roll of his hips, he brings you closer and closer to euphoria. “Need you to cum for me, amor. Not - not gonna last. Been thinking about this all day.”
His hands are busy gripping you tight as he thrusts harder and harder, so you slip your hand into the space between you both, sliding your fingers to your bundle of nerves and putting pressure on it as you rub it in circular motions.
“Javi,” you whimper and he grunts loudly as you squeeze him tight. “Fuck, Hermosa…I’m - I’m shit, I’m gonna cum.”
“Cum inside,” you whisper into the shell of his ear and he groans. “Want me to fill you up, Hermosa? Want me to put a baby in you? Fuck, I’m gonna fill you full of me.”
“Oh god, Javi,” you cry and Javi’s legs shake slightly as he thrusts twice more, spilling deep inside you.
You’re both panting as you come down from your high and Javi helps you gently stand on two feet before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in for a kiss.
“Missed you today,” you say softly as you begin to lather soap over his chest. He hums. His hands work the soap into your soft skin. “Never would have guessed that,” he teases and you slap him gently on the chest.
“I’m just joking, Hermosa. I missed you too. Always do.” He kisses you softly. “Were you serious about having a baby?” He seems nervous as he waits for you to say something and you can’t help but smile.
“Only if you want to? But I’m ready.” His hands hold your waist and the corners of his mouth turn up. “I guess we’re gonna try for a baby then. Pops is gonna be delighted.”
“Wooh, slow down there cowboy. I’m not even pregnant yet.” Javi reaches behind you to turn the water off before grabbing two towels and handing you one. “Amor, with the way we fuck, it’s not gonna take that long.”
You roll your eyes as you begin to dry off, hoping it’s as easy as he makes it out. “Come on, cowboy. We gotta get ready for Frankie’s engagement party.”
***
“You know, I never thought I’d see the day Javi would settle down. Especially back home on the ranch but I’ve honestly never seen him so happy.” Frankie swings you away from him before pulling you back into his embrace.
“You’re the best thing that ever happened to him, Y/N.” A heat works its way up your neck and settles on your cheeks.
“I think you’re giving me too much credit, but thank you.” The music shifts to something slower and Frankie’s gaze lingers over your shoulder.
“Mind if I cut in?” You can feel his warmth at your back and Frankie winks at you before clapping Javi on the back and whispering something into his ear.
“Hey,” he says softly, his eyes taking in the features of your face. His arms circle your waist as you both sway to the music.
“Hey. Who’s the woman with Chucho?” You ask as you tilt your head in his direction. Javi’s gaze lands on his dad and a knowing smile works its way onto his face. With a shrug of his shoulders, he turns back to you.
“Someone he met at bingo. Just friends. But then, we both know how that one goes, don’t weHermosa?” He waggles his eyebrows at you.
“Oh shut it, Pena. Didn’t hear you complaining at the time, did I?” He yelps as you squeeze his ass.
“Nope. Never gonna hear me complain, baby,” he teases. “It’s nice to see him have someone after so long. He deserves to be happy.”
“Hmm, seems all you Pena men share the same sentiment.” He furrows his brows, “what are you talking about, amor.”
“Nothing, baby. Think anyone would miss us if we skip out?” His hands wander towards your ass, squeezing it gently. “It’s like you read my mind, Hermosa.” His eyes flicker around the room before landing back on your face. “Let’s go.”
He wraps your hand in his and leads you out of the community centre and into the cool evening air. Javi helps you into the passenger side of the truck before running around to his side and hopping in.
“What about Chucho?” Javi turns the key in the ignition and reverses out of the space, his eyes landing on you as he straightens her up. “Something tells me he won’t be needing a lift home tonight.”
“Why - oh - oh, Jesus Javi, he’s an old man.” He laughs, his gaze focused on the road ahead but his hand - the one not on the steering wheel - slides up your thigh and under your dress.
“Never too old for that baby. Especially not us Pena men.” His fingers slip through your folds and you moan softly. “Javi?”
“Si, Hermosa?” His gaze drifts to you briefly, a cheeky smile on his face. “Drive faster and I’ll give you a blow job back home.”
“Yup.” His fingers slip away from you and he focuses all his attention on the road, driving way past the speed limit.
***
The light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Your skin tickles as Javi kisses your shoulder. You smile.
“Morning.” His arm slips around your waist, sliding up until he cups your breast in his hand.
“Hmm, morningHermosa. Need you,” he breathes, his voice husky with need. Javi grinds his hips into your ass and you can feel his arousal pressing hard against you.
“Didn’t get enough last night?” Javi lines himself up with your entrance and breaths out a husky no, before thrusting into you.
He’s slow in his movements, drawing out your pleasure as you rock back against him. The room is silent save for the soft gasps and moans you both emit.
When you both climax together, he stays seated inside you as he peppers kisses along your neck. “Let’s get cleaned up, amor. I’ve something I want to show you”.
He waits out front on the porch and when you emerge in a light summer dress he can’t help but pull you close and kiss you breathlessly.
“You’re killing me, mi amor. Come on, let's go.” He leads you to the truck, helping you in before taking off and you turn to him with a look of confusion when he doesn’t turn down the drive, but instead, makes his way up the old road towards his uncle's old ranch.
“Javi? Where - where are we going?” He reaches out and takes your hand in his, lifting it to his lips and kissing it softly. “Just wait, amor. You’ll see.”
“Fine, keep your secrets, Pena. It’s not like I won’t….” The words die on your tongue when you see the once run-down house now refurbished. “Javi!”
“I know we’re happy with pops but I thought with us trying for a family that - that maybe we should have a place of our own. Pops and Frankie helped me out with it. I - I hope you like it, amor.”
“Javi. Like it. I love it. I - I can’t believe you did this.” Your voice wavers as your eyes well with tears. “And we’re not too far from Chucho if he needs us. It’s perfect.”
You move across the seat and kiss him passionately. Pulling away with one last kiss you smile brightly at him. “Can I see inside?”
The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled back. “Of course. Let’s go home.”
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Heat Chapter 44: Deserving - Part 1
I assure you, I did NOT intend for there to be such a long hiatus since the last update! Life got ridiculous for a while. Hopefully this massive chapter makes up for the wait!
Pairing: Javier Peña x OFC | Javi x Querida
Disclaimer: Written in 2nd person narrative, you can safely assume our heroine and love/lust interest is a Latina, written by a Latina. Here's my philosophy on my writing, for further context.
Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞
Word Count: 26,000+
Summary: While Javier's work spins up, preoccupying him, you try to keep your worries after several perplexing occurrences from towing you down into uncertainty. Can you both keep each other feeling grounded and deserving of the hopes you both care to nurture together?
Warnings: Graphic descriptions of sex, including masturbation and unprotected sex. Mentions of raunchy sexual acts, sickness, longing, stress, and fertility worries. Descriptions of power play, praise kink, and dirty talk. Allusions to jealousy, family strife, foreboding threats, and uncertainty. Some Protective!Javi, Dom! Javi, Bossy!Reader. In the vein of Narcos being a bilingual show, and Javier Peña being fluent, I felt it was apropos to include Spanglish and Spanish throughout.
Heat Masterlist
Previous chapter - Chapter 43: Still
Chapter 44: Deserving - Part 1
Since the 1980s, Puerto Rico had grown into a major gateway to the U.S. for South American drugs. Within the first few years of the early 1990s, though, the small archipelago and U.S. territory functioned as the Caribbean's drug-smuggling hub. The administration in Washington D.C. ranked Puerto Rico and the nearby U.S. Virgin Islands as second to Mexico, in being a corridor for drugs coming into the United States.
With stats like that, and a precarious rise in violence and social ills associated with the drug trade and trafficking on the island, it was no wonder that the federal government had established a larger footprint in the region, encouraged especially by the Partido Nuevo Progresista being the current party in power. The Puerto Rican governor, Pedro Roselló, was a pro-statehood politician who'd been voted into power with lofty promises of curbing the waves of crime and violence, and collaborating with the federal government to get aid and better opportunities for private industry to the island of 3.6 million people.
His Mano Dura initiative was one that will be studied for decades to come. Beginning as a zero-tolerance policy program to combat crime, that some say had the opposite effect when it came to bettering the social standing of the working and poor classes on the island. It included the enactment of policies that increased sentencing periods, reduced rehab-focused initiatives for criminal offenders and promoted aggressive, more proactive – and often invasive – policing tactics. Public safety was touted as the preeminent concern – borne out of the fear and public frustrations across all facets of Puerto Rican society regarding the skyrocketing incidences of carjackings, hold ups, drive-by shootings, and murders fueled by the drug trade.
For all the militarized tactics, most glaring being the use of the National Guard to infiltrate and police public housing and high-crime neighborhoods throughout the metropolitan municipalities on the island, the murder rate only kept rising.
Javier had poured over the data, and saw how crime had exploded on the island as soon as it became a hub for drug trafficking into the U.S. and Europe. It used to be that robberies and the occasional assault were the worst crimes in most towns on the island. But just the year prior, there were 980 homicides on the island, setting a record – with one of the worst massacres reported occurring in a small town west of San Juan. More than 60 percent of the killings were drug-related. And drug-related violence was only getting more pervasive – indiscriminate of victims or the collateral damage.
Needless to say, Javi was done with the crash course phase of things, and wanted to really wrap his arms around the facts at hand. Sadly, the murder and mayhem had no face – no figurehead to pin the wave of crime on, so he was left to pull at threads in the stats and data to try and find the source. Of course, though, he and Steve had their mandate: stopping the flow of drugs, especially of the 10 to 20 percent that ended up remaining in the island for local consumption, creating a criminal industry that smuggles and stores the product, launders money, operates the retail puntos and foments the violence to prevail over competitors. Well, at least that was Javi's goal, since stopping the all-out flow of drugs into the U.S. was a fool's errand.
Getting the DEA running without being as heavy-handed as the National Guard patrolling known points had been difficult in the past, but he and Steve had come up with different tactics and enforcement plans. Organizing everyone, and getting them the necessary training, and into the field office was their current hurdle, one that kept both agents busy.
Working to get the field office set up, splitting travel to and from the U.S. Virgin Islands, being briefed on joint task force operations, and dealing with federal officials assessing their budgetary requests had been occupying a lot of their time. There just aren't many moments for either of them to concentrate on non-DEA-related things longer than the cursory conversations or plans you and Connie make for dinner hangouts, surface 'how was your day' chats, or simply wanting to be in the moment when intimacy was possible. So, having the intuition to ask 'what is wrong?' wasn't in the cards currently.
You commiserate with Connie about it. Between the two of you, though, you don't feel like you have any concerns – you don't feel neglected or burdened. After all, she's the one juggling a full-time job at the V.A., taking care of Isabel and Olivia, and fitting in time to tend to the house. If anything, you feel pretty centered, compared to how things had been before reconciling with Javier.
It's all perspective, and you are a great sounding board for Connie as much as she's a reassuring voice of reason – and a fount of knowledge for living with a stubborn DEA agent.
Really, you enjoy having someone who understands what it's like to be in love with a tenacious, committed and selfless man who throws himself into his work head first, then thinks about the toll that takes much later. As far as you're concerned, it all is put into perspective. So not telling Javier – or anyone – about the threatening note you'd received via a pink carnation bouquet delivery to your condo building, makes perfect sense to you.
Sure, you'd rushed down and asked the attendant specifics – 'Who delivered it? Did they mention the sender at all? Are you sure it was meant for my apartment?' – and gotten no answers or evidence that would help identify the culprit, let alone a means to track possible suspects, had unnerved you. But you just didn't think it was anything worth mentioning to Javier. You didn't want to alarm him when you weren't really sure it was even meant for you or not. No, it didn't seem credible enough to set off unnecessary stress and panic. So, you didn't.
You'd thrown the flowers out, and stored the card into the drawer of the console in the living room.
When Javier had spent the night at your place the following evening, you'd already shoved it to the back of your mind.
He was none the wiser, and you'd enjoyed relaxing with him in bed after stripping each other of your clothes and making passionate love while the air conditioning kept your warm bodies and the room cool.
He'd been beat from work, so much so he'd practically fallen asleep in mid-sentence about his hectic day.
Things for your department were equally busy the next couple of weeks as well with a major server expansion across departments and agencies occurring in stages, so you held no umbrage at the juggling of free time happening, since you were also focusing on your work projects.
The nights he'd work late, you were content with a quick 'goodnight' call and making plans to have a coffee, or lunch date some time the next day. Whenever you both ended up being at the office after hours, due to working late, Javier and you would carpool together in your sleek sedan to his place to spend the night together, and he'd catch a ride the following morning with Kike either to the field office or some task force meeting at the Federal Court Building.
And dinner with the Murphys had seamlessly become a once-a-week routine during this period as well, which was much-needed for blowing off steam and socializing outside of work.
This week's dinner was Saturday night, and it had been wonderful, but not without a lot of chatter between Steve and Javier regarding the drudgery still to come. During this kind of shop-talk lulls, you and Connie would exchange musing looks before leaving the fellas to it, preferring to entertain Olivia and the baby over idle chatter. This time, the precocious girl had made you both come to her room so she could show off the drawings she'd done at school and play with her favorite toy of the week before she had to get in her pjs and get tucked in.
You didn't mind it at all, and Isabel was a sweet baby that always seemed to enjoy your silly muecas and bouncing on your knee.
Javi was apologizing now, on the walk home back to his bungalow, for being so preoccupied, but you reassure him that it didn't bother you.
"—I know how much of a hassle it is to deal with all this stuff, babe. I'm just glad you and Steve have each other, this time," is your understanding retort. "And anyway, you two will make it up to us eventually."
"Oh, yeah?" he drawls, arm around your waist giving you a cheeky squeeze. "Have anything in mind already?"
"Actually, yeah. Earlier today, Connie, Anita and I talked about maybe doing a trip – all of us couples together," you retort simply and slip your hand into the back pocket of his jeans. "We could rent a house close to the beach and go for a long weekend."
Pleased, Javi hums, "Sure. I like that plan. Could be fun."
You conceded that you were sure it was a ways-away out, and while you both walk around the corner, keeping to the sidewalk, you muse, "All the Mano Dura stuff is really only revving up too, so I can imagine you're both going to be juggling that as well."
Unintentionally veering him back onto the work topic, Javier ends up talking through his thought process and concerns the rest of the walk to his place. By the time he's unlocking the door and chivalrously holding it open for you, Javi is really on a roll.
"—Once we get things settled, and the extra funding we asked for the field op teams comes in, we'll be able to take a backseat and let our ASACs manage," Javier is remarking as you enter through the entry door through the laundry room before him, allowing him to close and lock it behind himself. "It's time for Segarra to sink or swim, and Steve's guy seems more than capable to handle his end, so we should be finally able to focus on big-picture work. Really, we shouldn't have been doing so much shit ourselves up to this point, especially since we're supposed to be the bosses—"
He's just loped into the main living space and placed his keys onto the counter when his verbal train of thought halts after turning towards the living room. Well, specifically at the sight of you pulling your flouncy pale blue and green floral-patterned bohemian dress off and tossing it onto the chair adjacent the couch before toeing off your favorite leather flats and look over at him alluringly.
You're only in a thin nude lace bra and tanga-style panty now, already undoing the front closure as you brazenly suggest, "Why don't you come over here and show me who's boss, querido?"
It's hot, and oh-so-naughty how you can spin his lust up in a nanosecond and have him simmering with incandescent urge, especially with this kind of taunt delivered as an appeal for him to dominate you. And the sultry smile in your eyes as you shed your bra and toss it over at him to land on his shoulder, for good measure? Proceeded by the spritely way you fold your arms behind yourself and jut your bare breasts out proudly at him?
Rapacious desire ignites in his gut and has him rushing over to sweep you up into his arms. A delighted squeal bubbles out of you as he carries you to bed, making you laugh infectiously from his nippy nuzzling – impishly grazing his moustache along your neck and collarbone before he tosses you onto the soft surface. You bounce and giggle as you prop up onto your elbows to bat your lashes sultrily at him.
"You wanna get bossed around, do you?" he rumbles in a velvety tone as he takes his boots off and quickly divests of his belongings before unbuckling his belt and showily yanking his dark blue and white vertical pinstriped shirt – the one you love because it clings to his shoulders and pecs perfectly and accentuates his muscled biceps deliciously – out of his jeans waistband before swiftly beginning to undo the top three buttons.
Giving him a salacious smirk, you purr, "Mmhmm, that's right, mi patrón—"
"Fuck…" he eyes you with that smoldering, chiseled regard that always makes you tingly, before he growls, "Take those panties off right now, then, you little tease," as he deftly works the rest of the buttons undone and shrugs out of the shirt before pausing at plucking the button on his jeans when you defiantly remain sat up on your elbows and do not strip your underwear off as he'd ordered. Raising a challenging brow at you, he puts his hands on his hips and grumbles, "Are you really going to defy me, malcriada?"
You give him a mischievous grin and lilt, "Maybe?"
He grunts, giving you a snarky look as he leans over and yanks you down to the end of the bed by your ankles. Your squeal of surprise and the way you bite your lower lip makes him smirk before roguishly husking, "Do I need to tear them off of you and bend you over my knee for a spanking, traviesa?"
"I really like these, so no – no tearing, please," you chime as you draw your knees up and plant your soles flat to the bed, splaying your legs wide open as you toy with the waistband suggestively while his gaze hones in on the damp spot your arousal has soaked into the crotch of your panties.
The way he flicks his dark brewed eyes up at you sends an excited tickle up your spine and makes your pussy throb when he stares assertively at you before ordering, "Take them off, and show me what's mine."
Arousal pulses at your center at his command, and heat zings along your nerve endings to harden your nipples while anticipation flutters in your tummy as you slowly work your panties down and off. You discard them to the floor and lay back so you can spread your legs open and caress your hands along your thighs.
Javi hums in approval, and you expect him to finish undressing and have his way with you, but instead his smoldering gaze intensifies as he keeps his hands at his sides and murmurs gruffly, "I told you to show me what's mine, tentadora."
Your breath skitters excitedly, and Javi's gaze holds yours before admiringly returning to your cunt, now flushed with arousal. The desire he stokes in you has your seam slick and clitoris thrumming with need. He doesn't have to elaborate what he means, and seeing as you started this little game, you're aching to have him, and are tantalized by him flexing his dominance.
Breathily, you part your legs more and glide your hands down to touch yourself, slick dampening your folds as you run your fingers down and part them like dewy petals. You use the fingers of one hand to spread yourself open while the eager digits of the other dip into your aching pussy wetly before tracing back up to rub delicious pressure over your thrumming clitoris.
The sight of you pleasuring yourself has Javi throbbing wantonly in the confines of his jeans, but he keeps his now clenched hands at his sides as you whimper impatiently for his touch.
"Javi—please," you whine, your touch not enough, and desire making you needy for him to be naked and pressed against you.
He doesn't budge, even when you arch your hips up slightly and squeeze your bare breasts together. No, he wants to hear the magic words before he continues stripping.
"Please…what?"
Your blush sears the apples of your cheeks and you bite your bottom lip hard before exhaling a frustrated huff.
"Please, take what's yours," you beg, slick fingers gliding through your damp sex before you caress your palms up to your apex, as you murmur, "Give me what you want, mi amor."
He feels that rapacious urge scorch up in him at your needy words, and with how you butterfly your thighs open to show him how soaked your pussy is now, Javier can't keep his controlling façade up – not with how quickly his hands move to undo the button of his jeans and zip down his fly before slipping his thumbs into the waistbands of both the denim and his cotton underwear to yank them both in one swoop down.
Watching him strip makes you smile. He catches it when he stands from shedding the last of his clothes and tossing them in a pile by the dresser.
"Hm, take what's mine, eh?" he drawls in that honeyed baritone that makes delight tickle in your core, especially when he stands with his hard cock to loom over you, like he's contemplating what to do to you first.
All you can do to not grin up at him is to nod as demurely as you can muster as you hum, "Mmhmm."
With a shameless smile, Javi suddenly scoops you up and prowls onto the bed with you squealing a silly sound as he stays propped up on his knees so you're only recourse is to wrap your legs around his waist and cling to his shoulders.
He loves how mirth lights your eyes while your expression quirks with delight against your will – how your pursing lips can't fight back the smile tugging them up, so with a faux-admonishing cluck of his tongue, Javi coos, "Why am I getting the distinct impression that you're really giving me what you want, and not the other way around, hmm?"
You snicker and daringly buck against him so he has to catch his balance by propping his arm sidelong, which allows you to use the momentum to topple him onto the bed so you can playfully roughhouse with him for dominance, as you chime seductively, "Because that's exactly the case, mi patroncito. It gets me hot when you get all bossy—"
"Oh yeah?" Javier croons as he easily pivots you both so you're on your back and his big hands have cuffed your wrists and pressed them down on either side of your head. The weight of him crowding you makes you shiver, and the exquisite heft of his cock nestled flush against your crotch makes you mewl involuntarily.
"Yes," you admit airily and smile when his soulful eyes crinkle affectionately at you, full lips pursing out cockily. Deciding to pluck at a naughty string in him, you purr, "And it makes me ache for your cock when you think you can command me, bebito."
That has Javier giving you that incandescent look just as he steals your breath with a voracious kiss. Your arousal hazes your mind just as his hand moves to cuff your wrists together above your head while the other possessively cups your cunt and grinds your clit with the pad of his thumb. Hips bucking at the contact, you mewl into his mouth when his tongue plunders it while you arch up into his warm, muscled torso.
Your brain is swimming in the pleasure of Javi dominating the hell out of you, so much so that you don't even feel shame when he breaks the kiss and leaves you gasping from the sudden thwack of his deft fingers wrapping around his cock and tapping it lewdly onto your drenched pussy in a very lascivious show of dominance.
"When I think I can command you?" is Javier's gruff croon, dark brewed eyes molten with conviction as he makes his point again by gliding just the head of his cock through your folds before guiding it to slap wetly against your mound, deviously close to the hood of your clit.
You moan and writhe at the electrifying contact, so Javi purrs, "I think the ache you got for my cock has you forgetting who the boss is, querida. I'm gonna need you to use your words and beg for it, or else I'll just give you everything but my cock tonight."
Your skin is scalding from how crass-yet-authoritative he's being with you, winding your lust up into a tangle of desires that has you vibrating with arousal and pulsing with debauched delight.
"Please, mi amor—give it to me. Lo necesito. Te lo ruego. Por favor, mi rey. Seré tuya—will do whatever you command, just let me have it," you ramble with needy allure, eyes shimmering with how earnestly you're begging for him not to deny you the pleasure only he can give you.
Pleased beyond belief, Javi caresses his hand up to cup your chin to ground you to focus on his smoldering stare as he leans forward and husks, "Good girl," before kissing you chastely on the lips.
He lets you wrap your arms around his torso as he settles between your thighs and rolls his hips with delectable prowess to drive his cock into your pulsing sheath.
It feels so amazing to have him fuck into you – to stretch you open onto his thick, throbbing cock with every thrust, especially after all the foreplay and dirty talk. This feeling of passionate ecstasy always fills you, and the way you cling to Javi with every desperate stroke of him into you tethers him into being both grounded and alight. Nothing matters when you're both spun up like this, except for the ruinous euphoria you each feel build and build as the lovemaking crescendos.
There's nothing more gratifying to his pride than when you climax, going molten around his cock and frantic in his arms to cling to the sensations he's unleashed in you. You're so wild from the throes of pleasure that you muffle your sobbed moan into his neck before ferally suckling a greedy bite into the delectable spot.
"Fuck," Javier groans and feels his thoughts melt as his orgasm barrels loose from the knot of pleasure in his apex and has him clutching your waist as he pounds his cock into you before his thrusts stutter in rhythm and his release empties into your fluttering sheath.
Your toes curl at the sensation of his climax filling that deep, tender part of you only he can reach, leveling you to fall apart in his arms as all the strength dissolves in your body.
The warm and fuzzy heat of post-coital relief has you uncaring that you're warm, slick and sweaty under Javier while he lies on top of you in a spent heap.
"Eres pinche gloriosa," is Javi's husky, albeit drowsy praise as he props himself up on a shaky elbow before laboriously rolling off of you with an exhausted grunt.
All you can muster is an affectionate nudge of your forehead into his shoulder before Javi rumbles something wordlessly and encircles his arm to your waist in order to pull you to sidle against him.
The cool air from the undulating ceiling fan caressing your dewy forms helps lull you into a calm repose, where only Javier's warm skin and heady scent occupy your attention, until he nuzzles the top of your hairline and presses a kiss there.
"You feel good, querida?"
"Feel divine, chavón," you sigh, kissing his collarbone before you murmur, "I love you."
He exhales an approving grunt before patting your thigh encouragingly for you to tilt your face up to him. When you do, he caresses your cheek and swipes his thumb to wipe away at the perspiration that beaded along the edge of your orbital bone.
"I love you too, corazón."
Dreamily, you smile up at him unselfconsciously. Your eyes are glossy, lashes damp and lids heavy, so Javi curls his fingers to crook under your chin so he can admire your flushed features before he peppers soft kisses along your warm skin. You are content to simply bask in his doting grace.
Eventually, when you regain your wits and start to fidget, Javier gets out of bed to retrieve a damp washcloth and returns to give you his loving aftercare. And when he pulls the covers back for you to be tucked under them, you hold onto his forearm and tug him to slide in after you rather than be apart from him the few seconds it would've taken him to round the bed to his side and climb in.
Feeling too accomplished to care that you're in the spot closer to the doorway than he'd normally like, Javi stretches out next to you and happily lets you lounge curled up against him, with your head on his shoulder and hand caressing languidly along his chest.
"So…at the risk of sounding clingy, I'm really going to miss you," you find yourself volunteering in a murmur, already frowning at yourself as you amend it by rationalizing softly, "I mean, the other trips were much shorter—"
Javi cups your jaw and makes you melt when he kisses you, snuffing the insecure ramble before it could start.
Resting his forehead to yours, he sighs, "I know, since I feel the same way," before stating flatly, "It's gonna be a lot of meetings. Hell, all the damn travel from island to island will be the worst of it. Not to mention all the political jockeying and face-to-face conferences with officials. Wish I could just delegate it to someone else."
You pout, seeing the weariness in the corners of his eyes, so you sit up and caress your touch over his brow, murmuring as you trace your fingertips over his forehead, "Those are the pitfalls of being the boss man, hermoso."
He exhales deeply out his nose and closes his eyes, letting you soothe him with your affectionate touch before he mumbles, "I'm going to miss you so much, it's ridiculous."
When he opens his eyes again, he relaxes visibly when you lean forward and kiss his full lips tenderly before playfully scratching into his unruly hair, while you lilt in a singsong, "You'll just have to be a good boy, get your work done, and hurry back so I can have my way with you."
His laugh is warm and raspy as he loops his arms around you to roll down into the pillows together so he can shower you with ticklish, moustache-grazing kisses to your cheeks, jaw and neck while you giggle and try to fend him off by tickling his sides.
After you both settle down in the warm bed together for the night, Javier conks right out, breathing deep and calmly on his back while you're snuggled at his side, with your head on his chest. The quiet of the room and the undulating breeze coming from the curtain-covered windows helps your mind wander for a bit, still charged with wayward thoughts. The ones that keep looping back for consideration revolve around Javier unperturbedly falling back into the chase – of being hungry for the hunt. He couldn't seem to quit the DEA for good, let alone sit back and relax in his position of authority. You remember his promises, both from when he was a field agent and when he was the Special Agent in-Charge in Bogotá. How he'd been unable to keep any of them, no matter how hard he tried.
And now here you are, recalling the ones he'd made to you when he'd begged for another chance.
"I came here for you."
He'd professed coming to Puerto Rico to be with you. That he didn't give a damn about the job, and if you wanted, he'd quit. How he'd do whatever necessary to earn your trust. That all that mattered to him, was you.
You don't want him to quit, or to not give a damn about his work. But you'd be lying if you weren't worried that old habits were intent to die hard when it came to him getting swept up in the politicking and the disappointment – that he would fall prey again to the corrupt jockeying and manipulation of compromised leaders, both here and stateside.
Still…in your heart, you felt things were different, and didn't want to give up the peace of being with him, on both your own terms.
"Everything we wanted is still possible…I want it all, with you…"
An effervescent palpitation has your heart skipping a beat at the echo of his words, and you feel centered.
With a smile, you close your eyes and let the strong thrum of his heartbeat help lull you into sleep.
Early the next morning, you wake up to Javi sitting on the foot of the bed with a cup of coffee he's nursing while in only a pair of blue-striped pajama bottoms hanging low on his hips. From how his shoulders are slumped, you can tell he's half asleep, so you maneuver up to crawl over to him in order to slink up against his bare back. He grunts sleepily and takes a deep inhale before reaching his free hand backwards to hold you while you loop your arms around his midriff and kiss the nape of his neck.
"Want me to make you something to eat?" you whisper as you nuzzle the side of his head when he tilts it back and leans more into you.
"I'd rather have you," he tells you unabashedly as he turns to kiss you softly on the lips.
You hum into his coffee-flavored mouth before leaning back to sassily pet your hand over his tousled hair as you order, "You're going to have both, and you're going to like it, guapito."
Javier has no objection to that.
You both get in the shower together, have a great quickie under the hot water and against the warm tiles, and let the water rinse over your sated forms of the soap and sinfulness.
When you get back to the bedroom, you dry off and lie in bed to relish the little time you have left until Kike pulls up to get Javi before swinging over to Steve's.
Skin to skin, you savor his kisses and lovingly cuddle him, knowing how lonely – and empty your bed – going so long without him will be. Javier feels the longing building up in him already, and all he wants to do is get lost in this sensual moment, even though he doesn't have the time for it. You know it too, and prolong it for as long as you can.
It's only when you insistingly nudge him to start getting ready a few minutes later, that Javi begrudgingly goes to his dresser to grab his clothes. His things were already packed and waiting in the laundry room, thanks to you having surprised him with a respectable suitcase you'd purchased earlier the day before. When he'd come home from the gym and met you at his driveway after you'd dropped off Connie, Javi had been curious about the sleek piece of luggage as you carried it to his bedroom. You'd opened it as you'd razzed him about needing to level up from his well-traveled duffle bag, and had proceeded to iron an arrangement of suits and shirts for him. He'd been more than happy to enjoy your domestic doting, and had smirked when you'd shooed him away into the shower so you could continue picking out the ties and other garments he'd need.
Right now, though, he doesn't feel the need to rush to get ready, even when you're done pulling on your jeans and are tugging your shirt down as you head for the kitchen.
By the time he trudges down the back hall into the main room, dressed in dark blue jeans and a nice white button-down shirt with a breast pocket his aviators are currently folded in, you have a generous breakfast sandwich and a refreshed cup of coffee waiting for him at the kitchen's bar top.
His stomach growls, spiting him, and you smirk as he sits at the stool and eats with gusto while eyeing you ruefully.
"You know, you're cute when you're grumpy," you can't help tease as you lean into the counter, opposite him.
Polishing off his meal, he quickly dabs at his mouth with the napkin before picking the dishes up and rounding the countertop, deliberately breezing by you to place them in the sink, as he gripes, "We had enough time to fool around some more, and you shot me down."
You scoff irreverently before whirling around just in time to catch him off guard and press him back against the sink's counter. Hands boxing him in so you can lean into him commandingly, you bossily tell him, "Javier Peña, you better not be getting surly with me before you're about to leave for over a week. You know how much I want to roll around naked in bed with you. Now quit being a brat, and give me a kiss."
He can't even stay surly, not at that, or the sultry look you're giving him.
His lips quirk into a smirk while he lets his moodiness out in a huff through his nose, then leans in to kiss you obediently on the mouth.
You suck on his bottom lip before grazing your teeth on the plump morsel, enjoying how he gasps excitedly and grips your waist as you pull back and imperiously smile up at his flushed expression.
Just as you're deliberating whether you can get away with kissing on him some more, you hear Kike pull up in the SUV outside, so you sigh and wrap your arms around him for a fortifying hug.
Once you've taken care of the remaining dishes and Javier's disposed of the garbage in the receptacle outside for trash pickup, you go to the bedroom to retrieve your scrunchie in order to swiftly put your hair up.
Javi's booted footfalls over the tiled floor approach from the hall just before he comes in and wraps his arms around you from behind. Exhaling, he kisses the top of your head before asking, "You're still spending the day with your dad?"
You nod, leaning into him before affectionately turning in his embrace and nuzzling his neck, humming before reluctantly stepping back so you can both exit back to the living room. "Yeah. He's going to D.C. for a while, so I was going to go food shopping and make dinner at his place," you remark and sigh whilst putting your hair in a ponytail.
He ogles your neck, and considers delaying leaving by pulling you against him so he can kiss from your jaw down the column of delicate skin. To nip a matching hickey like the one you left on him, and feel you shiver and cling to him. But you're hustling to get your shoes on and grab your purse, so he stows his raunchy desires and gets his keys, cellular phone, and wallet.
"That sounds nice," Javi muses, making you smile when his hand caresses your lower back as he escorts you through the laundry room, grabbing his suitcase and opening the door for you. "No Camille?"
"Nope, thankfully," you retort and watch as he locks up before smiling when he turns and quirks a derisive brow at you. "It's for both their benefits! I cannot stand her, and she has finally learned her place, is all," you insist, and Javi nods judiciously at your rationale while he takes your hand and escorts you out of the marquesina to lope over to the front curb where Kike is parked.
"Well, it sounds like it'll be a better time spent than what I'll be doing," is his deadpan before approaching the driver's side window that's rolled down, patting the frame to get the young officer's attention from the local tabloid magazine he's engrossed in, as he greets, "Morning, Kike!"
"Good morning, sir!" the jovial plainclothes officer retorts warmly before hastily folding up the magazine and stowing it in the door's cubby, then waves while greeting, "And good morning, Ms. Celina—"
"Ay, Kike. Just call me Celina," you razz him as you lean up to greet him with a kiss on the cheek through the open window. "Deja con las formalidades, ya," is your amused order.
"Okay-okay, se me olvidó," he chuckles as Javier opens the backseat door and places his suitcase in. "Did you like the mix tape?"
"Yeah, it had some cool tracks!" you retort and smile at Javi when he grunts and raises his brows curiously as he shuts the car door. "Kike gave me a mix tape with all the latest reggaetoneros that are hot right now."
"Ah," is his drawl as he loops your waist and pulls you close. "When are we going to perrear?"
"Javier!" you admonishingly hiss and swat his bicep haughtily, scoffing at his unabashed leer whilst Kike tries to hide his wry grin.
"Oh, that's right – you said when I take you to a club that actually plays reggaetón," he drawls as if you're talking about something innocuous, before he turns to Kike and remarks, "You'll have to tell me what the hot reggaetón clubs are so I can finally get her to dance perreo with me—"
"Alright, enough, beyako," you chastise sardonically and pinch his sides, grinning when Javier frowns at you using the naughty nickname in front of Kike, who is doing everything he can not to burst with a guffaw at his expense. You distract his umbrage by standing on your tippy toes to peck him on the lips before lilting, "Pórtate bien, y llámame."
He smirks at being told 'Be good, and call me.'
"I will," he murmurs and kisses you amorously before cupping your cheek and muttering, "You behave too, now."
Snickering, you kiss his palm and pull him in for a hug.
Once Kike has turned the SUV around while Javier walked you to your car, you two lock lips one more time before you hop in and pull out of the driveway to the street. You wave at Javi in the rearview once you see him get into the front passenger seat, and then drive away to head to your early morning errands.
Javier watches your little sedan drive off before Kike pulls away to coax down the block and turn the corner en route for Steve's house. He already misses you, and finds himself scenting his collar for the whiff of your perfume that clings to it.
"I gotta warn you, sir. Ms. Celina is going to have cacos drooling after her when you take her to bailar perreo," Kike remarks musingly, causing Javi to arch a brow dubiously at him. "Ella es una mamita sabrocita – all eyes will be on her at any reggaetón club, is all I mean."
With a dry grunt, Javier furrows his brow amusedly. "Trust me. I'm very aware," is his dry mutter, before he sarcastically warns, "And do not let her hear you refer to her as a mamita. Speaking from experience, she will let you have it and you'll have whiplash."
"Claro que no," Kike snickers and shakes his head sagely. "She's a chulería – una bichota bien wapa, so I would never pasarme así, sir. Definitely don't wanna offend her!"
Javier nods, picking up the gist of the slang-filled statement. After all, he's really had a run for his money in deciphering the bulk of the Puerto Rican slang Kike and Wilmer would fire off at each other in rapid conversation, and being out with you and witnessing your parrying of local colloquialisms you'd not used before in Colombia would often or not leave him inferring meanings, if not straight up asking you what a word meant.
Still, though, he'd heard bichote used to reference a drug dealer or criminal kingpin-type, so he had to ask, "¿Bichota?"
"Ah! Bichota as in a boss lady. A big shot woman – like, she's a cool, important lady," the younger officer explains as he pulls up to the front curb of the Murphy residence.
"I'm gonna need to find a 'Puerto Rican-isms' dictionary, for sure," Javier quips, smirking when the other man blows a raspberry and grunts in the affirmative.
He's not completely joking. Especially after the weeks of prep and briefs from undercover agents, who'd documented hours of audio recordings from dealers, traffickers, gatilleros and more throughout all their surveillance targets on the island. Thankfully Wilmer or Kike were always available to run questions by, and had been great helps to all local info for Javier and Steve.
The opening of the backseat door pulls Javi from his internal cataloguing. He turns to watch Steve chuck his suitcase in before climbing in and shutting the door while greeting, "Mornin', fellas. You been waiting long?"
"No, sir!" Kike assures as he pulls away from the curb once Steve's settled.
"Yeah, Kike here was just warning me about how I'll have to keep Celina close when I take her dancing here," Javier glibly jokes as he retrieves his aviators from his breast pocket and slips them on.
"Really? You do know Jav here is a real surly jealous type, right? So telling him something like that's only gonna get him stewing," Steve chuckles good naturedly as he leans forward to pat Javier's shoulder, and drawls, "We do not need a repeat of the Danvers incident, bud."
Javier scoffs and crosses his arms to keep his right hand from fidgeting with his exasperation at the mere reference. "Don't be an ass. That wasn't because I was jealous—"
"I'm sorry for mentioning it, sir," Kike genuinely offers as he drives, adding, "I didn't mean to sobrepasarme —"
With a reassuring pat of his shoulder, Javier assures, "Nah, you didn't. Don't worry. Murphy solo le gusta hablar mierda—"
"Hey, I don't talk shit," Steve interjects in a goading drawl.
"Oh, you're finally learning Spanish. Good for you, and about fuckin' time, hillbilly."
"Some of us are still capable of learning new things, pendejo. And do you kiss Celina with that filthy mouth?"
"She loves my filthy mouth. Maybe you should try it some time with your poor long-suffering wife—"
"Hey! My wife's off limits to your snarky remarks—"
"And Celina is off limits to your shit-talking commentary—"
"She ain't your wife yet, buddy. Once she is, then she's off limits."
Javier exhales testily and flips Steve the bird over his shoulder while glaring at the grinning blond in the rearview mirror. He arches his brow when Steve sits back and basks in having gotten the last word, or so he thinks.
"Look at him. Sitting so pleased with himself like he accomplished something," Javi deadpans to Kike in Spanish, who had managed to stifle his laughter during their juvenile back and forth. "Just loves to bust balls because his get busted at home."
Steve glowers at Javier's profile when Kike snorts amusedly at what he said, so he decides to prod his buddy some more. "Speaking of Celina," he drawls lyrically before remarking aloofly, "Wilmer told me he overheard Bozzi telling Vernon that she caught his eye."
That has the desired reaction.
Javier slowly turns around and tucks his chin down so he can glower at Steve over the rims of his sunglasses. "What?! When was this, and why are you only telling me now?" he grounds out from clenched jaw and tight lips.
Seeing the hickey barely concealed by Javier's shirt collar, he flicks his gaze up to see that dark fury start to fill his eyes, so, Steve dismisses, "Ah, because it ain't the first nor will it be the last time that anyone has the hots for your girl, Javi. No point in bringing it up—"
"Except to wind me up, you mean," Javi snaps back and huffily returns to sit facing forward in the front passenger seat.
"…All right, dick move on my part. I agree," Steve relents and busies himself with smoothening out the wrinkle in his green and white-striped polo shirt's collar.
"…What did Vernon respond to that asshole?" is the gravelly inquiry from Javier.
Steve looks at Javi's stare reflected in the rearview mirror before glancing at Kike, who's now just as invested in the gossip as Javi, so he exhales gruffly before answering, "Vernon told him something like, 'I'm pretty sure she's spoken for already. Or so go the rumors,' and Bozzi scoffed that there's no ring on her finger so she was fair game, as far as he was concerned."
That boils Javier's blood. But he only shows it with the hard etch of his scowling features and the way his biceps flex when he crosses his arms tightly across his chest.
"Acho, que canto cabrón," Kike remarks indignantly, not even batting an eye when Javi looks over at him, surprised. "Ms. Celina would never like that guy, so he's a pendejo for saying shit like that."
Chuckling in agreement, Steve cosigns, "I couldn't have said it better myself."
Javier cracks a lopsided smirk at that. He appreciates Kike being protective of you, and was glad when you both had struck up a platonic friendship after meeting when they'd picked you up from the dealership where you'd left your car to get serviced one morning. Since then, you would both chat buoyantly whenever you'd see each other and he'd given you his cell phone number in case you ever needed to get ahold of him if you couldn't reach Javier.
While he thinks about you the rest of the way they drive to the airport, you're leaving the video rental store now and hopping in your car to go spend the day with your father at his home.
You'd already stopped at the supermarket that carried Colombian food staples and picked up items for the meals you'd promised to make, so after a half hour drive to Dorado, you pulled into his driveway and parked across the open third-car garage. You confirmed with a quick peek as you rounded the car to get the groceries that Camille's luxury sedan wasn't in the garage, so with a relieved exhale, you retrieved the bag with the movie rentals and headed up to the front entrance.
The door was already open and your father was meeting you on the tiled front step to help you with the bags.
"How are you doing, tesoro?" he greets and kisses you on the cheek before taking the bags into the kitchen while you shut the door behind yourself before following.
"I'm good. How about you? Looking forward to going to D.C. for the big meeting?" is your retort.
He grunts wryly. "It's just a meeting. But I'll be there on lots of other business. What've you got there?"
At him gesturing to the bag in your hand, you reach into it and retrieve the three VHS rental movies and show him the stack so the labels are facing him. "I thought we could have a movie night. I haven't watched the third one yet."
The three movies are The Godfather, parts one through three.
Smiling broadly, your father is visibly pleased as he muses, "That'll take us the rest of the day to watch. Are you sure you're up for that?"
"Well we have to rewatch the first two parts to be reminded of everything before going into part three. It can also play in the background while I cook, no?" is your affable reasoning as you place the movies on the coffee table in the living room before returning to the kitchen to start unbagging the groceries.
He agrees, and soon you're both spending quality time together.
By nightfall, you're both engrossed with the final film while partaking in the leftover empanadas you'd made earlier.
You're on your fourth rum and coke, which pairs great with the empanada you're currently dabbing some hot sauce on while watching the drama, unaware of your father's pensive glance.
"I had the maid turn down the guest bed," he mentions as innocuously as he can.
You chew your bite and shift in your seat to look over at him. Swallowing, you retort, "I wasn't planning on spending the night, Pá."
You can see the furrow in his brow smoothen as he tries to not look judgmental. "I don't want you driving home so late. You've been drinking—"
Realizing why he's worrying, you wave him off, assuring, "I'm perfectly capable of driving. And I don't want to overstay my welcome."
He pauses the movie and frowns before weighing his options in how to respond. He seems to settle for, "I'd feel more comfortable if you spent the night, mija."
Finishing your empanada, you ruefully shake your head before washing it down with a sip of your drink.
"Unless Javier could come pick you up?"
Being a few drinks in, the indignant fire doesn't reach your eyes as quickly as it would've had he made the suggestion earlier. Deciding to relent, just a little, though, you muse impassively, "He's on a business trip."
Humming, he takes a long sip of his own drink before exhaling and attempting to capitalize on not being rebuffed on the topic like you'd done occasions prior. "Things are going well, then?"
You can't help sigh, because you truly do not want to argue with or snap at your father, but his constant need to broach the subject of your personal life aggravates you. So, you try to count to ten before placing your drink glass back onto the coaster on the coffee table before you answer him.
"I take it you haven't been able to get a rundown from anyone else on the matter?"
You turn to look at him directly, eyes frank as your brows quirk upwards in query.
He frowns, before responding in a mild baritone, "I'd rather ask my daughter about her life. Is that so wrong of me?"
You take a cleansing breath through your nose and let it out slowly before answering carefully, "Pá, I just don't want to end up arguing with you about my life. I don't want to be browbeaten by you, or feel like I have to defend myself—"
"I'm not asking you to, tesoro," he grumbles in a low tone, before pressing, "I just want to know you're all right."
"I am. But I know that's not all you want to ask, and I don't want to go down this road and end up with us getting upset," you tell him bluntly, crossing your arms and leaning back.
His jaw squares in impatience with you, but instead of snapping crossly like he would've in your youth, your father huffs and crosses his own arms to stare at you keenly.
"Just tell me one thing, and I won't broach the subject anymore," he proposes in his deep, raspy pitch. When you nod, his features relax minutely as he asks, "Does he make you happy?"
"Yes."
You responded without an ounce of hesitation, and the way your expressive gaze lit up with clear affection for this Javier Peña who makes you happy – as if he'd flashed across your mind's eye as you answered, made it easy for him to surrender.
With a hum, he presses the button on the remote so the VCR resumes the movie.
"Good."
You're pleasantly surprised.
When the movie ends a short while later, you surprise your father by agreeing to spend the night. So once you've packed the leftovers and washed the dishes, you kiss him on the cheek and go down the hall to the back guest bedroom.
Around the same time you're exiting the shower to get into a flowy nightgown and slip under the cool covers of the plush bed, Javier is just getting into his hotel room on St. Thomas.
After landing and spending most of the day getting shown around by Steve's ASAC, Sam Petersen, he was bone tired, and looking forward to just crashing. Tossing his suitcase onto the ottoman at the foot of the bed, Javi tiredly empties his pockets and places everything on the night stand before dropping down onto the mattress and kicking his boots off in order to lie back and stretch his aching muscles. Lulling his head to the side, he sees the alarm clock lists it being just after 11:45pm.
Even though he'd warned you he probably would get in too late to call tonight, he wished he could hear your voice before bed. Deciding he didn't want to risk waking you up, he lumbers up off the bed and starts stripping on his way to the bathroom. One nice hot shower a few minutes later, and he's trekking back into the cool airconditioned room in just a towel, yawning noisily as he unzips the suitcase and flips the top open in search for some boxers or pajama bottoms to wear to bed.
The exhaustion clears from his eyes when he sees just how neatly you've packed everything. His toiletry bag is snug in the center while two pairs of suits are crisp and folded just right that all he need do is put them on hangers, the dress shoes were buffed and shined, and everything else was tucked and rolled for easy arranging. Even the soft cotton dark gray boxers you packed were arranged right on top of the main folded pile, so he wouldn't have to rifle for them.
Seeing as St. Thomas would be their base of operations for the next few days, Javi goes to work unpacking the items you took the time to iron and steam for him.
When he gets to the assortment of button-down shirts you packed for more casual workdays, he's surprised to find a square envelope hidden underneath them. Placing the shirts on the dresser, he picks up the envelope, opening it and finding a crisply folded sheet that looks like was carefully pulled from the planner he's seen you write reminders in.
Unfolding it, he finds a note, written in your lovely handwriting.
Javier,
Since you'll be busy and likely unable to chat much while you're away, I figured I'd write you an important reminder: I love you, with all my heart. And everything you do, it matters. I'm proud of you, and I'll be thinking about you, and wondering how I got so lucky to have you.
Please, be careful, and give yourself grace. Especially if you find yourself in a moment of frustration. I know how invested you can get when you're on the case, so just remember that you're not alone in it. And let Steve take on some of the stressing!
Missing you, chulito.
Soñaré de ti, mi amor. Sueña de mi, mi cariñito.
Love,
Celina
Heat fills his chest, making his heart feel full and immense at your words. It's then, when he's about to tuck the note back into the envelope, that he notices there's something else inside of it. Slipping it out, he ends up staring at the snapshot.
It's a photo of you, posed sultrily – sat at the foot of your bed, in only the nighty with the slit up the thigh. And from the looks of the angle the photo was taken, he realizes you must've found a timer on the Polaroid camera and set it on the dresser to snap you while you struck the sexy pose.
Completely floored, he's so lovestruck that it takes him a second to realize that the soft garment that the envelope was placed on is actually the silky nighty you have on in the photo.
He picks it up and brings the delicate garment to his nose. It's laced with the scent of your skin, with hints of your sweat and the fragrance of your body lotion, as well as the lingering traces of your soap, fresh smelling laundry detergent and fabric softener. A smile warms his face when he realizes that's what you meant. That he can dream of you because he'll have your alluring scent with him as he drifts off to sleep.
Tossing the towel away from his waist to plop into the bathroom's tiled floor, he quickly pulls on his boxers and goes to stretch out on the bed with the treasures you slipped into his suitcase. The look in your eyes in the photo is dazzling and flirty, and your smile is cheeky yet sexy.
Javi wonders when you would've taken it, and his mind whirs through the recent moments that have passed between you both – suddenly remembering you'd been wearing the silky nighty the late evening he'd come to spend the night at your place after a very long day of being holed up with tax officials in Hacienda, the Department of Treasury of Puerto Rico.
The local government had cleared the DEA's request to review any and all flagged income tax accounts suspected of possibly acting as shell corporations for money laundering, as well as the list out of those that had come up in property seizure documents across the Caribbean region that had so far been catalogued by the forensic accountants. He'd spent almost twelve hours in the building, and during one of the coffee breaks, he'd called you to check in. You'd managed to cajole him to come spend the night at your place since it was much closer to Hacienda. And since he'd driven himself that day, he was more than happy to agree.
You'd been in your silky robe when you'd answered the door late that night, and he'd been so exhausted that you'd towed him to your room, stripped him of his clothes, and herded him to bed. With the lights shut, you'd curled up against him under the covers when he'd looped his arm around you and held you close, and your warm skin and the soft scent of your hair had lulled him into a deep slumber. He hadn't realized you were in the sexy nighty that had become his favorite of them all until the next morning when you'd stirred him awake with a gentle kiss to his forehead before lovingly caressing his relaxed features and liltingly murmuring his name. His eyes had dreamily gazed up at you, focusing on your mussed hair and how the early morning rays spilling in from the hall framed you, sat at the edge of the bed.
"Javi, it's almost 7. Do you have any early meetings?" you'd murmured, gliding your palm along his deltoid, bright eyes and fresh features bare, with only affection radiating down at him.
He'd stretched to roll onto his back, reaching his hand to cup your knee as he shifted up on his elbow and stifled a yawn before mumbling in a raspy husk, "Mmmph, yeah. A very important one," before seamlessly whisking you up and over him to sprawl onto the bed. You squeaked in surprise and then giggled when he rolled on top of you before crooning, "That is, if you can pencil me in, jefa."
"Oh, I just so happen to have some time right now, agente," you purred teasingly as you'd wrapped your arms around him and kissed his smiling lips.
When you'd both gotten hot and heavy, you'd tried to shimmy the nighty up and off, but he'd stopped you. "No, keep it on," he recalls rumbling before kissing a path down your body in order to bury his head between your welcoming thighs.
Arousal curls hotly down into his loins at the memory of you crying out and gripping his hair when you'd orgasmed on his tongue and sobbed his name in a breathy whimper.
Javier had to slam the proverbial breaks on his raunchy thoughts racing off into reliving how you'd stopped him from smugly leaving you sprawled on the bed to instead order him to strip his boxers off before you pushed him down onto the rumpled covers and yanked your nighty off, climbed on top of him, and rode his cock while squeezing his hands after interlacing your fingers with his and holding on as you rocked each other into an incandescent climax.
Shimmying under the blanket, Javi shuts the night table lamp off and stretches out with your nighty draped over the adjacent pillow, and drifts off to sleep with your scent soothing him and the photo tucked against his palm and the silky garment.
It's the best night of sleep he's ever had while away from you.
You, on the other hand, did not sleep very well.
Waking up with a slight hangover, thanks to how stiff your father pours drinks, you'd slithered out of bed and took a hot shower to try and revive yourself. Thankfully, by the time you'd wandered down to the kitchen, he'd already made a pot of coffee and there were an assortment of pastries and fruit to choose from on the grand island counter. He was sat at the nice eat-in table by the wide window, reading his morning paper.
"Doña Lana can make you anything you'd like for breakfast. She's just running the washer," he remarks without glancing away from the Op-ed he's skimming.
"That's alright. The coffee and this pastelillo de guayaba will be more than enough," you retort smoothly as you pour yourself a cup and pick up the pastry to go sit at the table with him. "What time is your flight?"
"Just before noon," he answers and folds up the newspaper to set it aside so he can sip from his own mug, eyeing you over the rim.
The respite of having a nice cup of strong coffee and a deliciously flaky and sweet pastry in a comfortable silence is short lived when he clears his throat and finally says what he's wanted to say for a while now.
"I'm really glad we've been spending more time together, tesoro. I was hoping you'd be open to getting together when I get back? Perhaps a dinner or outing, that doesn't exclude Camille?"
You silently seethe and count to ten as you finish your last bite. Washing it down with a long sip of coffee, you busily dab the napkin to your lips and use it to dust the powdered sugar from your fingertips.
"I'd like to keep this up, Pá. But I can't agree to that and be expected to grin and bear her," you tell him honestly, trying to keep all emotion from your tone.
He absorbs that, before crossing his arms and giving you an intense stare.
"All she's wanted is to be considered family, and she's done nothing but be supportive of us catching up for lost time…but I can tell it's begun to upset her, being excluded. It would mean a lot to me," is his bass-filled petition, his brows furrowing hopefully when you don't immediately scoff or shake your head. "You could invite Javier along—"
"Let's not get carried away," you finally sigh and idly brush the rogue strands of hair back from your face. You see a flicker of disappointment etch his features, so you dramatically huff before deflating back in your chair, then clear your throat before graveling, "Hmph…"just when I thought I was out, you pull me back in!""
Your father cracks a broad smile at that before chuckling, "That movie was terrible."
"Right?! I was so surprised by how bad it was," is your irreverent comment, snickering as you lean forward to prop your elbow on the table, "It did have some decent one-liners, though."
He grunts, before quoting, "Never hate your enemies. It affects your judgment."
Laughing, you quote back, "Never let anyone know what you're thinking."
He laughs along, but then surprises you when he reaches his hand out to affectionately squeeze your propped up forearm, before gazing warmly at you, as he quotes, "A man who doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man."
It takes you off guard, to hear him quote that line. Truthfully, it disarms you, so you lean back and take his hand.
Just like when you were little, his hand dwarfs yours, and a heartstring tugs in your chest as you remember how much you'd loved walking with your father, holding his hand.
"Ok. I'll think about it," you murmur and give his hand a squeeze.
When you hug him goodbye a short while later, you wish him luck on his meetings, and he promises to call you once he's back on the island.
Both you and Javier have such hectic days that you don't get to check in with each other until very late that evening.
He's just returned to his hotel room and begins eagerly stripping his blazer and yanking his tie loose when his cell phone starts ringing in his pocket.
Retrieving it and pressing the button to answer, he props the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he toes off his dress shoes and empties his pockets. "Hello?"
"Hey, hermoso. It's not too late to chat?" your smooth lilting voice queries over the line.
"No, I actually just got back to my room," he assures as he sits to lounge back against the headboard of the bed. Stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankles, he exhales relaxedly before asking, "You missing me as much as I miss you, preciosa?"
He hears you snicker flirtatiously before musing, "Depends on how much you're missing me."
"Ah, if you're gonna be that way, I'm just gonna get ready for my date with the sexy little thing I got waiting in bed with me then," Javi tauntingly croons as he pulls out your photo from his wallet left on the nightstand and smirks when you make a grumpy little sound of disapproval.
"Well, stud, go right ahead. I have my own date in bed too," you counter sarcastically.
Grunting, Javier mutters flatly, "See, when you say it, it's way too believable—"
Snickering dismissively, you deride, "Hah, mira quien habla. I told you they used to call you el guapo descarado around the embassy. I never got such an apodo—"
Quippingly, Javi cuts in, "No, you were 'that ferocious little minx' and 'a knockout', oh and 'drop-dead gorgeous'—"
Your dramatic sigh has him pausing to grin, then chuckling when you grumble, "Tan chavón."
Humming innocently, he drawls in a gravelly murmur, "The only thing I got a date with, is your sexy nighty. I slept like a rock last night thanks to it."
"Ah, so you found it," you chime coolly, and he can hear the shifting of the covers as you pull the quilt back and slide under it. "I'm hoping to have a better night's sleep thanks to cuddling your shirt tonight."
"You spent the night at your dad's?" he queries as he unbuttons his dress shirt open and pulls the tails loose from the waistband of his slacks.
"Yeah. I ended up having a bit too much to drink, so I crashed in the guest room," you reply before redirecting, "So, how's St. Thomas?"
"It's alright. Sunny, but hot. Luckily, we've spent a lot of time indoors, dealing with CBP's Office of Field Operations here," is his smooth reply, hand idly brushing the curls of hair fanning over his forehead back as he grouses, "They're being pains in the ass."
"Oh?" you query curiously.
"Yeah, there's always been inter-agency static between DEA and CBP. They're wanting to red tape us to a point of impatience. But really, they're just trying to keep all the action for themselves, and don't want DEA oversight," he explains before huffing his aggravation from his tone, to add, "Anyway, we got one more day here, then it's off to St. John."
"Hang in there, boss man," you quip impishly, before asking, "Did you find the envelope?"
"Yes, I did. And you're a wicked little tease for slipping that photo in," he retorts with a smooth, canela-dipped rumble in his voice.
You giggle, and it makes that funny tickle flutter heat in that spot behind his sternum.
"Just a little reminder of what you have to come home to, guapito," is your smug purr before you end up stifling a yawn. "So you know, I meant everything I wrote. And I really miss you, Javi."
That radiating feeling throbs in his chest at your words. He's carried your letter in his pocket all day, sneaking it out of the envelope to skim it whenever he had a free moment. Picking it up from where he placed it down on the nightstand, he rests it over his chest as he stares at your photo.
You hear some rustling on his end of the line, and wonder if he's even read the letter, when he clears his throat and husks, "It means a lot. No one…I've never…It just means everything to me." Obviously fumbling with articulating his feelings, Javier huffs at himself before declaring, "When I get back, I'll do a better job, showing you how much it means to me, querida."
Clutching his pillow to your chest, you smile whimsically as you tell him, "I love you, Javi."
"I love you too, corazón," is his raspy murmur, before he purrs, "Dulces sueños, mi amor."
Feeling effervescently besotted, you susurrate, "Soñaré de ti, mi cariñito."
You both wish each other goodnight before hanging up, and sleep finds you both easily thanks to each other's scent lulling you into sweet slumber.
You do dream of Javier.
The sound of the tropical night filters into your dream as you're sitting in the passenger seat of the Cadillac. Javier is in the driver's seat, with one hand steering the wheel while his other arm is draped over the back of the bench. The scenery through the front windshield is of a winding, Puerto Rican rural mountain road at early twilight, but in the back windshield, it's the sunset sky over the Medellín cityscape. Javier's hand moves from the back of the seat to rest on your thigh, and when you look down at it, you're surprised to see your belly is swollen under a flowy black peasant dress with red embroidery on the hem and down the front collar.
You look over to find Javi smiling at you as the orange and blush-toned hues of twilight illuminate his profile. When you go to lean close to him for a kiss, you're suddenly jolted awake by your alarm clock blaring.
Scrambling over to shut it off, you flop onto your back and sigh confusedly up at the ceiling.
No dawdling. Doctor's appointment awaits.
The details of the dream were already fading into the fuzzy recesses of your mind by the time you're arriving to the waiting room. Signing into the log sheet at the front desk, you entered and found the space filled with a lot of other patients waiting their turn. You were surprised the office was busy so early first thing in the morning, but quickly abandoned wondering about it to instead let your anxious thoughts preoccupy you.
Another lab screening is due, so bloodwork as well as the usual checkup. Nothing's come back since the last one, so not likely to have any changes until the specialist reviews—
They call your name, and you snap out of your internal worrying to get up from the seat you were able to snag nearest the door.
It was for the best, you thought, to continue not mentioning your health concerns to Javi. You figured that until they were able to give you a definitive diagnosis, it would be pointless to make him worry. Sure, you also didn't want to spend too much time fretting about all the 'what ifs' that had already plagued you for months, but there was a small part of you that was already settling into being resigned towards what seemed like an inevitable outcome.
You didn't want to say it out loud, though. Not yet.
After taking several vials of blood and tagging them for analysis, your doctor charted your current weight and asked you about any irregularities in diet, if you'd been fatigued or feeling off.
Confirming that aside from still not menstruating, you felt fine, she asked, "And you're still sexually active?"
"Yes," you answer, worrying the leather strap of your purse between your hands.
"And it's been with the same partner?" she inquires, and at your nod, she neutrally asks, "Unprotected sex?"
"Yes," you confirm, tone a little tight.
"Hmm, well, I'd like to test to make sure you're not pregnant. I'll note it on the lab form as well," she clinically details as she scribbles just that on the form. "As usual, I'll call you with the results. In the meantime, keep your routine, and be sure to take plenty of vitamins. Especially with this flu that's going around."
You nod and thank her, still on autopilot from compartmentalizing the anxiety and dread the visit whips up inside of you.
A few minutes later and you're back in your car, feeling the pressure from worrying all morning begin to dissipate. Driving out of the parking lot, you cruise through the increasing street traffic as rush hour starts to congest the metropolitan roadways.
The radio is on your favorite station, and the morning program is recapping the latest local news when you notice that the car is starting to shake oddly.
Suddenly, just as you pass the traffic light of the intersection, you feel a sharp lurch before the undercarriage of the car slams roughly down on the pavement, as if you'd just hit the mother of all potholes. But then you hear metal grinding against asphalt, and immediately stop the car, only to find you can't turn the wheel to try and pull off to the nearest curb and out of the way of traffic.
Frantically, you keep trying to force the wheel, but it isn't until a bystander on the sidewalk rushes over and waves at you that you lower your window and hear him tell you that you're driving on the axel because your driver's side tire came off.
The next few minutes is pure chaos as car horns blare at you and impatient drivers zoom around your disabled vehicle into the opposite lane, which then causes a traffic bottleneck in the opposite direction you were driving.
After climbing over your center console to exit through the front passenger door, you manage to see the damage for yourself.
"Oh my god," you gasp at seeing that indeed, your entire tire – rim and all – came off the axel and was flung at the corner of the intersection.
Several calls later, and the police are detouring traffic while a tow struck is hitching your car to its flatbed to be transported to your dealership. With your work tote, workout bag, and purse in hand, you accept the tow truck driver's ride to the dealership. Realizing you're going to be very late for the manager's meeting, you get your cell phone from your purse and call Ellis.
"—Holy shit! Are you ok?!"
"Yeah, just a little thrown off. It doesn't look like I'll make it in time, so could you do me a favor and take any notes for me? Devon is in the Operations review so I—"
"No worries, kid. I got you. It sounds like it's gonna be another budgetary thing anyway," he assures and promises to give word to Olga so she can relay the news to Devon once he's back in your department.
The dealership is baffled when you explain to them what happened, and insist there's no way your recent service could've caused such an issue with your tire. Still, they agree to expedite the repairs and do a full diagnosis to see if anything else is wrong with your vehicle.
Unfortunately for you, they don't have any loaner vehicles available, so you're just about to ask them if they can call you a taxi when you remember that Kike had given you his cell phone number.
The congenial plainclothes officer is pulling up to the dealership not even twenty minutes later.
"Chacho, that sounds very scary!" he remarks, shaking his head empathetically after you tell him what happened. "If you need a ride later, I can take you home—"
"No, don't worry. While I waited, I called my friend to cancel plans we had for tonight, but she didn't let me and offered to pick me up," you reassure, smiling as you thank, "I appreciate it, though! I promise to call if I'm stuck for real."
"Ok, very good," he intones, as if satisfied, driving through morning traffic all the way to La Avenida Chardón where the U.S. Courthouse and Federal building are. During the drive, you ask him about how his training exercises went, and he jovially tells you how he's progressing and should be snagging the tactical ops certification in a month or so.
While you're hearing about the training Kike has yet to complete, Javier is standing under the shady canopy in front of the luxury store's display window, admiring the different, glitzy jewelry options arranged on the shelves and stands. The promenade is busy with tourists and locals alike, out enjoying the balmy Caribbean morning.
Just like that previous time wandering the jewelry district in Bogotá, Javier was perplexed by the variety of options – at the daunting number of rings one could possibly choose from. He was just internally admonishing himself for not having peeked into your jewelry box prior to see what kinds of rings – if any – you wore, for inspiration, when Steve approached his right side and hummed in goading wonder to get his attention.
"Well? Any of 'em catch your fancy?" he drawls as he squints at a very gaudy canary yellow diamond ring.
Grunting, Javi pushes his sunglasses back into place over the bridge of his nose before glancing over at Steve. "That's the thing: I haven't seen anything that feels like 'the one' – which as I say it out loud, sounds dumb," Javi mutters before looking back at the display.
Cocking a brow curiously, Steve remarks, "I mean, you were engaged once before—?"
"I didn't pick out that ring," Javi cuts in matter-of-factly, and Steve raises his brows in confusion, so he explains, "When we'd decided on needing to get hitched, Lorraine showed me an ad for the engagement ring she saw at the local jeweler's that she liked, so I got it and went to ask her father for permission. Showed him I already had the ring, so no one would suspect," he trails off before absently brushing the perspiration beading at his forehead. Running his hand to sweep his rogue curls back, he ends up shrugging, deadpanning, "I have no clue what she would like."
"I mean, when in doubt, a simple, big ole diamond ring should do the trick," Steve razzes and claps Javi on the back good-naturedly.
"No shit," Javier scoffs, griping, "But gold band? What shape diamond? I just don't know…"
Humming sympathetically, Steve was going to suggest maybe asking one of your close friends for help ring shopping, when a car pulled up to the curb and honked at them.
"Our ride's here," Javi mumbles as he walks by Steve, gesturing for him to hop to it. "Let's get this nonsense over with."
They both get in the SUV to be driven over to the U.S. Customs field office, and all the rings and twinkling diamonds fill his head as they drive to their appointment.
You're in desperate need for a break.
Once you'd gotten to the building, you'd spent the rest of the workday playing catchup. All your meetings had to be rescheduled and you hadn't had a moment to even grab coffee or a snack for lunch, so by the time 2pm rolls around, you're famished. Luckily, the conference call you had with a counterpart at the D.C. federal office got rescheduled for later in the week, so you decided to rush down to the cafeteria and get something to hold you over until dinner.
You've just sat down with your little tray at the table closest to the floor-to-ceiling-length windows that overlook the interior courtyard between the Federal and U.S. Courthouse buildings when you here a pair of leather-soled shoes clomping towards you.
"Well now, having a late lunch, signorina?"
You turn to see Agent Bozzi in a light gray suit and pale teal dress shirt, sans a tie. His hair is swept back and his beard is groomed differently than you remembered, but that smug smile and his cunning gaze is still filled with promise of ulterior motives. He's holding a big cup of to-go coffee, and is standing in that obvious way someone would to nonverbally fish for an invite to sit.
"Yes, it's been a hectic day, so just needed a snack," you reply pleasantly as you can, without trying to be inviting or obviously aloof. After all, you really just want to eat your salad and fruit—
Bozzi goes ahead and slides into the empty chair across from you, nodding towards your meal as he muses charismatically, "Pretty disciplined snack. Never would've guessed you for enjoying the forbidden fruit."
Arching a brow, you retort, "This is a pear. No apples today, although, the pomegranate is believed to be the more historically accurate 'forbidden fruit' of legend."
"Huh. I didn't know that," Bozzi drawls in a bass-filled reply, thick brows knitting together almost bemusedly while you begin to eat your salad.
You can see the gears turning for him to try and come up with something else to continue in conversation, so you decide to redirect, "Well, I hope I'm not holding you up from whatever required you to get that big caffeine boost."
His eyes crinkle at his cup and he admits, "Nah, I just needed an excuse to kill some time before heading back over to the Courthouse building—"
Of course… you acerbically think to yourself.
"—been burning the candle at both ends with this task force operation. Never seen anything like it. I've heard of a neighborhood being run by the drug dealers in Jamaica, but in a U.S. territory?" Bozzi prods your interest then, so you pay attention to his unfiltered remarking of, "Can't trust local PD to get the job done, so gotta let the experts take back the block."
"A block?" you ask.
Bozzi is pleased with himself, that he was able to pique your interest with that. "Yeah. It's classified, so I can't say too much, but a small-time gang took over a whole neighborhood, and even drew a white line in front of a specific block as a point of no return for the residents and outsiders. No one can cross it but the gang," he explains boldly before shifting the topic. "Anyway, the whole thing reminds me of a ride along I did once with the Italian special forces team the FBI partnered with outside of Rome. You ever been to Italy?"
You have to do everything to not roll your eyes at him. He was laying it on thick, and you'd fallen in the conversational trap, so you relented and answered, "Yes. I spent a season in Naples while my father trained at the U.S. Naval base there."
"Ah, long enough to pick up enough Italian?" he flirts, brows smugly cresting up as he smirks charmingly.
"Enough to get by, yes," you reply and take a bite of your salad.
He seems to decide then to give up reeling you in, at least for the time being.
"Well, I'll get out of your hair. I'll see yah around, director," Bozzi remarks and seamlessly vacates the seat as quickly as he'd taken it, and smiles at you as he exits with, "Maybe we can grab a real snack sometime."
You watch him stroll towards the lobby with that cocky swagger, and internally glower. How presumptuous!
The Bozzi drive-by has you rolling your eyes as you finish your snack, taking the pear with you up to your office so you can nibble on it in peace.
If Javier knew the FBI special agent in-charge had tried to flirt you up, he would be in an even worse mood than he was currently.
U.S. Customs had agreed to let them review their own surveillance findings for the investigation into the drop sites found in remote strips of beach, but had insisted they wouldn't compromise their UC's or the targets they were currently embedded with.
"—For the last time: I don't give a shit about their aliases. All we want are leads on the local players so we can trace any of them back to the surveillance targets DEA has in Puerto Rico," Javi impatiently snaps, eyeing the official across the table like he's an obstacle begging to be moved with force.
Steve, on the other hand, is sat next to Javier and is rubbing his temples, shoulders squared in aggravation. "What Agent Peña here is saying, is we're not looking to mess with your undercover agents. We're just looking for cooperation on whether any of the contacts they've made have mentioned any partnerships with the trafficking players running the trade in Puerto Rico," is his patient insistence.
The irony of all this, which they wouldn't find out about until way after the fact, was that U.S. Customs didn't have a real foothold with the supposed underlings to the traffickers, because the targets were acting as decoys.
Junior Capsula had learned from the mistakes of Escobar, and he wasn't as big of a come mierda as the Cali Godfathers. So, he knew to insulate himself and his real partners away from public view. And after that clusterfuck of a bust back in 1988 during that Operation C-Chase, it became more obvious that no one was to ever penetrate the smoke screen created to shield true leadership of the Familia.
Then again, though, his syndicate wasn't technically part of it.
Still, that meant creating not only dummy corporations, but decoy bag men and trafficking liaisons. The days of smugglers using banks to launder money, as far as he was concerned, were over. And with the current setup he was slowly building, he was sure to grow his empire and remain incognito.
After spending all day chipping away at the red tape, Javier and Steve got the intel needed and a commitment from CBP to keep them in the loop.
By the time he got back to his room, Javi needed a shower to wash the exasperation and angst off. Steve had agreed to skip dinner in favor of unwinding over room service and a long-distance call with Connie, so Javi took the opportunity to pack his suitcase for the early flight in the morning to St. John before tossing himself onto the bed and popping the kinks out of his back.
Picking up your nighty from where he'd folded it on the pile of clothes going into the suitcase, Javi drapes it over his face and takes a deep inhale through the garment. Your scent warms his blood, and makes his impulses itch.
The cool air in the room caresses across his bare skin as he lies there in just the towel, eyes closed and thoughts going lustful.
You've just gotten home after being dropped off by Zoraida. Your muscles ache from the kooky workout you'd tried out before dinner, and now full, you feel like you're in desperate need for a nice hot soaking bath before crawling under the covers.
The bathtub is halfway full and you're just about to climb in to sit on the ledge and let your feet dip into the warm water when your cell phone starts ringing.
Rushing to retrieve it from the bedside charger, you answer it while adjusting the fluffy towel around your torso.
"Hello?"
"I really wish you'd packed a pair of your panties along with the nighty."
Scoffing a simpering laugh, you go lean back against the doorway so you can keep watch of the tub while it continues to fill. "As if I'd pack skanky panties into your luggage and run the mortifying risk of them searching your suitcase at customs!" you deride sassily, grinning when he grumbles contrarily at that.
"Tan chingona," he deadpans, before letting loose a ruminating exhale.
Humming curiously, you ask, "Something on your mind?" then add, "Bad day?"
"Just a ball-busting kind of day. Nothing worth mentioning," is his monotone gripe, before he queries, "How was your day, cariño?"
You don't really want to tell him about the chaotic day, especially the incidents with the car and Agent Bozzi, so you simply respond, "It was busy! And I capped it off by going with Zoraida to try out this Pilates thing, so after I finish this hot bath, I'm taking my tired ass to bed."
"Pilates?" he remarks on a grunt.
"Yeah, it's the latest workout, I guess. All about precise ranges of motion and they use this machine that kind of looks like a torture rack to stretch your muscles and make you hold into positions to strengthen your core," you tell him as you walk over and turn the faucet of the tub off. "I'm probably going to feel like I was beaten with a stick in the morning."
"Jesus, don't overdo it, baby," is his rumbling tut, but you can hear the lopsided smile in his voice when he adds, "I think you should just stick to our special regiment and let me work you into positions that'll have you feeling good, instead."
You snicker, "Beyako," and smirk when he chuckles cockily at your ribbing. "You guys are flying out to St John in the morning still?"
"Yep. We'll be there a few days. Steve's ASAC has a lot of meetings set up for us," he replies on a huffy sigh.
Pouting, you chime, "You can do it, gruñón. I believe in you."
Javi blows a raspberry at that. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, bravita. Now, go have your bath. I'll call you tomorrow night," is his rugged murmur that has electricity zinging through you and into your core. "Goodnight, mi amor."
"Goodnight. Love you, chulito," you croon sweetly before telling him goodbye.
Setting the phone aside, you toss the towel onto the floor and slip carefully into the warm bath water. You practically melt as the heat seeps into your aching muscles, as you luxuriate with the fragrant soap you lather yourself up with before dipping below the surface and popping up for breath before lounging backwards against the tub.
When you get into bed and fall asleep, you're hugging Javier's pillow, with his college shirt tucked around it. Your slumber is sound and soothing.
For Javi, however, his night's sleep is filled with sexy dreams of you.
Needless to say, he's ridiculously horny when he wakes up early the following morning. The urge lingers in his core, even after he takes the edge off in the shower. Sure, it doesn't help that his salacious mind can't stop thinking about you. That when he brushes his teeth, the image of you smiling brilliantly at him fills his mind's eye. And when he shaves, the hickey you left on his neck, while mostly healed, still taunts him with the memory of how wild you got as you reached bliss and reveled in the throes of pleasure that he gave you.
By the time he was riding down in the elevator with Steve to check out, he felt like an animal in a rut. And once they were waiting at the gate to board their hour-long flight, Javi was craving a cigarette bad.
"Fuck, you got any nicotine gum?" Javier asks Steve as he rifles through the front zip pockets of his suitcase.
"Yeah," Steve goes into his pocket for the pack he keeps on him. "Here, take 'em. I'm on the patch."
Javi takes the pack and immediately pops one of the gums out of the tray packaging. Tossing it into his mouth, he chews and pockets the rest in his jeans. "Thanks. I knew I forgot to pack something," he grumbles as he sits back and absently scrubs his hand along his jaw, exhaling soothingly when the familiar tingle disperses from the gum.
"Technically you didn't pack the suitcase though, right?" Steve jibes, twirling the pen he's plucked from his polo's breast pocket.
The smile crests his lips before he can even try to feign coolness. "She surprised me with it, then packed everything immaculately for me. But I haven't been relying on the gum as much lately, so I didn't have any lying around," he replies as he tucks the gum into his cheek and checks his watch. "How're Connie and the kids?"
Steve grunts lamentingly. "Olivia caught the flu from school, so Connie picked her up early and took today off to stay home with the girls. She's keeping Isabel away to avoid her catching it, which you can imagine isn't easy," he explains, frowning. "She said flu cases have been spiking the last week."
"Shit, that's rough. You're gonna have to make it up to her big time when you get back," Javi states the obvious and nods sagely at Steve, which always gets the gringo's goat.
"Says the guy who came down here to marry the girl he let get away, and he hasn't even gotten his shit together to pick out a ring," Steve instigates right back and cocks his eyebrow snootily at him. Seeing the comment needle Javier enough that he broodingly crosses his arms and huffs crossly out of his nose before staring at the terminal's foot traffic, Steve sticks his lower lip out as he grunts, before divulging, "I think you're overcomplicating the ring thing. Celina is not a flashy lady. I'm sure a nice, classic ring with a simple diamond in the middle will make her more than happy. And anyway, you can get fancy on the actual wedding band later on."
Absorbing that, Javi ruminates on it the rest of the day.
You, on the other hand, are doing anything but thinking straight right now. Not with how run down and sick you feel.
It started as a lethargic fatigue in your muscles that morning. One you easily chalked up to being sore from the workout the night before. You ignored it and went about your day.
The car insurance company was nice enough to expedite getting you a rental car to use while yours was still at the dealership getting repaired, and once in the vehicle, you'd commuted to the office. By noon, though, you'd started getting a congestion headache. You managed to make it to 3pm before you had to call it a day, feeling lousy and begrudgingly frowning when Devon had poked his head in to see you listlessly packing your tote as he remarked, "Oh no, you too, huh. Noreen caught the flu last week, and it's slowly been working its way through the building."
With your purse slung across your shoulder and tote hanging in your hand, you waved him away as you croaked, "I'm going to go home before I pass out. Now, stay away so I don't infect you—"
"Ah, I never get sick. I've been around everyone who's gotten the flu so far," he'd stated like it was irrefutable, before shrugging and insisting, "I'll cover that meeting at 4pm and have Olga adjust your calendar for tomorrow. You're definitely going to need bedrest."
You'd groaned, but thanked him before schlepping out as quickly as your aching body could. However, you'd gotten to your apartment and barely made it into your room before realizing you'd forgotten to finish an efficiency report due the beginning of the following week, and you hadn't packed your laptop.
Too drained to come up with a solution, you undressed and got into an oversized baggy t-shirt and crawled into bed. You had taken a dose of the medicine that was sure to knock you out soon, so you were hoping to get the ginger tea down to help settle your stomach before that happened. The chills had just started wracking through your frame as the house phone rang while you stood wrapped up in your throw blanket by the kitchen as the tea kettle heated up on the stove.
Croakily, you answer, "Hello?"
"Ay, no, you're sick too?!" Zoraida's dramatic lamentation sounds harried and raspy. "I woke up con la monga—"
"Join the club," you grouse, shivering. "And I was just at the doctor when she mentioned watching out to not catch it—"
"Ah! So you must've caught it and given it to me," Zoraida sarcastically chastises before breaking out into a coughing fit.
"Nena, it's flu season! Plus, wasn't that instructor last night sniffling?!" you lob right back, jolting when the kettle starts to whistle.
"Ah, es verdad. Que jodienda," Zoraida huffs over the line. "Anyway, I was calling to tell you I have to cancel going to the salon—"
"Obviamente," you laconically drawl as you steep the tea bag in the piping hot water you just poured before taking the mug back to your bedroom. "I was really looking forward to some pampering, too," is your gruff complaint. Once you've pressed the phone to your ear and gotten yourself situated in your blanket cocoon, you add, "This week ha sido una mierda, and it's not even over yet."
"Oh yeah?" your friend queries.
With the medicine cruising through your bloodstream, you're too sick to want to keep your guard up. Most of your energy was zapped out of you, so you end up venting about your week so far, not realizing how brashly detailed you're being.
"—Anyway, I'll stop ranting. Once we both feel better, we'll do the salon," you end up musing before you both wish each other speedy recovery so you can finish your tea and try to get some rest.
Javier tries to call you later that night, but you are dead to the world thanks to the medicine you took making you groggy. He figures you must've had a long day and fallen asleep early. But when he calls your cell phone, then your office line the next morning and gets no response? He starts to worry, and your home phone goes to voicemail after ringing for several beats. So, he calls Ellis.
The man picks up as he stifles a sneeze. "Hello?"
"Hey, It's Javier. Sorry to call out of the blue, but I haven't been able to get a hold of Celina," he explains, pacing the length of the hall just outside of the CBP conference room he and Steve had been in most of the morning. "Is everything ok?"
"Hey, Jav. One sec—" Ellis begins before being interrupted by another sneeze. "Ugh, sorry. Anyway, she's out with the flu. Probably sleeping it off. It's been running rampant in the building. Think I'm catching it too," is his congested explanation, before adding, "Poor girl's had a hell of a week as it is. I was planning on stopping by her place to drop off her laptop, so I can let her know to give you a call, if you want."
"Shit. Yeah, that would be great. Thanks. Hope you feel better soon too," Javi answers before they exchange goodbyes.
He's puzzled by the other man's comment, though. When you call him back later on that night, he's relieved to hear your voice and doesn't immediately remember to ask you about your week.
"—Hi, mi amor. I'm sorry I missed your calls!"
"It's ok, querida. Heard you're not feeling great," he replies, leaning against the banister of the patio he's currently stood on while the sun sets in the horizon across the way.
"I caught the flu. Minus Devon and Olga, almost everyone I know at the Federal office has been sick," you tell him in a tinny voice before coughing.
"Pobrecita," is his lament. "Olivia's been sick too. Shit's going around."
"Aww, bendito," you chime sympathetically. "The medicine I've been taking makes me drowsy, but I do feel much better than I did yesterday. Ellis came by a little while ago to drop off my laptop," is your comment before adding cheekily, "He told me you called him all worried about me."
"I did," Javi admits easily. "I'm glad you're feeling a little better—"
"Hey, Jav! You want another drink?" Steve interrupts as he shouts over from inside the house they're visiting.
"Babe, are you and Steve on a date?" you jibe impishly.
"No, you loquita," Javi snorts as he turns and gestures to Steve that he's still good with his half-filled glass of whiskey. "We're at his ASAC's place. Sam and his wife invited us over for dinner. I'm actually out on their patio. It's got a great view of the beach shore."
"Ah, that's nice! I won't keep you then—"
"When are you and I going to go to the beach together, eh?" Javi cuts in charmingly, before drawling, "Any secret playas we can go lay out on, just the two of us?"
You snicker, "Yes, there are a few, chavón. Hurry back so I can pack a beach tote and drag you along on a seashore adventure!"
"I'm holding you to that, preciosa. Now get some rest. Love you."
"Love you too, hermoso. Take care."
By the weekend, you're feeling almost 70 percent back to normal, with only a cough lingering now.
Your doctor had called with the lab results, and you were miffed to hear yet again that the results were 'normal' and requiring more observation, since none of the markers for thyroid, PCOS or pituitary issues were coming up that could explain the amenorrhea.
After also confirming you were not pregnant either, she surprised you when she asked, "Have you been feeling stressed lately?"
You'd been thrown off, but replied that you were of course stressed, but not in any significant way you felt was abnormal.
Deciding to schedule another checkup in a few months, she recommended you find ways to lower your stress, relax on exerting yourself in your fitness routine, and continue with vitamins to help build up your hormonal balance since you were probably still coming off being on birth control for such a protracted period of time.
The whole thing was aggravating you, which obviously wasn't helping lower any stress. Still, you compartmentalized the news and continued with your day, which was filled with playing catchup from your disastrous week previous, and looking forward to having that pampering session with Zoraida after work.
When you're finally basking in the lounge with Zoraida post-services, sipping your complimentary champagne, she decides to hit you with her nosy interrogating.
"So, when's your jevo back from his work trip?"
"He's flying back tomorrow night."
"When are we gonna meet him, hm?"
"Soon."
"Are we going to meet him before your dad does?"
"Probably."
"Are things progressing to him eventually meeting him, though?"
Scoffing after swallowing your sip, you gripe, "Girl, I don't know! I'm not following an itinerary or anything—"
"You said your dad's been insisting on meeting him, so I was just wondering," she defensively retorts, shrugging.
"…I did?" is your confused remark, brows furrowing.
"Yeah. The other night? You said your dad has been fishing for you to open up about him, and that he even suggested inviting him over to dinner—"
You truly don't remember that, and it's plain on your face.
"Coño, nena – no te recuerdas," she snickers, elaborating, "You were venting about how he's pulling on your heartstrings about it? Something about quoting The Godfather?"
"Hah, yeah, ok. Jeez, I'm telling you, that stuff had me groggy and drowsy," you ruefully shake your head and finish your last sip.
"So…does Javier know?"
"About my dad jodiendo? No—"
"No, not that. Does he know about the doctor's checkups?"
Blinking in shock, you realize you must've just rambled in your grogginess about everything that was front of mind for you.
"No. I haven't told him because there's nothing to really tell," you answer, sitting back in the lounge chair and running your manicured fingers over your freshly trimmed and styled hair absently as you confide, "I was hoping to know by now whether it's just residual hormonal imbalance from being on the pill for so long, but they think it's this condition—well, they don't know if it is because they haven't diagnosed any underlying causes—"
"I mean, you've been with only Javi this whole time, right?" Zoraida interrupts, and at your vacant nod, she presses, "Pues, since you've gone off the birth control. He's the only guy you've had sex with?"
"Zory, you know he's been the only one," you scoff, shifting in your seat while glowering at her.
"Well? Then maybe he's shooting blanks," she states like it's no big deal.
"…Zory," you begin, but then huff, "I'm the one not having a normal menstrual cycle—"
"Which your doctor said isn't totally abnormal—"
"Why are we even talking about this?!"
"Because! You are with this man who could get you pregnant any minute—"
"Por Dios—no he's not, because I'm more than likely infertile!"
You realize you've blurted it out and now sit there, feeling moored to the scary reality you've not wanted to acknowledge out loud.
Leaning forward and empathetically rubbing your arm, Zoraida assures in an unwavering tone, "You don't know that yet. Until you do, there's no point stressing yourself out over it."
Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you feel guilty. You're unsure why.
"Anyway…did I tell you, that I think Rafa is going to propose to Naida?"
The new topic overrides the mounting rumination in your head and refocuses you.
It's a perfect distraction that carries you to the end of the hangout.
By the time you get home, you feel wrung out. Sleep comes easily, and the next morning as you prepare to go into work, you're feeling recharged – albeit still dealing with the lingering respiratory stuffiness.
You get completely caught up at work, and even have time to plan for the upcoming projects that will require you to travel in the next month or so.
When the dealership finally calls about your car the following day, you're hopeful that you can get back to your normal routine. However, you're surprised when they ask for you to come down so they can speak with you in person.
After work, you commute over to the busy avenue the dealership and its auto shop are.
You are brought into what would be used as a leasing agreement room, and are perplexed when the assistant manager and the lead technician enter the room with a bunch of documents.
They talk through all the repairs, show you photos of all the damage they documented when the car was dropped off by the tow company, and show you after photos. Then, they hit you with it.
"…You're saying that the tire was tampered with?"
"Well, we can't say that for sure—"
"Señorita, I'm going to be frank. I have been arguing that the kind of damage cannot be from negligence on our part. If when you'd gotten your tune up, we'd improperly tightened the lugnuts, you'd have noticed first thing. The fact that the incident occurred almost a week after the service? In my professional opinion, someone loosened those nuts—"
Truly flummoxed, you continue to listen to them, and make arrangements for the insurance rep to meet with them in order to review their findings so they can document their case. Said rep contacts you, explaining since there is no police report detailing suspicion of the car being tampered with, they would write it off as a sudden mechanical failure, with the cause as inconclusive.
Still, the rep can't help joke, "After something like this? I'd kick all the tires before I get in the car."
You'd dropped off the rental and gotten your vehicle from the dealership, finding that it drove fine the whole way to work.
The entire ordeal is so jarring and filled with judicious paper trailing that you end up not realizing you hadn't heard from Javi until that afternoon.
Going to the floor the DEA department was on, you loped down in the direction of Javier's office, hoping to at least pop in and say hello if he's too busy. However, when you round the corner and head towards his office door, you're surprised to be stopped by his admin, who clears her throat before stating curtly, "Agent Peña isn't in today."
You turn, internally wondering if you were misinterpreting the edge of her tone when Steve comes around the corner from his own office, spotting you.
"Hey, hun! Got a minute?" Steve greets and asks, gesturing with a point over his shoulder for you to step into his office for privacy.
Nodding, you stride coolly over and make it a point not to look in the admin's direction.
Once you're in the tall blond's office, he closes the door and accepts your hug and kiss on the cheek hello. "Is Javi at the field office today?"
"Nope. He's out sick," Steve drawls in his sarcastic twanging tone. At your gasp, he puts his hands on his hips and shrugs comically. "I know. He was complaining about having a headache before we got on the flight last night, and then this morning he called saying he felt like absolute shit, so I sent Segarra to the field office while I cover stuff here," is his explanation. "I told him to stay in bed, because he did sound like complete crud."
Crud was an understatement for how Javier was feeling right now.
He'd cursed himself the entire plane ride to San Juan for stopping into the duty-free shops in the terminal before boarding the flight with Steve, certain that tourist in front of him getting rung up passed his germs onto him after coughing in his direction. By the time Wilmer drove him and Steve to their gated neighborhood, Javi's head felt foggy and his throat started aching.
Dead-tired, he'd dropped everything in his room before going to shower. He'd put on pajama bottoms and gotten into bed with the intention of calling you, but ended up rolling onto his side and passing out as soon as his head hit the pillow.
Shivering under his sheets now, with cold sweat clinging to his feverish brow, he gritted his jaw with exhausted aggravation. He was thirsty, but too tired and achy to get out of bed and go to the kitchen. Aside from ibuprofen in his medicine cabinet, he didn't have anything to take for his fluish symptoms.
Just as he began to doze off again, the distant sound of the deadbolt lock on the front door being jiggled mutedly caught in his hearing. It wasn't until he heard it definitively unlock that he jolted up in bed and instinctively rushed to get up and retrieve his gun. Unholstering his service weapon where it was sat at the top of his dresser, he stealthily moved on feverishly trembling limbs down the hallway towards the source of entry for the intruder.
His shivering makes his shoulders quake as he stalks cautiously over, and just as he's about to switch the safety off once he's made it to the kitchen's bar top counter corner, the door opens.
You fumble over the threshold with your arms incumbered by several big paper shopping bags laden in your arms and plastic pharmacy bags hanging beyond your wrists.
"Jesus fucking Christ!"
You squeak in surprise at Javier's alarmed exclamation, and nearly drop one of the bigger bags.
Quickly placing the gun on the counter, facing away from you with the safety still on, Javi shakily scrubs his hand over his feverish features.
"Javi, you scared me!" you haughtily grumble as you kick the front door shut and rush to put the bags down in the kitchen. "What're you doing out of bed—?" you begin but end up getting hit with a coughing fit.
Scowling almost pitifully, Javi grouses, "I thought someone was breaking in—"
"With a key?" you mockingly sass after clearing your throat, eyeing him sardonically as you toss your purse off from over your shoulders and place the keychain down on the counter before rounding the bar top towards him. In the low light of the entry, you hadn't seen more than his silhouette but now up close, you see how clammy his bare chest is and how worn with fever his features are, so you frown and fret, "Ay, pobrecito. Come, you have to get back to bed."
He doesn't even have the energy to argue, and is actually feeling a bit dizzy, so he is more than grateful when you loop your arm around his waist and lead the way.
Once you've helped him back into bed and pulled the sheet up to tuck him in, you sit on the edge of the mattress and take his temperature with the back of your palm to his sweltering forehead.
"You're burning up," you lament.
Tiredly, he smiles as he reaches for your cheek before he affectionately brushes his warm fingertips to tuck your swaying strands of hair behind your ear.
"You changed your hair," he points out in a gravelly murmur, eyes creasing softly as he drawls, "It looks nice."
Snickering, you cup his flushed cheek and comically sigh, "Ever the charmer."
He grunts humorously. "Steve told you I was sick," is his raspy comment, parched lips pouty when you rush up to get a wet washcloth from the bathroom so you can fold and drape it over his forehead after you brush his matted hair back from his sweaty brow.
"He did. So, I picked up a few things from the store, and stopped at their house to get your spare key from Connie," you tell him gently, caressing his cheek and brushing your thumb caringly across his dark stubble. "Have you taken anything?"
"No," he answers hoarsely, throat starting to burn from talking. "Mmmph, feel like shit."
"I know, mi amor. Stay here," you murmur and quickly go get him some medicine and a big glass of water, stifling your cough along the way.
Once he's taken the dosage and drained the glass, you make another trip to return with all the pharmacy supplies.
"Ok, sit up for me," you instruct as you retrieve the container of Vick's from one of the bags.
"C'mon, I hate that stuff," Javi complains and laboriously sits up, scowling. "I just need water and to stay in bed. No need to baby me—"
"What're your symptoms, tough guy?" you counter, looming over him with authority. When he stubbornly shrugs, you resolutely state, "Quit being a brat, or I'll make you go to the doctor."
Too tired for that, Javi grumbles in defeat, "Fever, sore throat, my body aches, and my head hurts."
"I'm putting this on you, and it's going to help with all of that. Then you're going to rest and let the medicine take effect. I'll make you some soup, and you'll drink plenty of this stuff too," you're instructing as you place the Vick's on the nightstand in order to retrieve the electrolyte drinks you picked up.
"I don't want you to get sick—" Javi grouses as he tries to suppress a shiver.
"I'm still getting over what I had, so I should be fine," you counter smoothly as you open the bottle of orange-colored electrolytes and offer it to him. He raises his brows, almost goadingly, so you sit on the edge of the mattress again and press the bottle to his lips to feed him slow sips. "Malcriado," you playfully chastise after he's drank his fill, and set the bottle aside to then open the container of vaporub ointment. Dipping your fingers in and scooping a generous amount of the ointment, you judiciously start to rub and massage it into his chest, then up into his neck, as you teasingly chide, "Your latino card is gonna get revoked for saying you hate this stuff—"
"Burlona," he grouses, corner of his mouth tugging into a smile as he holds the cool compress in place on his brow while you continue to rub the ointment along his back now.
His frame shivers from the chills caused by the fever, so you prop the pillows up for him and have him lean back. "I know you feel cold, but it's actually hot and stuffy in here, so I'm going to turn the air on," you're telling him as you pull his coverlet up from the foot of the bed in order to tuck him in before getting up to turn the air conditioner wall-mounted console on, then retrieving the boxed thermometer from the pharmacy bag.
Javi's eyes are heavy lidded and his cheeks are flushed while the thermometer tucked under his tongue takes his temperature as you go run the washcloth under cool water in the bathroom sink again. He can't help feel like an overgrown baby for some reason, but a small part of him is indulging in your doting treatment.
Sitting back on the edge of the bed to place the compress to his forehead, you take the thermometer from his lips and read the temperature with a frown.
"100.5," you tut before setting the thermometer aside and affectionately caressing your thumb along his cheekbone to swipe away the droplets that have dripped down from the washcloth. "You're going to start feeling groggy from the medicine, so rest while I make you some soup. I'll wake you up once it's ready—"
His warm hand reaches for your wrist to keep your palm cupping his cheek, as he rasps, "You don't have to stay and baby me, querida—"
"No seas tan terco, and let me take care of you, Javier," you bossily cut in, smiling when he exhales humorously and purses his lips out at you. "Quédate quieto, y pórtate bien."
He nods obediently, so you kiss his nose cutely and set everything he may need on the nightstand, including a box of tissues, before letting him rest in the cooling bedroom.
It isn't until you're coming in the dark room with a tray balanced in your hands that he realizes he must've dozed off for a while. His sinuses are stuffy, but he can see the piping tendrils of heat coming off the large bowl of soup, and his mouth starts watering.
Shuffling up to sit with his back against the headboard, he drowsily rubs at his face as he yawns, "How long was I out?"
You manage to place the serving tray so that the legs bracket up to stand on either side of his lap before placing the cold glass of water on the nightstand for him. "About an hour. Here, let me know if it's too hot, and I'll put some ice cubes in," you answer and instruct as you dip the spoon in and raise it to feed the sip of soup to him.
It is incandescently hot, but in the best way, so Javi helps himself once you've handed him the utensil. Along with the large bowl of noodle-rich, flavorful soup with giant chunks of potato in it, he has a nice piece of crunchy pan you must've gotten from the bakery at the supermarket.
"Mmm, thanks. I was starving and didn't even know it," he rumbles with his mouth full.
"Well, there's plenty more if you get hungry later," you tell him serenely as you go to tidy up the clutter in his bedroom from where he'd just tossed his open suitcase and things from the night before. You notice a big shopping bag with the logo of the duty-free shops printed on the side of it, but don't move it or ask him about it. Instead, you arrange the rest of the medicine to be laid out on his nightstand as you remark, "I'm going back to the office to finish a few things, but I'll be back after work, ok? Be sure to take the next dose after you eat."
He grunts while slurping up more of the noodles before murmuring, "Thanks, cariño."
With his dark soulful eyes twinkling at you like that, you can't help lean down and kiss him on the forehead. "Call me if you need anything," you tell him as you walk to the hallway.
Once you've closed the door, Javi picks up the bowl and drinks up the remaining broth straight from it, having not wanted to be too much of a boor in your presence. With his hunger more than sated, he drains a bottle of the electrolytes before moving the tray to the unoccupied side of the bed so he can lie back down, tucked under the covers. The rest of the pharmacy supplies you bought that don't fit on the nightstand are arranged on his dresser for him, along with the holstered gun you must've returned while he was asleep. The sound of the front door closing and locking echoes from the main room, so he relaxes and closes his eyes.
He falls asleep easily to the ambient hum of the consola and the soothing chill of the cool air fanning in a slow undulation around the room.
Hours later, after finishing your work day, you grab your things and head back to Javier's. You're eager to spend time with him, and actually are looking forward to taking care of him for the night, knowing he cannot be trusted to not try to use whiskey to "sweat it all out" as Steve had told you he'd not-so-jokingly grumbled after getting dropped off from the airport the night before.
You park in his driveway this time and use the second key on the ring to enter the laundry room door entrance since you weren't burdened with groceries, hoping it wouldn't rouse your sick lover to come gun drawn again.
When you come into the main living space, you're surprised to find Javier wrapped up in a blanket like a human burrito, curled up on the couch and watching TV. The coffee table is cluttered with bottles of electrolytes, an empty glass of water, a half-empty box of tissues with the used ones crumbled all over, and the tray you'd brought the soup on stood up with what looks to be several bowlfuls of remnants on it, while the bowl itself is licked clean.
"Javier Felipe Peña, I told you to stay in bed!" you admonish imperiously as you march over and loom over him.
His stubble-covered features pout up at you, disheveled hair flopping across his brow as he clumsily tries to sit up while still keeping the blanket tightly wrapped around him. "I couldn't stay asleep and got hungry, so I came out to get more soup, but got too tired to go all the way back with it, so I parked here. It was supposed to be until I finished eating, but then I fell asleep again, and then woke up and figured I should just stay here," Javi rambles, and your smile gets harder and harder to repress the more he tries to justify and appease you.
Shaking your head sardonically at him, you put your purse and tote aside on the nearby chair and come over to sit next to him and feel his forehead for his temperature.
"Hm, well you clearly still have a fever, so c'mon – back to bed," you tell him as you brush his mussed hair back from his forehead before caressing your touch along his brow, then down to cup his cheek as you give him a quick peck on the lips.
He lets you help him up and maneuver around the tray to go down the hall and back to being tucked under the covers. You fluff his pillows, prop them up behind his back for him, and retrieve the next dose of medicine he should've taken hours earlier.
"Sorry you have to put up with this," Javi croaks after clearing his sore throat.
"It's fine. I knew you would be a little shit and not obey me," is your irreverent singsong, chuckling when he glowers at you, so you angelically smile as you feed him his medicine, before asking, "Did you like the soup?"
Grunting, he finishes swallowing before drawling, "I got some of my taste and smell back after the first bowl. It was really delicious. That wasn't chicken soup, though, right?"
"Nope. That was sopa de jamón. It was my Puerto Rican grandma's recipe. It's less prep, but just as hearty and flavorful. The saltiness of the ham and the sofrito gets sucked up by the noodles, and it forces you to drink lots of fluids," you pleasantly explain as you pick up the vaporub and open it in order to scoop ointment out to massage his chest with it. "Once the medicine kicks in, I'll go start dinner."
I could really get used to being spoiled like this, Javi thinks to himself, enjoying your massage, even if it's with the heavily fragrant eucalyptus-smelling ointment. But he can't deny how it's helped his muscles ache less and his airways open up more, and he easily dozes off to you rubbing your thumbs in slow circles along the spot where his lymph nodes are on either side of his neck.
When he wakes up next, he realizes that you'd found the portable TV that was in the spare bedroom and had rolled it into his room. The ambient glow from the screen helped stir him to adjust in a sitting position, where he turned to find you lounging on your side, napping next to him.
With your eyes closed and your head lulled on the pillow this way, he could see how tired you still look from kicking the remnants of the flu, and something aches in his chest at the realization that he'd not been around to take care of you, the way you so deserved and did so easily for him.
The early evening news is playing on the TV, but the volume is set low, so he sits up and tries to pull the throw blanket up to cover your shoulders.
"Mmm," you mumble and curl closer to him, before stirring and stretching your legs out while yawning, "Ugh, sorry. I didn't mean to conk out—"
Snorting, he leans over and kisses your cheek before murmuring in a gravelly husk, "Quédate dormida."
"Nope. Too late. I'm up now," you lilt as you stretch out your limbs before sitting up, stifling a cough into the pit of your elbow. Once the bleariness is blinked away from your eyes, you see that the feverish flush has dissipated from his cheeks, so you sidle up to him to take his temperature with your hand to his forehead. "Hm, think the fever has gone down a bit."
His dark eyes look dreamy as he gazes at you before he leans forward and nuzzles your cheek. "You're actually getting me hot right now," is his purr, and you snicker when he keeps nuzzling down your jaw and to the base of your neck.
"You're not getting any until you're feeling better, Javi," you murmur with irrevocable authority as you nudge him back and make him lie down so you can climb over him while you announce, "Dinner's been ready. Are you hungry?"
Javier loops your waist with his arm and hauls you back into bed. "I'm starving for you, mandona," he croons as he cuddles you and grazes mustachioed kisses into your neck. "Let me show you just how much better I feel—"
"Ah, Javi—your lips are all crackly and dry," you object goofily and wrestle him onto his back so you can straddle his lap and thwart his sexy advances. His mouth frowns woefully, so you snicker and coo, "Ay, no me mires así, bebito."
"Ugh, fine," Javi huffs in defeat and flops grumpily under you.
However, your dazzling smile and loving caress along his forearms makes it hard for him to keep the brooding façade up. And when you lean down and pepper soft kisses along his face, he relaxes totally. So much so, you're able to go plate dinner and bring it back on the serving tray you set up on the center of the bed so you can eat together.
While in mid-chew, you notice the duty-free shopping bag tucked in the corner again, so after you swallow, you ask him, "What's in the bag?"
He follows your glance, and smirks around his current mouthful. Washing it down with a gulp of water, he replies, "That, is a gift for you. And the likely cause for this fucking flu I caught."
When he gestures with his chin for you to go ahead and take a look, you amble off the bed and retrieve the bag. You pull out a very large and elegant rattan beach tote with smooth tan leather handle straps and tropical-patterned linen-lined interior.
"Figured it would make for a perfect beach tote for that seashore adventure you promised," Javier charmingly muses when you smile over at him.
"This is lovely," you gush, leaning over and kissing him sultrily on the lips. "Thank you."
With a smug grunt, he grumbles daringly, "I thought my lips were too crackly—"
"Shut up and let me kiss you, malcriado."
And you do, kissing him on his lips, cheeks, and all over while he chuckles.
After finishing dinner, you join Javi for a quick hot shower, surprising him with the bouquet of dried eucalyptus stems you've hung from the nozzle. It's an old rustic remedy – using eucalyptus in a hot bath or steamy shower to diffuse the invigorating scent to help with nasal congestion and increasing blood flow in blood vessels. But Javi had never been a fan of it, especially when he was a kid and every woman in his family would slather the stuff on him over any ailment.
"Ugh, c'mon!"
"They'll help with your congestion!"
"Are you feeling congested still?"
"Yes, actually—"
"Ok. Fine—"
"I promise it will help, gruñón," is your flirty assurance as you tow him into the shower stall with you once the hot water and steam is going.
His surly grumble was softened by his smirk and irreverent head shake.
In the end, you were right, and the fragrant steam saturated his skin and made it easy to take deep breaths in without coughing or sneezing. The pressure in his sinuses decreased, and he was definitely enjoying you soaping him up and rubbing his tired muscles. It did wonders for you too, relieving the congestion still lingering in your chest and alleviating your coughing for the rest of the night.
Afterwards, while he's getting into a gray pair of sleep bottoms, you strip the bed and dress it with fresh sheets before getting out a nice blue quilt from the closet. He comes over and helps you toss it onto the bed so it's arranged evenly on the surface. Pleased, you go over and playfully guide him backward to sit on his side of the bed before dutifully giving him the next dose of medicine that will help him sleep. You then return from the bathroom with your container of Vaseline and glide a dab-size of it with your little finger over his chapped lips before tucking him under the comforter. He caresses down the curve of your waist to squeeze your nightgown-clad hip, smiling when you lean down and kiss his forehead.
"Be right back," you tell him before going to shut the lights off and make sure the doors are locked. You return to the cool bedroom, with another glass of water for him and a backup box of tissues, to find him rummaging under the comforter in search for the TV remote. Snickering, you walk over and pick it up from the top of the TV set and walk over to hand it to him.
"What would I ever do without you," he schmoozes in that honeyed baritone way that always makes you grin girlishly, especially combined with his flirty caress of your tush before giving it a squeeze.
Pursing your lips saucily at him, you set the glass down on the remaining free corner within reach for him on the nightstand, as you simper, "According to Steve? Probably starve and 'sweat out the flu with whiskey', among other things."
"He's such a narc," Javi laconically sneers, but his mischievous smile widens when you playfully swat his hand.
Shaking your head amusedly, you go to open the drawer to store the tissue box. "I think it's great how you two are a platonic married couple at this point—" your wry joke skids to a halt when you look in the open drawer and see a small bottle of lube and a long-lost pair of your panties within easy reach. Gasping, you snatch the used garment out and exclaim incredulously, "Oh my fucking god, Javier! Are you serious?!" His big brown eyes widen as you hold the offending prize up for judgment, comically haranguing, "You freaking puerco! How long have you had this nasty thing, you beyako pervertido?!"
"That's a rhetorical question, right?" Javi sheepishly drawls, hands going up defensively when your narrow glare sharpens in that commanding way that promises something wicked his way will come if he keeps being naughty. "Since around that time we went to that fancy steakhouse with Sasha, I think," is his answer, and he gives you those damned puppy eyes when he leans over to try and coax you closer so he can take them back, while begging, "Please, let me keep them?"
Scoffing, you place the box of tissues in the drawer, shut it and pointedly turn on your heel to march over to the hamper in the corner by the closet to ceremoniously dump the panties in. Javier groans in huffy disappointment, scowling as he flops back into the pillows. He glowers as you snootily strut to your side of the bed, shut the nightstand lamp off, and crawl under the quilt.
Only, you don't maneuver to lie next to him. Instead, you prowl under the covers to lay between his legs before answering with snarky authority, "That means those were over a year old, you fresco. And, that you pilfered them when you were under the comforter – just like this – and went down on me that one time. Right?"
Before he can answer, Javi feels you blow cool air on his clothed crotch, making his semi twitch eagerly, and getting a gasp out of him. "Sounds about right, yeah," he croaks gruffly, hands gripping the sheets.
Dramatically tossing the quilt away so you can quickly straddle him, you impishly lean close until your lips are a whisper apart before purring, "Good. So you'll be a good boy and earn another pair by behaving and letting me take care of you, right?"
Javi's running hot now, and not just from fever. "Sí, mi patrona," is his cheeky husk, relishing how you bat your lashes and smile, appeased.
Reaching to turn his nightstand lamp off, you hum alluringly for him to kiss you.
His lips brush yours covetously before he rolls you both into the bed, making a happy giggle bubble free from your chest.
After some savvy coaxing on your part, you both end up tucked close under the blanket. The ambient glow of the TV screen illuminates his relaxed features as you soothingly run your fingers through his hair, helping lull him into the drowsy haze provided by the medicine hitting his bloodstream while you watch the late-night comedy show. Even in the chilly room, his body temperature is still running hot, so you make sure not to press up against his form and overheat him.
By the time he's snoring in deep slumber, you turn the TV off, and curl up to sleep.
The next morning, Javier's temperature is down to 99.3 degrees, so after you shower and get ready for work, you make him breakfast and serve it to him in bed. Begrudgingly, Javier had called out sick for the day, and you'd insisted that he take the medicine and sleep, but ended up compromising with him to take at least one more dose, and that he stay in bed resting.
"—Ok, I'll come around lunch time," you're telling him now as you pull on your heels and go to his dresser to hurriedly brush your hair up into a chic twist. "Need me to pick up anything while I'm out?"
"Not a thing. You've done more than enough, guapita," he responds from where he's cozily resting in bed, head propped up by fluffed pillows. The angle helps him appreciatively ogle you as you smoothen your white with black trim Georgette v-neckline with a spread collar and button cuffs blouse after tucking the hemline into the waistband of your stylish black slacks. "You look fucking sexy, so you know."
Smiling, you turn and abandon putting on lipstick to go over and sit on the edge of the bed so you can sultrily glide your touch from his bare chest to cup his chin before leaning forward and kissing him, then pulling back cockily to leave him wanting as you hum, "You're a sweet talker, but you better be a good boy like you promised, me entiendes, bebito?"
His eyes darken with want as he nods and husks, "I will, jefa."
With a gloating smile, you let him pull you back down for a long kiss before you say goodbye and head out.
Javi keeps his word, takes his medicine, and has a relaxing sleep for the rest of the morning.
Thankfully, your morning schedule is fairly light, so you're able to leave the federal building campus earlier than you'd originally planned for your lunch break. When you come into the house and do not find Javier sprawled on the couch again, you smile triumphantly, before heading down the back hall to open the door to his bedroom.
You find him watching the afternoon variety show, lounging with his back against the headboard and a pillow tucked behind his head.
"Well, I can't believe it. You actually behaved," you chortle as you toe off your heels and flounce over to sit on the side of the bed before feeling his forehead.
"You got so furiosa, there was no way I was going to chance incurring your wrath," he jokes, sounding a bit stuffed up, but clearly feeling better.
He smiles when you scoff and kiss his cheek. "You feel even less feverish than this morning. Is your throat still sore?" you ask as you stand in order to take off your tight slacks so you can get more comfortable.
Appreciatively, Javi leers at your perfect ass in the pink cotton panties as you slide your pants on a hanger so they don't get wrinkled. "No, just dealing with a stuffy nose now," he answers as he retrieves a tissue. "I might take something for it, though."
"Ok, good. I'll make lunch so you don't take it on an empty stomach," you're pleasantly retorting as you pull on a pair of lavender drawstring shorts and go to the hamper to quickly separate garments. "Might as well start some laundry while I'm here," you remark while digging into it to pile whites, darks and items for dry-cleaning onto the foot of the bed. "Is everything in your suitcase dirty? I can take your dress shirts and drop them off at the dry cleaners on my way back to the office—"
You pause as you keenly eye the three piles and notice something missing. Laconically, you stare over at Javier like he's a rambunctious puppy you just caught trying to hide a toy.
"Um, yeah, everything in the suitcase is dirty—" he begins to answer as he starts to get up from bed to go retrieve it for you.
"Uh-uh. Park it," you order saucily as you put your hand on your hip and gesture with the other, demanding, "Give them to me, right now, chavón."
His poker face is pretty good when he feigns confusion while he drawls, "I don't know what you mean—"
"Hand over the skanky panties you squirreled away, or you're gonna get it, Javier."
The lewd thrill your smoky command stirs in his core cracks his composure and gives him up before he huffs in surrender and reaches his hand down between the mattress and box spring on his side of the bed. The undies are withdrawn swiftly before he makes a big show of sitting up and shuffling along his knees towards the foot of the bed to cockily place them in your expectantly outstretched palm.
Humming glibly, you tut, "Caripela'o," while tossing the panties in the pile before playfully shoving him to lay back down on the bed.
He has a faux pout on his lips, but you can see the way his soulful eyes are crinkled that he likes when you sexily chastise him. You like getting a rise out of him, too, and really enjoy that he's going out of his way to comply, albeit smugly. Still, he behaves while you go through his suitcase for the rest of the laundry, and only grins when you retrieve your silk nighty from the pile and toss it at him before placing all the sorted clothes in the laundry basket and taking it to the wash.
While the first load goes through its cycle, you make a pot of rice and your Grandma's recipe for Puerto Rican corn beef, quickly plating the meal and putting a hefty slice of aguacate to go with it before taking the tray to the bedroom to serve Javi.
His attention is riveted on the afternoon news segment about the latest crime statistics on the island that the anchor is citing in reference to a spree of carjackings and muggings that had occurred earlier in the week.
"Here, mi amor," you place the tray to stand on the mattress adjacent to where he's currently sat, on the foot of the bed. "Hope you like it—"
The sound of his cell phone ringing interrupts as it buzzes loudly on the nightstand, threatening to topple the pharmacy items now haphazardly stacked next to it.
Shit—" Javi tries to maneuver to reach for it, but you're actually closer, so you go to the nightstand and grab it. "It must be the office—"
"Well, you're out sick, so they shouldn't be calling you at all," is your curt remark before you press the button to answer it with a professional greeting. "Hello, you've reached Special Agent Javier Peña's mobile phone line. Can I take a message?"
Javier balks at you, stunned that you would answer, but also overawed with exhilarated admiration for you and your chingona confidence – that you would unabashedly do something so flashy when not so long ago you would've avoided doing anything remotely similar.
"Oh, I-I'm sorry. I should've considered that he would be too busy to answer the phone," a raspy baritone with an earthy southern cadence to it that sounded distantly familiar to you answers sheepishly. "I don't want to bother him, so I'll call back later—"
Smiling brilliantly, you turn to Javi as you answer, "Ah, Javier's got plenty of time to prioritize a phone call from his Pop. If that's who I may direct as the person reaching him?"
The surprise melts into instant delight on Javi's face when he can make out his father's warm chuckle. "Yes, that's right. And I take it that I'm finally speaking to the famous Celina?" Chucho rumbles jovially back, making you laugh brightly in the affirmative. "Well if you're answering, I'm sure that means Javier is indisposed—"
"Ah, actually, he's home sick, so I commandeered answering his phone in case it was the office bothering him when they should be respectful and let him rest," you assure in a spritely tone. You go to sit beside Javi as you add, "Anyway, here he is," before handing him the phone.
The endearing warmth shining in Javi's dark eyes for you as he takes the phone and leans in to kiss you adoringly makes you tingle, but you flirtatiously snicker and nudge him playfully from getting carried away and neglecting the call further.
"Hey, Pop. Everything ok?" he greets and asks, watching you maneuver to sit on your side of the bed with your own plate of lunch you picked up from the serving tray.
"Yes, yes! I just, well…it's my and your mother's anniversary today, and I guess I was wanting to see how you were," Chucho's baritone rationalizing is pensive, yet lonely, and Javi internally swears and clenches his eyes shut in upset with himself. "Anyway, you not feeling well?"
You see Javi's shoulders droop before he answers tightly, "Pop…I'm sorry. I should've called earlier. The last few days have been hectic; traveling, getting the flu—"
"No-no, it's all right, mijo. You are busy and living your life. And, from the sounds of it, you're living it well," is Chucho's easygoing rasp, proudly adding, "You have a feisty, loving woman looking after you, so relish it, and don't take her for granted. And live in the moment together. You deserve to be happy, Javier."
The lump in his throat manages to get pushed down when he looks over at you and sees you attentively reading his expression, curious as to what has his dark chocolate eyes shining with unshed tears. "Thanks. I will. And I promise to come visit soon—"
"Don't worry about that. I know you're busy. Just try to keep in touch a bit more, ok?"
"I definitely will. Cuídate, Papá."
"You too, mijo. But before you hang up, put her back on the phone?" Chucho cajoles, and Javi snickers in agreement before offering it to you.
Smiling, you set your plate aside on the nightstand to take it. "So you know, you can rest easy that I will make sure Javi calls more," is your affable remark, squinting your eyes impishly at Javi giving you a deriding stare.
"I know you will, mija. And when you can, have him bring you for a visit. It's been long overdue that I haven't gotten to meet and thank you for taking care of my son. He really loves you, and as far as I'm concerned, you're already part of the family," Chucho charmingly extols. "All he wants to do is make you as happy as you make him, sabes?"
Feeling your heart summersault in your chest, you chime, "Well, he takes care of me too, and he does make me happy, so I feel the same way." You see Javier's expression soften at your words. Fearlessly, you add, "I love him with all my heart."
"I'm glad, and will keep you both in my prayers. Take care, Celina. Dios los bendiga."
"You too. Goodbye."
Once you place the phone down on the bed, you can see Javi is buzzing with curiosity, so you coolly return to your plate of food before musing, "Eat, before it gets cold, chulito."
He blows a raspberry before obeying, and ends up scarfing the meal down with gusto, savoring the fresh avocado he mixes in with the rice and criollo-style corn beef. Once he's washed it all down by guzzling the glass of water until it's empty, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before he sets the serving tray aside so he can stretch out to sidle up close to you.
"I'm such an asshole. I forgot that today's my parent's wedding anniversary…" he unburdens himself, tone self-reproachful. "I had my head in my ass—"
"Javi, you've been running around for days, then you got sick. It just slipped your mind," you console as you rub his bare back. "Your dad is sweet and kind. I'm sure he just wanted to hear from you. He didn't sound disappointed or anything. And, from now on, I'll badger you to call him more so he and I can chat away."
That feeling of radiating heat fills his chest and makes his bones ache with how much your words comfort him.
"You're too good to me," Javi murmurs with genuine feeling, and it makes you shake your head drolly. "I know it annoys you when I say so, but I mean it."
"Javi, it only annoys me, because it's like you're saying you don't deserve to be treated right," you explain, frowning when he tucks his chin in to hide his self-loathing expression, clearly annoyed with himself for saying what he thinks was the wrong thing. You shift to face him and cup his chin in order to tip his face up so he can look into your eyes as you profess tenderly, "You are the love of my life, and you're worthy, and I mean it when I tell you this: You make me happy, and make me feel deserving of love. I only ever want you to feel the same, so when you say I'm too good to you, it makes me sad, because it means I'm doing the opposite…that I haven't made you feel deserving enough."
He's never thought about it that way, and now that you've told him how you feel, all the self-doubt – the feeling unworthy – gets blasted away like shadows being banished by the light of the sun.
You see it etching plainly on his handsome features, so you kiss him lovingly on the lips before nuzzling him affectionately.
The way your incandescent grace fills him up has him hugging you tight, and you smile at his murmured sweet nothings he pours into your ear.
"…Te amo hasta mi alma. You're my everything, querida…"
Your heart sores, and you bask in his passionate embrace, cherishing the moment of serenity with him.
Once you've both become settled, you end up having to rush to turn over the laundry loads, then hurry back to get dressed again for work.
"Get some rest, hermoso. I love you," you susurrate, and kiss him goodbye on the lips.
"Love you too, querida," he rumbles and playfully glides his touch down your arm to clasp your hand as if he's not going to let you go before trailing his fingers away.
You snicker and wink at him before heading out.
More than content to lie back down and rest until you get back from work, Javi lets his thoughts run wild with the exhilarating promise of plans he's intent on making reality sooner rather than later.
Hours later, after a staff meeting to get progress reports regarding the different program initiatives everyone is working on, you're in your office finalizing some reports. It's close to the end of the day, and you're eager to wrap things up so you can head home to Javier.
Your cell phone starts to ring, so you answer it and multitask as you scan your report on the computer's screen. "Hello?"
"Good afternoon, Ms. Reinosa. My name's Ned Fuller, and I'm a CIFI for your auto insurance provider. I'm calling in regards to your automotive accident earlier this week. Do you have a second to chat?"
Thrown off, you lean back in your chair and focus on your desk, already retrieving the folder with all the paperwork from your tote as you answer, "Yes, I do. I'm sorry, CIFI?"
"Oh, my apologies! That's short for Certified Insurance Fraud Investigator. I'm actually a case manager who helps flag cases submitted by our insurance offices out in the Caribbean region," the man explains good naturedly, while still managing to fill you with dread. "Anyway, I wanted to call and alert you that while at the local level, there was no way to prove the vehicle malfunctioned without an external cause, when I read the case report, it alarmed me, as it was very reminiscent to a case I worked on in the Florida Keys a few years back."
"Huh…in what way?" you ask, pulling over a notepad and grabbing a pen to jot down any details.
"Well, it was a doozy. Basically, a wealthy financier was driving his vehicle towards the interstate on-ramp, when his tire failed and sent the vehicle careening into the guardrail and almost jettisoned it over the barrier. On closer inspection by the tech lab, they found the tire's strut mount had been tampered with. Turns out the fella was in a contentious divorce battle, and authorities arrested his wife," the investigator retells, before getting back to the topic at hand. "Anyway, while not part of protocol, I figured it would only be right to inform you of the red flag this raised for me, and caution you that if not caused by your dealership's negligence, there was this possibility—"
"I'm sorry. Are you saying that there's a suspicion—that there's evidence that my car was deliberately tampered with in order to cause the accident?" you inquire, flummoxed.
"…Well, on the record, there was significant damage done that it made it difficult to conclude the tire was tampered with," he begins, before confiding, "Off the record? I would say it's suspicious."
The man explains a bit more to you, but you're floored and completely caught up in a ruminating whirlpool.
Did someone…could someone have purposely rigged the tire in order for me to crash the car?!
As the thought builds up an ominous pit in your stomach, yet another makes you worry.
Who would go through the trouble of doing it…and why?
To be continued…
________________
Spanish-English Glossary:
Partido Nuevo Progresista = New Progressive Party
Puntos = Points, as in drug points
Muecas = Making faces; grimaces
Querida/querido = Affectionate term, akin to expressing one's want and desire
Mi patrón = My master/boss
Malcriada/malcriado = Brat/spoiled
Traviesa = Naughty/Mischievous girl
Tentadora = Temptress
Mi amor = My love
Mi patroncito = My little patron
Bebito = Little baby (male)
Lo necesito. Te lo ruego. Por favor, mi rey. Seré tuya = I need it. I beg you. Please, my king. I'll be yours
Eres pinche gloriosa = You're fucking glorious
Chavón = A man that's pestering you
Corazón = Heart; pet name to signify how deeply you love someone
Hermosa/hermoso = beautiful (female); beautiful (male)
Guapito = Handsome (said in an affectionate diminutive)
Marquesina = Open air garage or carport
Deja con las formalidades, ya = Quit it with the formalities, already
Se me olvidó = I forgot
Reggaetoneros = Reggaetón artists
Perrear = Doing it doggystyle, aka referring to sex
Perreo = Dance style associated with reggaetón; doggystyle, twerking dance
Beyako = Puerto Rican slang for horny/naughty guy; akin to "horn dog"
Pórtate bien, y llámame = Be good, and call me
Cacos = Term referring to hardcore reggaetón fans, who are mostly men
Bailar = Dance
Ella es una mamita sabrocita = She is a tasty foxy woman
Claro que no = Of course not
She's a chulería – una bichota bien wapa = She's a charming gal, a real big shot lady that's real feisty
Pasarme así = Overstep like that
Gatilleros = Triggermen
Sobrepasarme = To overstep; to go too far
Solo le gusta hablar mierda = Only likes to talk shit
Pendejo = Dumbass/Jackass
Acho, que canto cabrón = Man, what an asshole
Tesoro = Treasure; darling
Pá = Short for 'Papá' which means father, or poppa
Mija = Short for mi hija, aka my daughter; my girl
Soñaré de ti, mi amor. Sueña de mi, mi cariñito = I'll dream of you, my love. Dream of me, my sweet little darling
Jefa = Boss lady
Doña = A Spanish honorific, referring to a respectable woman; equivalent to Missus
Pastelillo de guayaba = Guava pastry; similar to a turnover
Preciosa = Gorgeous; precious
Mira quien habla = Look who's talking
El guapo descarado = The handsome cad
Apodo = Nickname
Tan chavón = Such a pain
Canela = Cinnamon
Dulces sueños, mi amor = Sweet dreams, my love
Chacho = Jeez
Come mierda = Slang for a stuck up, moronic person; literally means 'shit eater'
Tan chingona = Such a badass lady
Cariño = Darling/sweetheart
Gruñón = Grumpy man
Bravita = Tough girl; feisty girl
Chulo/Chulito = Cute guy; little cutie
Ay, no = Oh, no
Con la monga = With the flu
Nena = Girl
Ah, es verdad. Que jodienda = Ah, that's true. What a pain in the ass
Obviamente = Obviously
Ha sido una mierda = Has been real shit
Pobrecita/Pobrecito = Poor little thing
Bendito = Blessed simple soul; a hopeful lamentation
Loquita = Crazy girl
Playas = Beaches
Jevo = Puerto Rican slang for boyfriend
Coño, nena – no te recuerdas = Damn, girl – you don't remember
Pues = Well
Por Dios = God's sake
Burlona = Joker (female)
No seas tan terco = Don't be so stubborn
Quédate quieto, y pórtate bien = Stay put and behave
Consola [de aire acondicionado] = Air conditioning unit/console
Sopa de jamón = Ham soup
Sofrito = Herbs, spices, and vegetables minced into a cooking bouillon paste
Quédate dormida = Stay asleep
Mandona = Bossy lady
Ay, no me mires así, bebito = Aw, don't look at me that way, little baby boy
Puerco = Pig
Beyako pervertido = Horny pervert
Fresco = a guy who's being 'fresh', or naughty/pervy
Sí, mi patrona = Yes, my madam/ boss lady/ mistress
Me entiendes, bebito = You understand me, little baby boy
Furiosa = Furious (female)
Caripela'o = Puerto Rican slang for a shameless get over
Aguacate = Avocado
Mijo = short for "mi hijo", a term of endearment akin to "my son/sonny"
Cuídate, Papá = Take care, Dad
Dios los bendiga = God bless you both
Te amo hasta mi alma = I love you to my soul; "I love you soul-deep"
Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving a comment and sharing your feedback. I would be eternally grateful.
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wildemaven | masterlist
Navigation Page
-> Frankie Morales
-> Javier Peña
-> Joel Miller
-> Dave York
-> Dieter Bravo
-> Agent Whiskey
-> Marcus Pike
-> Benny Miller
-> Tag Ficlets Masterlist
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Hey, I'm so happy you're back I missed reading your works.I was wondering if you'll still do the requests that you mentioned there because they were all great ideas : https://www.tumblr.com/narcosmx/669340063334842368/request-list-here-is-a-list-of-the-request-that
being enedina's best friend and falling for benjamin arellano-felix would include:
a/n: okay so this made mee think about the enedina's bff falling for benjamin thing and i got going, so yes i'll be going back to some of these hehe
okayokay hear me out rich boss babes together
WHICH LEAD ME TO THINK LIKE WHAT IF ENEDINA'S BFF WAS AMADO'S YOUNGER SISTER
so like amado is the kind of older brother where like... you call me and ofc i'll come solve your problems for you but can you like....maybe handle what you can on your own
kinda just gives her a wad of cash, la bendicion and be like go live your life kid at least one of us should enjoy the money i'm making lol
"vaya con dios mijita" also get the vibes that he def taught you how to fly too
so i imagine you being a little bit more rough and tumble than enedina
but like you bring out the boss bitch in her, reminds her she is capable of breaking away from this idea of "being a woman" was
being bffs with dina gives me like, you practically live at her place vibes you know
like you have a toothbrush, and clothes and your favorite soaps in the goddamn shower
you go home only to like swap out the roation of outfits you have or getting a new pair of shoes or something
otherwise you were essentially living at the arellano-felix house, shit even their mom jokes about her liking you more than your own kids
and the girls fucking love having you around, and lowkey probably ramon too because you're never one to shoot down his crazy ass ideas
pancha is like "don't you like, ever get tired of being here" and you're like "don't you ever get tired of being the ugliest member of this family?"
and benjamin oh benjamin at first he tries to pay you no mind, but you're not one he can easily ignore
so he resigns himself to nodding at you and huffing with laughter when he sees how comfortably you lounge around his fucking house because no matter what you do like he cannot get mad at you
you do something and he smiles and someone else does that same exact thing he'd rip them several new assholes.
okay listen i don't know why i get the vibes that like you're an expert at breaking into anything that isn't welded shut
you know, like you grew up around criminals you were bound to pick something up
not that you had to break into dina's place, you had a key but sometimes it's just fun to freak the other's out
i just imagine, like benjamin coming home a day after having like fortified security and he just looks into the backyard and you're chilling poolside
he walks out and it like "w-we changed the locks yesterday after a security issue... how the fuck did you? dina is out making your key right now??"
you nearly giggling as you take a sip of your drink "you make me laugh, benji"
YOU CALLING HIM BENJI I CANNOT \
him opening his mouth to say something and him being like yeah nope nevermind and turning on his heel and walking inside
hehe having to turn on his heels so fast because he can't help but smile at you and your antics
dina walking out and being like "hey bebe, i left your key in your bag" but side eyeing her brother because she knows she knows something is up
because no one makes her wet blanket of a brother smile like that
you and dina going to fancy dinners together can you imagine, going to the hottest spots in all of baja
you two getting all dolled up in her room together, they can hear you laughing from down the street lol
unabashedly singing at the top of your lungs lol
but i also have this one moment of scene stuck in my head
you and dina are in a rush getting ready to go somewhere and like dina is showering and you're like
well i'm def not showering in any of the other boys fucking rooms because NOPE
and i dunno but benjamin gives you vibes that his bathroom would be clean and so you...go for it
you couldnt have shame if they paid you so you're just out here causally breaking into fucking tijuana's biggest drug dealer's room
going in to take a shower, showering you know and then as you come out with like a robe wrapped around yourself and drying yout hair, benjamin is entering the room
and there's just this moment where benjamin is looking at you like with like a what the fuck but like amused face
and you're like "look, where else did you want me to go? i'm def not fucking showering in ramon's shower"
and benjamin is like "hm i don't know maybe???? the freaking guest bathroom"
and you laughing him off the face of the planet
and okay imagine he has like documents laying around his room because he wakes up in the middle of the night and worries about bus iness stuff because that's him
anyways you saw it and you idk just have this knack for business or math and you just walk up past him brushing against him and kiss his cheek and are like "thanks for sharing the bathroom with me, and if you raise the tax 1.5 percent over 6 months you'll cover that cost" you note motioning your head towards the document and walking away AHHH
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Interlude: Solicitation
Solicitation: The act of asking for or trying to obtain something from someone.
Rating: 18+ (for consistency)
Warnings: Dazzling sincerity, Touches of Heartbreak, Reckless Erections.
A/N: So I leave for *checks watch* 8 months and there are now SO many of you 🥺 thank you to everyone who has found, loved, and shared this story, especially while I've been absent getting my new life together. It absolutely astounds me. I've had this little snippet in my back pocket for a while and now feel ready to post it as I start to get back into the swing of things. Think of it as a reparation for being gone for much longer than I intended and a placeholder while I pick up the threads of the story again.
This interlude tells the story of the last NYE they spent together which Bug refers to after Stella's wedding and the 'agreement in Michigan' that Javi talks about. It's fun filling in the gaps and giving context to these moments that happen between the chapters. I love them.
Ann Arbor, New Year, Age 24: Solicitation
'The last time you had danced together must have been Christmas time, the final stint of your year ‘together’. It was new years eve, you think. Everyone had left the small get-together you’d thrown and instead of washing up glasses at 3am, you’d stood in the kitchen and swayed listlessly, bone-weary and half sober listening to Eric Carmen. You don’t think you can recall ever being as happy as you were at that moment. It was the end of the best year of your life.'
You fucking loved it here. Michigan was the one place in your life you couldn’t bear to leave.
You knew it was the new year making you dramatic, with another twelve months on the lease, at least, guaranteed. But you also knew it was often the things you wanted to hold on to the most that had the greatest tendency of slipping away. If you pretended you weren't looking, perhaps things would stay exactly where they were. Despite your best efforts, you knew the likelihood of that happening was slim to none.
Instead of ruminating, you pour yourself another drink and go back to the party.
“So what do you do, Javier?” was all you’d heard in your peripheral all evening.
You shouldn’t be surprised, you suppose. He was actually new here. This was the first time he’d been wheeled out for the benefit of your college friends, spruced up for the occasion, featuring all the bells and whistles.
You’d returned the favour of your own trip to Fairfax in second year, finally inviting him to see the most sacred part of your life- your home away from home. But for all the secrets you kept hidden here, Javi wasn’t one of them. Everyone was gagging to meet him, and from the way you’d spoken of him over the last four years, you couldn’t exactly blame them, either. Golden by name, golden by nature. They'd been eating him alive since 6pm.
“I’m DEA. Or, I will be, soon," comes his automatic reply. The humble addition at the end of the statement makes you smile for the tenth time tonight. 'He was going to be a big deal soon, he promised.'
“That’s cool!” replies Sylvia, echoing the similar sounds of pleasant surprise your other friends had all mustered in turn as the evening had gone on. They were right, it was cool. “Is that close to here, or home?”
You see the way he weighs it up in his head, clearly caught off guard by a question he didn’t have a rehearsed answer for. “Uh, neither, actually. Quantico, have you heard of it?”
Bless your friends and their small talk and their well-meaning nosiness. He'd been a broken record all evening, happily filling in the details, but that one had got him. Discussions of things like ‘how far’ and ‘how long' had been generally forbidden between the two of you for a long time. You blame the new year once again for the sudden uptick in temporal awareness.
Midnight comes and goes. People kiss, dance, laugh. Javi holds you close and nobody bats an eyelid. The early morning kicks in before anyone has the chance to realise. He's stolen away by another group of your friends, eager to make up for years worth of your hiding him away.
When he manages to excuse himself from the crowd no less than an hour later, he's immediately on a mission to seek you out. Clearly there was a limit to how many times he could run his spiel on demand. He finds you in the kitchen, collecting the glasses and trying to fit them in the basin.
He's on you in a second, grabbing you by the waist, curling you into his arms, and kissing your cheek sweetly.
"I haven't seen you for hours," he laments sarcastically.
“Well, I guess it’s you that no one knows this time.”
“I can see why you enjoyed it, it’s weirdly liberating. No expectations.”
“The expectations are only so high because you made them that way. You're also probably not helping by talking yourself up so much.”
He ignores you with a throwaway grunt and nuzzles into you further.
“You’re so… popular,” he muses, watching the way your hands pass over the glasses, “I've barely been able to say a word to you. It’s nice, everyone's really nice.”
“It’s been a very good time for me… living here. Despite not having you so close. I’ll be sad to see the back of it at the end of the year.”
You lean over the sink and attempt to start the washing up while people pace to and from the room, collecting their belongings, singing drunken goodbyes and blowing sloppy kisses. But when you try to turn to gather the rest of the dishes, Javi holds on to you incessantly.
“Don’t move,” he whispers in your ear.
“What?”
“Please, just… don’t move.”
He crowds up behind you closer, and you immediately feel the weight of his erection pressing against your backside.
“Are you hard?” you snort quizically.
“Devastatingly. Now please just do me a favour and don’t move.”
You laugh quietly for his own discretion, both at his candid begging and his flagrant arousal.
“What is that about?”
“I just can’t stop looking at you. Been looking at you from across the room all night. Now can you stop doing the damn dishes and just kiss me, please?”
You take one small look over his shoulder to see if the room is clear, but in reality, you couldn't care less if anyone saw you. This was your apartment, these people were your friends, and you were quite sure everyone had either left or passed out anyway. Turning to face him, you let him gather you up eagerly, press your back against the counter, and kiss you.
“You know, people are going to catch on eventually if we continue surreptitiously not seeing other people. Especially when you go away. They can spin a rumour about me being gay, but I’m not so sure you’ll get away with that one.”
“Do you want them to?" he murmurs as he kisses tenderly along your jaw. "Catch on, I mean.”
“I’m not sure. Maybe. I never expected things to be like this, let alone for so long. I’ve had plenty of difficult thoughts about this whole thing but that was never one of them. Like I said, my life here is… different.”
“Difficult thoughts?” he queries, catching on to that phrase in a heartbeat, his kisses faltering quickly.
“Yeah. A few.”
“About me?”
“Yeah,” you squeak, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion.
He looks at you, brows raised but not accusatory, waiting for your explanation. When he sees your lip quiver, his own pops out in a disheartened pout. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing. I’m just, happy.”
“It doesn’t look like you’re happy,” he panders, digging his fingers into your waist tighter to hold you more firmly, as if you’ll slip away given the chance.
“I’m sad because I’m happy. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”
“But why does that make you sad?” he chuckles, confusion plain on his shining face.
“Because I never expected to be this happy, ever. And now I am. And now I know what it will feel like to not be this happy maybe ever again.”
You stare at him lovingly, silent tears falling from your eyes.
“You’re leaving,” you say simply, sadly, “and I don’t think you realise just how far gone you’re going to be.” You feel your eyes glass over even more, your sinuses heavy as you bite your lip to detract from the sensation. “Javi, I-”
“It’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to say it. I know. Just tell me what you want from me, and I’ll try my best.”
You take a deep breath and make a choice, one you’ve known has been coming for a while now. But the preparation doesn't make it hurt any less.
“I just want you to do what’s right for you. And I’ll do the same. And if those things happen to meet in the middle eventually, like they have done until now, then maybe I’ll get to be this happy again. And if not, then at least I’ll be glad that you’ve kept your promise.”
He understands where you're going with this immediately. He knows you’ll have had a plan, marked out your borders the moment he’d signed his new contract. You needed to know where this was going or where it wasn’t. You needed to minimise the damage wherever possible.
“You wouldn’t ask me to stay?”
“Never.”
“Why?”
“Because you might say yes. And I could never be the thing to keep you somewhere. Not if it wasn't where you wanted to be.”
He laughs again at your frankness, your ability to surmise exactly the problem at hand, so entirely unique to the two of you. But the look in his eye is sad now, struggling to chase off the disappointment at hand.
“I want you to promise that we’ll never be the thing that holds the other one back,” you continue, showing your brave face as you look him right in the eye, despite the fact it feels as though you’re being stabbed. “That’s what I want from you. This will be… whatever it will be, and that’s fine. But everything’s changing, for real. I can just feel it. And even though I’m sad about it, I won’t let it stop you. And you just promise me that when it’s my turn, you’ll do the same.”
“So what, we’re both just too stubborn to do the right thing?”
“Because we’re stubborn we’re doing the right thing. There’s a reason this was never going to be simple. We know each other too well. We both want more than we can have.”
“And what if it does work out? Eventually?” he asks tentatively, raising an eyebrow ever so slowly.
“Then you just let me know. And I’ll be there. I’ll be there in a heartbeat. Just don’t expect it to be soon. We both have a lot to prove in the meantime.”
He collapses into you with a huff, unable to query a word, and grateful that he didn't have to be the one to say it. It's all there in the way that he holds you; the gentle rub of his thumb against your ribs, the press of his nose against your shoulder, the way his foot rests plainly against yours.
"When accounting for the line at infinity, even parallel lines intersect eventually. Or so they say."
"They don't teach projective geometry in school for a reason," he quips, pinching at your side teasingly. “I’m so lucky to have had you like this. This year and the one before it. I’m lucky to have had you like this at all.”
“It’s been a very good year,” you sigh, falling into him with equal enthusiasm. “Now make love to me in this kitchen and we’ll hope and pray that the next one is even half as good.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he growls tenderly, and gets down on his knees.
Playlist Recommendation
Taglist
@furious-rogue-stuff
@athalien
@sara-alonso
@vanemando15
@chronic-nosebleed
@mashomasho
@hnt-escape
@kirsteng42
@in-for-a-pennyx
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The Secret Javier Pena Files
Do not copy or repost my work. Reblogs are encouraged. Do not use my work to train AI. 18+ only. Minors do not interact.
Break My Heart - Pickled Pena challenge
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Narcos Fic: All In Universe Masterlist
🔥 Indicates E - Read on AO3 - Main Masterlist
All In Part 1 🔥
All In Part 2 🔥
Trigonometry Part 1: Sine 🔥
Trigonometry Part 2: Cosine 🔥
Trigonometry Part 3: Tangent 🔥
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Chapter 4: The First Load Arrives
“It’s the weather, Bob. They have to wait until it’s perfect. Right now it’s snowing in El Paso,” I told Bifocal Bob on the payphone call to New York.
“Snowing in El Paso?” he asked, “Is that even possible? I thought it was in the desert.”
“It’s the high altitude desert, Bob, and the crossers don’t want their movements tracked in the snow.”
“That’s ridiculous. Just get me the fucking load. Otherwise, I’m spending my money on what Neanderthal Ned brings me.”
“Neanderthal Ned” was a reference to one of my border smuggling competitors. He notably lived in a luxurious, retrofitted cave in the mountains overlooking Tucson and was able to amass substantial amounts of Mexican cannabis from independents operating along the Arizona border. Architectural Digest had written a favorable article about his Taliesin West inspired residence which was equipped with advanced automatic features like automated sky lights and floating stairways well ahead of its time. Ned, operating outside of cartel jurisdiction, retrofitted motor homes whose interiors had been altered to fit his shipments which averaged over a ton.
As well-known as Ned and his operation was, it was his girlfriend, Molly, who captured the most attention. Molly and I moved in the same circles. After she and Ned parted company, Molly showed up as a companion to Billy Mercedes, one of my main San Francisco distributors who lived in Marin County. After that Molly married a certain well-known television doctor, who wrote an anguished book, “Taming Molly” about his attempts to get Molly to conform to suburban life while married to medicine.
Ned was reliable, I explained, but this was on another level. We were sending the best genetics to Mexico. Commercial logistics were being arranged. The cartel had ensured a steady supply.
“Bob, you’re about to be on the other end of a pipeline,” I explained.
“Snowing in El Paso? That has got to be some bullshit. Get here as soon as you can.” Patience was not a virtue with Bob.
Waiting is the hardest part of the game. Tension continues to build as the wait goes on. The tension is composed of one or two parts anticipation and several parts fear. Fear that your warehouse might stand out, that crossers would be captured and the authorities might start working their way up the supply chain. Every day I spent at the Las Cruces, New Mexico Marriot was another day that law enforcement might start to wonder what I was doing there, comfortably ensconced in one of their suites in an area not known for tourism. Staying in one of the Marriot suites, playing the tourist and seeing the wonders of El Paso and Juarez? Hardly.
What to do with all that nervous energy? You couldn’t leave El Paso because the shipment was imminent. It could be seized at any point and then you were out whatever investment you had made and you might attract Federal attention. You couldn’t sit in your room or you’d go crazy with boredom. Every day, to avoid the anxiety, I would make the culinary circuit with Brian: breakfast at Lucy’s or Mi Pueblito with the great chili con queso, always followed by scrambled eggs with jalapenos or an egg over easy on one of their traditional red sauce enchiladas. Then we’d head over the bridge and spend the afternoon at the Florída in Juarez. The Florída restaurant was widely known to be owned by members of the cartel so we felt comfortable. Whatever the restaurant, Brian made sure that we were always supplied with an endless pitcher of margaritas.
If it was the right time of year, the Florída had cuitlacoche, the gray, stone-shaped fungus that becomes like tar when it is cooked and has an earthy, tangy, mushroom-like flavor with a hint of raw corn. Farmers call the dish el oro negro, or black gold. The Florída was also renowned for all of the classic Mexican dishes: turkey mole with three kinds of chocolate from Oaxaca, cooked for thirty six hours in clay pot, or carnitas tacos made the old fashioned way, carved from a roasting spit.
Later, after margaritas and a couple of joints of Mendocino homegrown, we would reconvene at Juarez’s renowned watering hole, the legendary border saloon, the Kentucky Club. The Kentucky was frequented by Generals Pancho Villa and Alvara Obregón, the first president of Mexico after the revolution. “The Kentucky” had a timeless quality with pictures from the Mexican Revolution of Pancho Villa riding majestically through town on a horse festooned with turquoise and silver bridles, Villa handing out chocolates or silver bullets to children, Villa with what looked like a cannabis blunt and of the U.S. general, Pershing, who led the Villa Expedition to find and punish Pancho Villa for his attack on Fort Bliss. If you stayed at the Kentucky Club long enough you hear all the stories about Villa. He was famous for his consumption of cannabis, celebrated in “La Cucaracha” and it was historical legend that Villa smoked his cannabis at the Kentucky.
Tables at the Kentucky, with the afternoon light casting shadows, reminded me of an elegant bar somewhere in the British Raj as the sun was setting on the Empire. Any table held court on an international assembly of stealthy high-end thieves, secretive smugglers, cartel lieutenants and Federal agents trying to avoid detection. The Kentucky was styled with thoughtful attention to detail from another era like the soft green-tiled trough that circled the bar which allowed their card playing patrons to urinate at will and not leave their cards unattended. Since the bar was constructed before refrigeration, every day at 4 PM, a skinny young kid, who looked as if he should still be in middle school, carried in the blocks of ice used for mixed drinks on his back. He was always accompanied by his boss, a seasoned four foot dwarf, who directed him and collected money for the ice. The dwarf danced back and forth with a nervous tick as he visited each table to offer an earnest “Buenas tardes”. He always stuck out his hand, expecting a tip in recognition of his status.
I formed a special bond with the Kentucky’s oldest bartender, Andrés, when I brought him a New York Times Travel Section article about him and the Kentucky Club. He framed it and to this day it’s still hanging from a favored location on the wall behind the bar. With great ceremony, he offered to give me his secret margarita recipe which I will reveal now for the first time: one part Hornitos Reposado tequila, one part squeezed lime, one part the Mexican orange liqueur, “Controy”. Andrés was insistent that I not try to substitute the French version of this same liqueur, “Cointreau”. It was finished with lots of hand-chiseled ice.
We blithely disregarded the DEA agents who would occasionally occupy a shadowy corner table, but later, when Brian’s partner Charlie was indicted, we found out that an entire Justice Department task force had been listening and waiting for just the right time. Brian and Charley had arranged for a planeload of Colombian cannabis, flown by some Southwest Airline pilots, that was abandoned before it was fully unloaded in the Palm Springs desert. Years later, the DEA confronted Charlie right in the Kentucky, laid out their evidence among the shots of tequila, and secured Charlie’s cooperation.
Still half-lit from the Kentucky, we would hop back into Leilani’s Cadillac and get in line to go back across the border. It was time for a nap to sleep off the tequila, to clean up and get ready for the evening.
Brian’s answer to the waiting doldrums was to honor a Texas tradition and visit one of El Paso’s multitude of topless bars. El Paso, being part of the South, with the Fort Bliss army base and the University of Texas, El Paso was a prime location for the industry. On my second day in town, Brian took me to lunch in a small downtown café called the “King’s X”. Just as I was biting into my turkey club, the clock struck one and the staff, with matching uniforms, came out to engineer a spectacular transformation. A small stage emerged from a hidden panel and four gorgeous college girls from UTEP walked out in sequined bikinis. It wasn’t long before I stopped eating lunch to watch the performance. Maybe I had led a sheltered academic life previously, but I was from California and had never seen anything like this: one minute I was eating lunch and the next there were college girls dancing topless with breasts unexpectedly inches from my face. Brian noticed my discomfort and immediately called over one of the UTEP girls and insisted she sit on my lap.
He introduced me as a “professor” and asked her what her major was. “I’m studying law,” she said and asked if I could help her with her homework as Brian slipped her a twenty.
“This is my friend’s first time in El Paso,” Brian explained, “I’d like you to introduce him to the way we do things in the state of Texas.” At that narrow, two-person table, she took some time to show me the affability for which Texas was famous. My wire-rimmed glasses were smashed and bent, but I was infatuated.
Unlike California, topless bars were everywhere. There seem to be an attempt to anchor shopping malls with the classic troika of Texas: a topless bar, a pawn shop, and a church. There were some that catered to those who liked heavier girls, to those that liked thin girls, to natural and artificially constructed girls and to every possible ethnicity. Some of them tried to overwhelm you with scale and sheer numbers of dancers and then there were others that were all nude. The latter required one to bring one’s own alcohol, because of an obscure Texas law that recognized the potential for social chaos if alcohol and complete exposure were sold in the same location at the same time. Another timely framed rule on the wall of every bar in Texas, “It is unlawful to discharge a firearm in an establishment where alcohol is sold.” Only in Texas would the constabulary feel the need to spell out the obvious. I gradually settled on two bars that stood out: the Lamplighter, and Prince Machiavelli’s. The Lamplighter became my favorite and it wasn’t long before all California propriety was gone and I started dating the dancers.
One morning, Brian showed up early at my room at the Marriot. Brian was always well dressed with a starched collared shirt, a selection of one of his Patek Phillipe watches and exotically skinned boots. “Del, it looks like we’re out of pocket today so I’ve decided we need to get you out of those tennis shoes.” Several of the cartel lieutenants had mumbled a comment or two regarding the informality of my choice of footwear.
“Man, you can’t wear tennis shoes unless you’re at home,” they told me. ”Why even your president wears boots,” Don Chui’s son, Armando, said, referring to George W. Bush. Over time, a growing consensus and low key concern from Leilani to our Mexican friends had determined that it was a matter of Texas pride, gentlemanly decorum and respect for local customs that demanded that I should immediately be outfitted with appropriate boots.
Brian had shown up with Charlie, his Mexican partner, who was dark-complected, short and heavyset, with a mustache reminiscent of Emiliano Zapata. Charlie always wore shorts and sandals which drew attention to his ample abdominal girth. He was dating the widow of a West Texas oil tycoon, Deborah, who just idolized the notion of her Charlie as a wild, pot smuggling outlaw. Deborah, the stylish blond Texas cheerleader, with her expensive outfits and jewelry, presented an odd couple when matched with Charlie. “My former husband was in the awl business,” she explained with a full Southern drawl, “But I just love my Charlie”. She loved showing Charlie the outlaw to her El Paso society friends and she made it clear to everyone that Charlie had improbably captured her heart as a virile Latin lover.
We arrived at Brian’s bootmaker who occupied a small shop in the old part of town near the border. The bootmaker was a small older Mexican man whose hands were yellow dyed and worn from years of working with leather and lasts. There was hardly room to sit as the shop was filled in every available space with the exotic skins of endangered species. The bootmaker took my measurements to build a last that would serve as the foundation for many future generations of my boots. Having taken my measurements, the bootmaker, under Brian and Charlie’s direction, began to bring in a selection of skins. Once again, with my California sense of propriety, I began to cringe in alarm as they showed me crocodile (endangered), lizard (endangered) and elephant (obviously endangered). The bootmaker mistook my wide-eyed examination of the elephant skin as an interest in the species, so he brought out an “elephant face” skin. Really? I thought, elephant face? There it was with a bullet hole right in the middle of this poor elephant’s skin face. I settled on ostrich, which I knew to be farmed.
“Del, you’ll need a second pair. You can’t just have one pair of boots,” Charlie explained, Pick one more,”
“Yes, you’ll need more than one pair,” Brian echoed. At this point, everyone was beginning to understand my reservations and laughed.
“Since you’re from California,” Charlie said laughing, “ you’d probably be happy with the alligator. Alligators are farmed. Unlike crocodiles, there’s plenty of them.” I settled on the alligator.
We decided to go out that night to celebrate my boot purchase. I selected the ostrich skin for a night on the town. We settled on the Lamplighter which was always our favorite spot. I called Theresa, my latest flame, and she came to pick me up in her classic 68 Mustang with her name, “Theresa”, written in sparkling sequins on each side of her car. My memory of the evening’s events was hazy, but I did remember a chorus line forming at one point with all the dancers joined together in a Rockette like performance.
I woke up early to the sound of a knock on my door. It was from Brian. He was up and ready.
“The crossers came through last night and the first load is in the warehouse, “ he said smiling.
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Sex Pollen
Pairings: Javier Pena x f!reader
Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving), cursing, mentions of drugs.
Javier knew something wasn’t right. He could feel it crawling under his skin. Running through his veins. And the only clear thought in his head was to get to you. His body fucking craved you.
He stumbles his way to your apartment and when he finally knocks on your door he’s painfully hard. Adjusting himself with the palm of his hand he pounces on you the minute you open it.
“Javi…..what the….”
His lips cut you off as he molds his to your own, his tongue sliding across your bottom lip. When you open your mouth his tongue tangles with yours and then you gasp as your back hits the wall. His hands are everywhere. Pulling and pawing as he tries to push the strings of your top down over your shoulders.
He’s always needy but this is something else. He grinds his hips against you and you can feel him hard beneath his denim trousers. “Need you, hermosa,” he breathes out wanton and needy as he pulls back slightly, removing his leather jacket and throwing it into the ground.
“Javi, what’s gotten into you?” His eyes meet yours and you can see them blown wide with lust. “I just need you….so fucking badly, wanna fuck you so hard…need to be inside you, hermosa.”
His lips are on you again devouring you as his hands skim along your curves, sliding down over your hips and yanking down your shorts. He groans loudly when he finds you bare beneath them and without warning he’s on his knees with your leg thrown over his shoulder and his face buried into your aching cunt.
Your body shudders at the feel of his tongue lapping at your folds and you pray your legs won’t give out as pleasure builds deep inside you. “Javi….oh god….fuck….”
You move your hand towards his head and thread your fingers through his hair. He growls into your cunt and you come with a cry of his name.
Before you have a chance to calm your racing heart he’s on his feet again lifting you up by your thighs and carrying you towards the couch. “Javi….baby….your burning up,” you say slightly worried as sweat drips down over his nose.
“Think I…fuck I think they drugged me….some kind of…fuck…something that makes me so fucking horny…need to be inside you now, hermosa,” he says almost like a question but before you can answer, your back hits the couch and he’s buried his thick cock inside you. “Mierda! So goddamn tight…always so tight…fuck, never gonna have enough of you.”
His hips fuck into you over and over, his hand gripping your hip tight as he grunts loudly into the skin of your neck. “Oh Javi….”
His teeth graze your skin before sinking into it as he comes hard, a bruising grip on your hips. “Fuck,” he curses and you pull him off you so you can get a better look at him. “Are you ok?”
“I’m still fucking hard as a rock.” He pulls out of you not caring that his come is dripping down onto the floor as he reaches his hand out towards you. “Gonna fuck you from behind now, hermosa. Need a bed.”
***
You can barely breath as your face gets pushed further into the bed. Javi has his hand gripping your hair tight as he fucks you from behind. A shiver runs along your spine as you come again having long lost track of how many times you've come since he arrived at your door.
You don’t think your body can take much more and he’s still hard. Whatever they drugged him with was lasting and you wonder silently when it will wear off.
His head falls onto your shoulders as he comes again, his lips peppering kisses along your skin. “I think…I think it’s beginning to wear off, hermosa.”
“Can we take it a little slower this time?” You ask over your shoulder and he nods his head slowly as he pulls out of you and moves up towards the headboard. He pats his thighs, “want you to ride me, hermosa. Take me at your own pace.”
It aches between your thighs and you're a little overstimulated but you’ll do anything for Javi, for the man you’ve fallen hopelessly in love with. If this is what it takes to work that shit out of his system then so be it.
Straddling his waist you grab his cock lining it up before slowly sinking down onto him. Oh! His hands grip your hips as you begin to move above him - hips rocking over him. Sitting up he pulls your nipple into his mouth as he grabs you tight, pushing you down onto him.
“Oh fuck…Javi….I’m gonna..”
“That’s it baby…come on my cock. Want to feel you soak me again.”
“Fuck oh fuck.”
You shudder in his arms as your cunt clenches around him - his trusts becoming erratic- sending him over the edge.
He comes hard coating your walls with a cry of your name. He brushes hair off your face and captures your lips in a soft kiss before laying back - pulling you with him. His now soft cock slips out of you and you nestle into his side.
“I’m sorry hermosa…I just….”
You reach up and kiss him softly, quietening him with your lips. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat Javi. You should know that by now.”
His eyes bore into yours as he rubs circles into your cheek with his thumb. He leans down and kisses you passionately before pulling away with a kiss to your forehead. “I do. I know.”
His fingers run along your back as you snuggle in closer to him. “And you know I lo…”
“I know,” you say titling your head up towards him, his eyes meeting yours. “You never had to say it Javi. I always knew.”
“Te amo, mi amor,” he breaths out as he kisses you softly one last time before sleep consumes you both.
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Heat Chapter 43: Still
I apologize for the long hiatus! Hopefully this chapter makes up for the delay in posting 😊 This is the longest chapter to date, so sorry in advance!
Pairing: Javier Peña x OFC | Javi x Querida
Disclaimer: Written in 2nd person narrative, you can safely assume our heroine and love/lust interest is a Latina, written by a Latina. Here's my philosophy on my writing, for further context.
Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞
Word Count: 28,000+
Summary: As you try to achieve peace in your personal life, you find yourself struggling against melancholy and self-reproach during an important anniversary. When all you want is for time to stand still, can you find serenity with Javier in the emotional chaos?
Warnings: Graphic descriptions of sex, including masturbation and unprotected sex. Mentions of raunchy sexual acts, grieving, melancholy, toxic coping mechanisms, and loneliness. Descriptions of power play, praise kink, and dirty talk. Allusions to mourning, family strife, foreboding threats, and emotional angst. Some Protective!Javi, Dom! Javi, Boss!Javi, Sub!Reader. In the vein of Narcos being a bilingual show, and Javier Peña being fluent, I felt it was apropos to include Spanglish and Spanish throughout.
Heat Masterlist
Previous chapter - Chapter 42: Reflection
Chapter 43: Still
There had been a time, not so long ago, that you'd made peace with being alone.
It was mostly subconscious – the idea that you weren't on the same track as everyone else, but after you'd left Puerto Rico at the end of that summer, you'd felt like a different person than the one who'd reluctantly arrived from graduating college. If forced to articulate it, you would've struggled to decompartmentalize everything enough to be able to adequately represent why you'd felt different.
Even after years of working and building your professional life, you'd seldom let new people into your personal one. When you'd worked in the New York offices of the State Department, you'd always spend your free time with Irina and Sasha. And during your brief stint at the Washington D.C. offices, you'd kept to yourself, only making superficial connections with some of the other clerical staffers; making acquaintances you kept at arm's length.
You'd avoided dating during that period especially, feeling lonely but settled. Once you'd volunteered for the placement at the U.S. embassy in Bogotá, the protective bubble you'd crafted for yourself ebbed away by the time you'd settled down in the Colombian capital.
It helped to feel in a familiar, yet different place. But mostly, with your mother's side of the family being so accessible, you'd been able to soften more to the idea of a life shared pleasantly with others.
Ellis had worn you down – quickly going from the annoying gringo you shared an office corner with to a very close confidante and dear friend. Thanks to his congenial wife, they eventually dragged you out to be more social, and soon you felt like a normal, single, professional woman in a big city that still felt homey and sheltering. You dated, but nothing serious that ever lasted more than a few outings – or sleepovers at their place – and you had no qualms about keeping yourself guarded from being truly courted by anyone.
Just when you'd finally felt confident in your space and accomplished with yourself, you'd ended up staring when a cool, ridiculously handsome guy had crossed your field of vision one afternoon while you'd sat with the building's cleaning ladies during lunch at one of the gazebos facing the path leading into the building's back entry.
You'd looked over at the building in mid-answer to something Marisol had quipped, and saw Javier striding down a couple of steps to stop someone and chat. He had on aviator sunglasses, the kind with the amber-tinted lenses, dark hair combed with a side-part that was practically non-existent with how his unruly hair curled about in thick tufts. His tall muscularly built torso filled out the tropical blue button-down shirt while his brawny arms crossed over his strong chest as he nodded along listening to the other person he was conversing with. You were tantalized by the ratio of his broad shoulders to narrow hips, and how those dark grayish Levi's jeans seemed tailored to his strong long legs and perfect tush. He seemed almost unreal – a throwback to a handsome 70's stud you could've only daydreamed about.
Gaze lingering on him, you'd been thankful that you were far away enough to be able to stare from the safe distance, and ask Marisol, "Who is that?"
Marisol and the girls had looked over and exchanged varying snickers, and girlish giggles, before the older woman chimed knowingly, "Oh, that is one of the agentes de la DEA. Has made quite a reputation for himself, eh, girls?"
You couldn't get over how handsome he was and how he looked out of place for the buttoned-up vibe of the consulate, but really what got you was how he had a jawline for days. Quickly, all your pining from afar accelerated to lust when you admired how his full lips had pulled into a wry smirk before he tipped the sunglasses down amusedly at something the other person had said, which gave you a view at the way his smile made his eyes crinkle.
Heat had radiated in the apples of your cheeks as you'd feigned aloofness before going back to the conversation, ignoring Marisol's knowing smile, with aplomb.
It'd been the first time your pulse had raced for someone since…well since a time you'd worked very hard to put behind you, so it'd given you pause.
What a silly thing. Crushing over some tight-jean-wearing, mustachioed DEA bad boy, had been your internal scoff as you'd stubbornly shelved the notion.
You hadn't expected for said crush for the roguish agent to become even more concrete from afar after witnessing him leaving to some kind of raid one late afternoon.
He'd marched confidently through the embassy lobby in his army green tac vest like a man on a mission and laser focused, none the wiser to having caught your eye. You had just come around the corner from the atrium and almost got whiplash from doing a double take, only to then end up watching him stride towards the exit in those classic-blue Levi's jeans, a light khaki-colored button-down shirt with the sleeves tapered at his muscular biceps, and his dark, unruly tufts of hair curling boyishly after they got tousled by his thick fingers absently carding through them as he stormed off.
If the woman who'd stood there, idly replaying the smirk you'd seen grace his gorgeous features prior, would've known you'd be the woman who'd gotten that swagger-rich DEA stud to fall madly in love with, let alone gun-ho about wanting to live a life together, even? That he'd forsake the trappings of his previous rakish lifestyle? And that you would end up being the woman who was now unable to see the rest of your life without him in it? You're sure your psyche would've burst into blazing sparks at trying to rationalize it all.
And when you'd woken next to him and ended up staring at his serene, sleeping features in the waxy orange veil of dawn that'd begun filling your bedroom the morning after your spectacular Valentine's Day night, the need to rationalize your feelings did not intrude into your mind or heart. Instead, you couldn't help fawn at how grateful you were to have found your way back to each other. To feeling loved and safe again – no longer content with being alone, and relieved to be free of the loneliness that had been your anesthetizing companion since you'd left your life in Colombia.
To say that the night of the double date had cemented things between you and Javi as being back on track, would've felt much too simple to properly do everything that had transpired prior and led up to it, proper justice.
At least that's what you're telling yourself after having had time to reflect back on it.
However, new worries settled in now, like knowing how much to share with the people around you who'd surely noticed the shift in your day-to-day routine and the priorities of your personal time. Of course, the usual suspects didn't worry you.
Ellis and Anita, as well as Steve and Connie obviously knew. And when you'd called to thank Zoraida for the reservation again, she'd made you divulge, telling you not to spare a salacious detail of the night. You'd been happy to do so – albeit giving her the abbreviated version of your history with Javier to date. She'd been cheekily enthralled to hear about the guy who'd be monopolizing your time, showing not a hint of umbrage when you'd scoffed and assured that you wouldn't pull a her and just disappear on a long tryst.
Hell, she'd even gone as far as to snicker to you, "Sure, like you don't plan on going missing every weekend from now on – catching up on all that fun with your papisongo!"
You trusted she'd tell the other girls so they wouldn't get too peeved with you skipping out on the group hangouts over brunch or happy hour drinks.
So, the only remaining hurdle you figured would require a finer tact around, would be your father.
Still, there was nothing you wanted to let intrude in the rekindling of your relationship now, and by the way Javier talked, his only concern was making up for lost time with you. You were more than content with that, and were committed to just going with the flow – to not putting pressure on yourself or worrying about setting expectations for things to come.
It was your time to embrace the hopeful feelings you'd taken for granted. To enjoying what you'd both missed out on prior: being together without the stigma of ominous judgment or danger.
After all, even that morning, when you had amorously kissed Javi awake, and he'd surprised you by surging out of bed to get in his running clothes as he jibed, "Rise and shine, malvadita. Let's go for this grueling jog of yours," the prospect of being seen with him out and beyond the haven of your stomping grounds? Of taking it to your professional territory by getting spotted canoodling with the DEA's Special Agent in Charge, in and around the Federal building? It made excitement bloom in your chest.
When he'd yanked his shirt over his head and eyed you challengingly, you'd ended up snickering, totally enticed by his suggestion and his debonair airs enough to toss the blanket aside as you'd climbed out of bed and hurriedly got dressed before heading out on the early morning jog route with him.
You two hadn't gotten to the elevator before running into Jodalys, who you'd go on jogs with on occasion when she wasn't going with her group of girlfriends. Your neighbor and friend had given you a conspiratorial wink of approval after you'd introduced her to Javi and parted ways at the courtyard's entry. She'd also made it a point to tell you how hot Javi was the next time you ran into her in the lobby later that evening.
But then you'd gone up to your place right after and listened to a voicemail on the answering machine from your father reminding you of the plans for Sunday, and you'd hedged on calling him back.
Later that night, when Javier had come over and you'd vivaciously taken him to bed, you'd sidled close to him after the amorous coupling, and whispered, "When should we put it out there?"
"What – us, you mean?" he'd murmured, and at your nod against his chest, he'd cupped your cheek and tipped your face up to his in the dark of the bedroom, admiring your features thanks to the scant light coming from the lamp left on in the living room. "I'll send out a memo building-wide tomorrow," had been his quip, smirking when you scoffed irreverently at the notion. "This isn't like the embassy, so, we can be as discreet or overt as we want, I think. Mercer isn't really empowered to do much, and it's not like there's any ethical conflicts of interest. We don't impact each other's departments—"
"Still, it's about keeping professional appearances and avoiding any possible HR concerns. Rumors about us aside, it's something we'd have to address, since we've rekindled things," you sheepishly muse, and at Javi humming in acknowledgement of your point, you add, "I think we'll have to disclose our relationship to Mercer, at the very least."
"Hmm, ok. It'll have to be after I come back from Santo Domingo, ideally," Javi had mused, then detailed his upcoming trip, which would coincide with the anniversary of your mother's death. "—I'm flying out Friday end of day so I can meet with the commander of the operation there and try to be back before that—"
You'd kissed his cheek, then assured, "It's ok, Javi. I…I usually spend that day by myself anyway. Just, promise to call me? So I know you're all right?"
"Of course, mi amor," he'd answered devotedly and kissed you before wrapping his arms around you after you curled into him and sighed.
You were fine with waiting. After all, the foreboding worry that had once hung over you both like the sword of Damocles was no longer there, and even with Javier traveling for work more than he'd done before, he was nowhere near the action. And with Steve overseeing the field ops on the island, you felt a keener sense of security that Javier wouldn't be hung out to dry, or end up being the heavy, or the fall guy.
The night before he was due to fly out, you'd both gone over to Steve and Connie's for dinner. It had been a charming evening, spent enjoying the meal and internally fawning at how cute Isabel was when she'd smile and reach for Javi to pick her up. The six-month-old seemed to be drawn to him, and you'd be in denial if you neglected to acknowledge how something warm and fuzzy tingled in your tummy watching Javi prop her up in his arms while making silly muecas when she tried to reach for his moustache.
And little Olivia was a riot. Javi had told you so beforehand, but the precocious little girl hadn't missed a beat when you'd walked in together and Javi had introduced you to her.
"Are you uncle Javi's wife?" she'd queried and given you a guileless, warm-eyed stare, looking rambunctious in her little blue and white-butterfly-patterned overalls and pink polo.
You could feel Javi tense behind you, before you'd crouched down at Olivia's level.
With an impish smile, you'd began to say, "No, I'm his friend—"
"His girlfriend?" she piped and smirked up at him when Connie comically admonished her while Steve shook his head and held Isabel in the crook of his arm.
"Actually, yes. And that makes him my boyfriend, too," you'd chuckled and winked at her before remarking, "That probably sounds silly, since we're both grownups, huh."
Sitting now on the bench across from the 'Kid's Escape' upstairs and adjacent to the mall's food court, you were just fawning at the memory of Javier trying to suppress a kooky grin at the way Olivia had stated, "All grownups are silly. But you should marry each other so you can be happy and silly together," when Connie sat next to you and pulled you from your reveries.
You'd volunteered to keep watch over the strollers – one empty thanks to Anita taking Delilah for a diaper change, and the other with a sleeping Isabel next to you while Connie had taken Olivia in to run around in the playscape.
"It's going to be hell, getting her out of there," Connie snickers as she plops her purse next to her so she can take a load off.
"But she'll be tuckered out for sure on the drive home," you muse as you smirk at her and over at the indoor playground bustling with precocious kids.
You could see the little girl happily crawling up the tunnel to get to the slide, and it makes you think of how cute she was when she'd asked Javi to help her color in the latest page of her coloring book after dinner the other night.
Isabel sleepily shifts in her stroller, little fist curling into her cheek as she settled back down before she lets out a soft sigh that stirs your attention back at her.
Noticing your stare, Connie can't help endorse in an inconspicuous lilt, "Javi is great with her. Same with Olivia, when she was that little."
Pursing your lips knowingly, you tuck your hair behind your ear as you give her a side glance and drawl, "So you've let him babysit, then?"
"Not yet, no," Connie chuckles, adding, "Up until recently, I'd been under the impression that he was spending his free time galivanting around—"
"You mean 'skanking' around," you interject wryly, snickering when she gives you a nervous laugh. "It's ok. He had that rep when we met."
"I have to say, if Steve had that ladies' man status, I don't know if I would've been able to overlook it," Connie confides as she idly folds one of the baby's blankies into a neat square. "Although, I don't think I could keep my guard up for long. Not with how sweet he was."
"Well, Javi wore me down," you quip, and give her a musing shrug before adding, "I mean, not to say there weren't bumps in the road. Bumps shaped like conniving floozies, for one…"
Hands pausing in their absent folding and refolding, Connie's wide blue eyes stare at you as she whispers, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to dredge it up—"
You shake your head and exhale humorously. "No, it's fine! That probably sounded bitchy. Really, there was only one time I had any right at being miffed," you dismiss, but at Connie's curious stare, you can't help elaborating, "Early on, after the siege at the Palace of Justice? He'd been MIA, and then he'd called me one night – when we'd had plans for him to come over, to tell me he couldn't make it, and some woman was in his apartment. She was like, 'How're we gonna handle this arrangement, then?' with this seductive tone?"
Connie's expression etches with sympathy and guilt, as she mentions, "I remember that time. He and Steve were helping out an acquaintance of mine, who was worried she was a target for the cartel and the government."
"Don't worry, I know all that now. But at the time? I'd been crushed. And he'd tried to say nothing was going on, but I hung up on him and didn't talk to him for a while. And then we reconciled after that Tolu raid he was part of, and while we'd been arguing in the car about what happened, he let it slip that he had been with her," you find yourself volunteering, feeling like you were telling a story about someone you used to know.
Her reaction, though, grounds you back in the reality that it had happened to you, not someone else.
"Ugh, I'd tried to set him up with Elisa, but had I known then about you two, I would've never even introduced them! Oh but then the siege happened and she showed up outside the apartment begging for help, and I could only think to take her to Javi's so she could lay low," Connie tells you contritely before frowning as she recalls, "Oh no…on the day I drove her out of the capital, she'd mentioned something about that – the call."
"Oh?" you query, arching a brow.
"I never thought much of it and didn't put two and two together, until now. I guess she'd heard him. She'd said he sounded preoccupied, and she'd simply wanted to remind him that she wasn't just furniture being kept in his care," Connie answers, frowning, as she adds, "That he'd had the gall to gab with one of his girls like she wasn't even there—"
"I knew it," you can't help hiss as you cross your arms and shake your head. "He swore that he didn't even know why she said that while he was on the phone, and that after that, she'd been naked and waiting for him in bed—" you bite back your retroactive disdain and scoff, uncrossing your arms and looking down to make sure you didn't wake the baby in the stroller. "…Good to know I wasn't just inferring things."
Connie pats your shoulder. "Safe to say, he's made up for it, since?" she asks in a light tone.
You huff amusedly, and nod. "Yes, he's more than made up for it. But best believe, if I ever run into that Elisa, I'm beating her like a piñata," you tell her glibly, but your narrow smile speaks volumes for how serious you are.
At that, Connie can't help liking you a whole lot more than she already did.
Anita returns with Delilah, looking a bit harried as she puts the now fussy baby in her carriage. "Oof, sorry. She's all cranky," your friend explains as she tries to get her to settle.
"Ah, nap time?" Connie asks as she gives her seat to Anita so she can more comfortably tend to the baby.
"Yeah, she's just like her father. Whiny when she can't get any sleep," Anita jokes, and you all chuckle. "Did you want to check out Sears before heading out?"
Brightly, Connie agrees, "That'd be great! Let me grab Olivia."
You and Anita stay with the strollers so Connie can go collect Olivia from the playscape while you try to entertain the squirmy little one with silly coos and playful bops of her binky onto her chin, giving Anita a chance to finish her soft drink.
"Oh, did I tell you Ellis wants to do a barbecue?" Anita chimes as she tosses her finished cup into a nearby trash receptacle. "I'm going to invite Connie, too."
Smiling, you chit chat some more until Connie returns with Olivia in tow.
The mall outing was a nice way to spend the morning, and by the time you're exiting the department store, you're all agreeing to coordinating a good day to hang for the barbecue.
On the drive home after dropping Anita and the baby off, you can't help reminisce on the other night. Of how nice it'd been to stroll from Steve and Connie's to Javier's house a block or so away, walking hand in hand in the cool night air. The sound of the coquí filled the ambient hum over the breeze as you both talked, and served as the main nocturnal chorus once you both got into his bungalow. You hadn't finished placing your purse onto his dresser before he'd come up behind you and wrapped you up in his arms.
The sex had been ardent and magnificent after such an emotionally fulfilling week.
Javi had made you feel like the most sumptuous, scrumptious being as he unspooled pleasure from you with every part of him. His lips, hands, the press of him spreading you out into a pliant, writhing thing underneath him while he fucked you with all the passion that blazed in his heart and burned in his veins for you while he husked sweet, fervent things to you had been your undoing. He'd made you reach bliss so many times that night, you'd been quivering – reduced to a sinewy vessel, burned down to embers. But when you'd sobbed his name and begged him to make you his, new life had tingled through your nerve endings and pulsed in your core from how fierce and carnally he'd stared down at you as he'd reached his climax.
You're thinking of how his mouth had fallen open on his shout of ecstasy as he'd thrust home into your fluttering sheath and surged down to bury his wrecked whine into your neck as he spilled his orgasm deep, and the sense-memory of it has need blooming like a throbbing ache between your thighs, as you drive. It has you yearning for Javi, and having to remind yourself it's only been a day since you've been apart.
Annoyed with yourself, your mind wanders back to spending the night at his place, post-mind-blowing coupling.
Javier had reasoned with you beforehand to stay over, and you'd happily been cajoled into bringing a travel bag with a change of clothes for work the next day. He'd gone to the trouble to make his place immaculate and stocked the fridge with your favorite juices and drinks, which you couldn't help melt over.
Your infatuation has you thinking now of the quirky thing Javi did, as you pull into the driveway to your condo and punch in the security keycode.
After taking a soothing shower together and affectionately lotioning each other up with some silky cream you had in your travel tote, Javier had gone to the kitchen to get you a glass of water while you dreamily sat under the sheet on the side of the bed closest to the bedroom door, idly massaging the remnants of the lotion you'd used on the rest of your body along your arms. He'd come in, rounded the bed to the unoccupied side, placed the glass of water on the nightstand, then gone to shut the light off in the hall before tugging the towel around his hips off to be tossed into the bathroom before going to where you were under the sheet and lifting it to bossily, albeit affectionately, herd you to glide over to the opposite side of the bed as he climbed in after you.
You'd been so tired that you'd just exhaled an amused huff, greedily chugged half the water in the glass, and flopped down to curl into him after he'd shut the bedside lamp off on his side and pulled the rest of the covers up to snuggle up with you.
Riding up in the elevator now, it dawns on you.
Javier has always made sure to put himself between you and the door.
He's done it since you'd first been together. You'd not noticed before since you'd always absently preferred sleeping on the left side of the bed, and your place and Javi's back in Bogotá – hell, even his crash house in Medellín and the hotel room in Cartagena – had the doorway closer to the right side of the bed. But here? Your condo and his place's bedroom had the doors close to the left side.
Awestruck, you wander down to your door and key in, floored by the realization that Javier has always been compelled – maybe hardwired, even – to put himself between you and possible danger.
It makes butterflies flutter in your tummy the more you think about it.
The reveries of all the ways Javi's made you feel worthy and precious fill your head and keep you in a daydreamy bubble the rest of the day as you busy yourself with chores.
Javier, on the flipside, is trying to make heads and tails of what's before him in this latest anti-cartel crusade that he'd signed up for.
At the time, what no one knew, and what he was starting to suspect, was that the drug trade network between the islands of the Greater Antilles were supplied by several cartel factions in Central America. The biggest distributor, the Gulf cartel, had shipping lanes mapped into the Caribbean for years. And even though things in the Sinaloan, Guadalajaran, and Juárez plazas had become a veritable civil war, the coastal factions eked out revenue focusing on pumping marijuana, heroin and cocaine into the Caribbean, avoiding the hassle of increased boarder security and aggressive surveillance from the U.S.
Instead of 'trampolining' product over the boarder like Amado had perfected, traffickers in the Gulf cartel were applying a 'slingshot' style tactic for transporting the product to the network across the islands. That, however, required establishing partnerships with local gangs, who by coercion, bribery, or intimidation, succeeded in moving the drugs throughout their territory.
Junior Capsula's crew had been the best at cornering the market on the larger islands, and with time, he'd kowtowed rival factions to falling in line and working for him and his other capos. Nowhere was that more prevalent than in the Dominican Republic.
After getting the leads from his contacts, Nic Lopez had briefed Javier on how La Familia got their inventory for local trafficking from Santo Domingo, the capital of the Dominican Republic. A few calls and a lot of political compromise later, and Javier had coordinated a joint taskforce with the authorities there, so he and Nic flew out Friday to hit the ground running.
The plan was to find the pipeline there and turn the spigot off, or at the very least isolate who the players were and who they used to ferry the product and cash to the network of public housing points, just like what was found at the crime scene at the caserío hit.
Javier's counterpart was the head of the Dominican Republic's Dirección Nacional de Control de Drogas, aka their version of the Colombian National Police that specialized in drug enforcement. A man known as Comandante Ayala. His first impression of him was good, but he'd learned never to let first impressions dissuade him of a sad truth:
Most men could be bought. No matter how pious, or principled they're lauded to be.
One thing he did to give Javier a hopeful outlook, though, was confirm a few things only the well-connected knew: José Figueroa Agosto had ties on both islands. The narco wannabe kingpin had homes all over the Dominican Republic and Puerto Rico, tons of luxury cars, boats – and deep pockets for bribes.
No matter how many busts or seizures were undertaken, how many drug points or transport operations were dismantled, the inconspicuous thug was always ahead. Nothing had been making a dent. But, curiously, the massacre at the public housing complex had shaken some partners. Enough to make them gripe to those who didn't mind passing the complaints along to diligent and crafty guys like Nic Lopez.
At dinner, when it was just the two of them in the crowded cantina across from the military base they were staying in, Nic had confirmed what had now become the most obvious.
"…There's some other pipeline of distribution. Maybe someone in the syndicate is trying to mobilize everything to flow from that rather than out of Santo Domingo? It would explain why no reprisals have happened," is the intrepid agent's musing as he swirls his tequila idly. "That bust in St. Thomas? It could be from that other stream—"
"Yeah, that's what I've been thinking," Javi cuts in before downing the rest of his whiskey, letting the burn of the amber liquid temper his next statement. "Or, it could be a diversion. Their attempt at 'diversifying the portfolio.' Cali did the same thing, with Medellín, with the Sinaloans…"
It was a possibility. Really, anything was. Still, it didn't give him or Nic much comfort.
Deciding to call it a night not soon after, they both returned to the private dorms they'd been given to stay in for the next couple of days.
Once showered and in a pair of dark green boxers, Javi stretched out on the narrow bed against the wall to lounge in the direction the window-unit air conditioner was undulating cold air, and let himself unwind. Closing his eyes, he let his mind relax.
Of course, it wanders over to thinking of you.
He remembers how good it'd been to wake up with you in his bed the other morning. How wonderful the night before had been.
A primal yearning had pulsed beseechingly within him at watching you with Steve's kids. You hadn't missed a beat at contending with Olivia and her precocious questions. No matter how silly or nosy. He swore she got that trait from Steve. But he couldn't muster an ounce of umbrage when it came from the adorable little girl.
The image of you holding Isabel and smiling at the way she yawned before resting her head on your shoulder flashed across his mind's eye now, making that effervescent feeling expand behind his sternum and heat his blood. It had him aching in his chest for the future – for what it would feel like to look upon you while you held your future first-born, to cuddle and smile lovingly down at his child.
Was it a wonder that he could barely think straight the rest of the evening you all chit-chatted around the coffee table? Coloring with Olivia before she'd been herded to bed had been the only way he could keep from staring at you with want in his dark eyes. Hell, the urge to claim you had been so intoxicating that he'd almost considered coming up with an excuse for you two to leave abruptly. He'd even debated about taking a sleeping Isabel from your arms in order to hand her to Connie so he could grab your hand and tow you away back to his place already.
As soon as you'd made the overture to call it a night, Javier had been burning with a feral, primordial need for you. He'd barely contained his impulses on the stroll home, but the moment you were in his bedroom, Javi's restraint dissolved, and he'd been on you – stripping you with deft hands while his mouth claimed yours.
Parting ways the next morning had weighed on him more than he'd expected, especially knowing what you would be dealing with.
He'd called you that first night in Santo Domingo, and you'd told him the plans you'd confirmed with your father for Sunday. You'd been so tired from the workday, though, that when you'd stifled a sleepy yawn, Javier had insisted you go to bed, and promised to call you every night.
You'd needed to keep yourself occupied. The chores had helped, and so did fawning over Javier most of the day. Hell, even now, you sighed dreamily after staring over at the lovely bouquet he'd given you for Valentine's Day. It was sitting in the vase at the center of your glass dining table, still looking vibrant and lush thanks to your doting to keep the roses and lilies luscious as long as possible.
But now that you'd finished with the last 'to-do' – having just folded up the ironing board after leaving the starching and steaming for last to do while the TV played the evening news, you were just resigning yourself to the melancholy waiting for you, when the house phone rang.
Picking it up from the base as you simultaneously grabbed the remote from the side table, you turned the TV off as you pressed the button to pick up the call.
"Hello?"
"Hey, hermosa. How're things?"
You feel that beaming, tingly glee crest up in you at the sound of his canela-spiced baritone.
"Better, now that you've called," you tell him with genuine delight as you shut the lamp off in the living room and start to lope down the hall towards your bedroom. With a sigh, you murmur, "I miss you. Been thinking about you all day."
"Oh?" he purrs in that roguish tone that hints at intrigue.
"Mmhmm. After this week, can you blame me?" you flirt now, entering your room after switching the hall light off.
"Not at all, especially since I miss the hell out of you too, and have my mind wandering. I was just remembering how sexy you looked in that little jogging outfit from the other day. Among other things," he chuckles in a velvety rasp that has arousal tickling warmth into your core.
Tossing yourself onto your cozy bed, you chime casually, "On the drive home from spending the day at the mall with the girls? I kept replaying the other night."
You expect him to take the bait you just so meatily dangled for him, but instead, Javi hums, "Have fun shopping?"
Pursing your lips to stifle your goofy huff, you roll to adjust your lounging position on the bed so you can sit up against your propped pillows. "Yes. Oh! We have tentative plans to go over to Ellis and Anita's for a barbecue. Us girls will coordinate on the date and let you boys know," you tell him spiritedly, smiling when you hear him hum a pleased grunt. "How're things there? I don't imagine you and Nic had enough time to go sightseeing around the capital?"
"Pfft, not in the least. It's bustling, and the base is close to the shoreline, but aside from some government office meetings, all we've seen a lot of is the cantina and the taskforce headquarters," he retorts, and you can hear him shifting onto a bed before he lets out a relaxed exhale. "We're going to Punta Cana in the morning to ride along on a raid. I have a meeting at the Fortaleza Wednesday morning., so I'll have to be back by then. Hopefully we get the intel we need from here quick," is his remark before he tentatively asks, "Everything still on? I mean, you and your father are still spending the day together?"
With a sigh, you absently toy with a few strands of hair as you reply, "Yes. I'm meeting him in Dorado."
He hums, and you can sense he's being cautious, not wanting to linger on the topic for fear it could trigger your melancholy. It actually makes your heart twinge – knowing how much he cares.
Javier is thinking of a delicate way to ask whether you really would spend the day alone on the anniversary of your mother's death, when he hears the shifting of the pillows you're lounging on, as if you'd just stretched out.
"So, what're you wearing, papisongo?"
Heat flares from his apex to radiate arousal into his loins at your seductive query.
Stretching to lie on the bed so he can rest his head on the pillows, propping the phone between his shoulder and ear, Javi adjusts himself, already feeling want pool in his core and fill out his length. He licks his bottom lip before rumbling, "Just a pair of boxers—"
"Oh?" you purr in his ear, and the timbre is playful, full of promise. "Paint me a picture, stud."
He gets rock-hard at the petition.
With a gravelly hum, he drawls, "Not much to paint, guapita. I'm in a military dorm room, on a narrow bed that's more of a cot than anything, and lying on it so the air conditioner can fan on me. This Caribbean heat is something else."
You chuckle at that.
"Which boxers?" is your melodious ask.
Smirking, he tucks his hand behind his head to stretch more comfortably while his other palm caresses down his torso languidly. "The dark green ones," he answers before scoffing at himself, admitting, "Christ, you're getting me worked up already…"
"Tell me, Javi," is your smoky murmur that sends a charge of pulsing desire to throb in his cock.
Palming himself over his boxers, he closes his eyes and lets out a raspy exhale. "I'm so fucking hard. You got me turned on, wishing you were touching me right now," he tells you in a husky pitch. His hand slips below the waistband to stroke his heavy erection, and a shiver goes up his spine when you hum a pleased sound of approval. "W-What're you wearing, mi amor?"
Looking down at your worn, oversized plum t-shirt and the slouchy sleep shorts your fingers paused skimming along the crotch of, you bite your lip before fibbing in a sultry chime, "I'm wearing the red lace teddy."
Javier blows a raspberry at your answer before grumbling freshly, "Yeah fucking right. C'mon, what do you really have on?"
Snickering, you gripe, "Nothing sexy—"
"I doubt that. Anyway, you gotta paint a picture for me too, seductora," is Javi's puckish drawl that has thrill pulsing warmth between your thighs.
"It's a ratty and baggy sleep set, chavón. I'm laying on my bed, thinking of you looking like a sexy centerfold and touching myself. Does that do it for you?" is your haughty mutter, expecting him to snort at you.
Instead, he lets out a husky hum that sends a tickle down to your core, before he sets it aflame with, "Mmm, it does, naughty girl. Tell me: you grinding that sweet little clit, thinking about me?"
Clenching your thighs around your hand to rut against the heel of your palm, you let out a breathy mewl while your other hand keeps the phone to your ear. You get wet, picturing Javi naked and stretched out on his back as he pleasures himself for you. "Yes. Yes, Javi. Wish I could watch you, like that time. Wanna see you get yourself off for me," you're telling him as you slip your hand beneath your shorts and start to circle your fingertips over the hood of your clit before grinding just the right amount of pressure that has you aching for climax.
You can just make out the sound of him shifting over the covers of the bed he's lying on over his gruff swear of, 'Fuck,' before you whine, "Javi, talk to me."
Javier's just finished hastily kicking off his boxers so he can pleasure himself without the barrier of them stifling the vigor of his stroking. And at your needy order, he audibly spits in his hand before fisting his cock, groaning at the added glide. "You got me jacking off like a hard-up fucker, bravita. F-Fuck, wish I was with you. Need to feel you, smell you, taste how wet you are—" at your flitty mewl, he bares his teeth from how hard he squeezes himself and husks, "You like that, baby? Knowing how fucking bad I wanna drop to my knees and bury my face in your pussy?"
"Oh Javi!" your cry of bliss shoots electricity through him and has him chasing his orgasm. It snaps loose within the tangled pleasure in his apex when you beg, "Please, I need you, mi rey—"
"Dios mío, Celina—!" he croaks out as his wits are stolen from him when his hand mindlessly strokes him into rapturous completion. So much so, that he doesn't even realize he growls in a pitched baritone, "I'm coming—f-fuck, m'coming!" as he spills his climax, shooting thick ropes of pearly seed to coat his stomach.
The sound you let out at hearing him reach ecstasy and being propelled by it into your own searing orgasm anchors Javier back from the fuzzy afterglow to coo in a velvety husk, "Such a good girl. Sound so sexy and sweet, coming hard for me like that. Helping me get off so fucking good."
In a warm, tremulous fog, you lie in a relaxed heap on your bed, languidly gliding your touch through the slick damp of your climax as it seeps into the crotch of your shorts. "Yeah?" you dreamily lilt, and at his mellow hum of confirmation, you smile and silkily sigh, "How good, mi cariñito?"
He lets out a sated, humored exhale from deep in his chest, before purring over the line, "Got me laying here on this glorified cot, naked and covered in my cum, still buzzing. That's how good, malvadita. Can't move yet…"
The image he conjures has delight zinging through you. "Sounds like a delicious sight. Wish I was there to take care of you," is your sultry murmur. He grunts drolly at that, so you tell him, "I kept my pjs on, but now my shorts are damp; fingers are all slick—"
He groans, as if lamenting he can't be there to do anything about it. You snicker, wiping your digits on the pant leg of your shorts before using the back of your hand to push your hair away from your forehead, chiming, "How you feeling over there, hm?"
"Hmph, like a dirty perv," is his deadpan, but you can hear the lopsided smile in his tone. "Shit, I needed that. Been tense. Felt good – having the release," he tells you in a relaxed murmur, then adds acerbically, "And I've been too sore to hit the gym since that insane jog you took me on—"
"Hah, oh yeah? And you'd been so sure that my 'little jog' would be no sweat for you," is your deriding snicker, loving how he gives you a grumpy huff in response, so you goad, "Guess I'll have to skip the beach leg of the jog to accommodate you—"
"My quads still ache from trudging through the sand trying to sprint after you," he haughtily razzes, and you can't help recall how he'd pouted when you'd heckled him to keep up.
"Well, I did offer to rub them for you, but you decided you'd rather spend the time being a filthy beyako instead," you singsong daringly, squeezing your thighs together idly at the reminder that plays in your head.
He remembers too. How he'd greedily chugged the green juice you'd gotten at the stand on the way back through El Condado. How surly he'd been while you both strolled through the park across from the busy avenue leading to the pedestrian bridge to the residential area your condo resides in. How he'd stared at your ass when you bent over to tie your sneaker's shoelace while you tutted at him about the folly of trying to show you up. The way your sweaty skin had made him buzz with salacious need while you'd both rode up in the elevator. And how amazing you'd tasted when he'd stripped you of your jogging clothes to bend you over the foot of your bed so he could eat your pussy out from behind.
"As if I would've passed up the chance to get you in that 'downward dog' pose," he smugly quips, smirking when you chortle at his logic, so he adds, "I'd opt for sore muscles over skipping having you any day." At your unconvinced laugh, he gloats, "Hey, we took advantage of the workout hormones already in our systems. I know I felt fucking great the rest of the day—"
"Hah, well I can't argue with that. It felt amazing," you cut in impishly while caressing your fingertips languidly along your exposed belly as you think of how content he'd looked after the raunchy post-workout sex, all freshly showered, watching you get dressed while he towel-dried his hair.
His velvety hum at your comment filters through the phone, stirring a warm smile to tug your dreamy features as you tuck wayward strands of hair behind your ear, and when it's proceeded by a yawn, you murmur dotingly, "Alright, I love you, bebito. Now be a good boy and come home to me soon."
A familiar, incandescent feeling fills his chest, making him ache with a yearning and prolonging the wistful post-bliss daze clinging to him. It has him professing worshipfully, "I will. Eres mi vida, preciosa. M'gonna take care of you. Make you come for me, have you feeling as amazing as you always make me feel. Show you how much I love you—"
You giggle enchantedly. "Javi. You already do all of that," is your sultry insistence, which makes him smile. "You're mine, and I can't wait to have you in my arms again, so I can kiss you silly and get you off like you deserve, chulito."
He grazes his teeth over his bottom lip and grunts an enticed sound as he sits up and snatches up his rumpled boxers, using them to wipe the sticky mess from his midriff. "Well, with promises like that," Javi drawls cockily, and you scoff spiritedly at him. "I'll be home soon, corazón. Until then, be sure to keep thinking naughty things so you'll have plenty to tell me," is his velvet over steel rumble, smirking when he hears your charmed hum. "Goodnight, querida."
"Goodnight, mi amor."
You set the phone aside on the nightstand, turn the lamp off, curl up under the covers, and dream of Javier.
It's a wonderful one. You're both together, lying under the mango tree in your grandmother's backyard, the grass cool and soft under you while you gaze at Javi while he sits up on his propped elbow and caresses your cheek.
He's murmuring to you about catching Escobar, telling you how great it was to see him in prison with the Cali Godfathers, watching them all fight each other. That it was all over, and that he had all the time in the world now to be with you.
"What else do you want, Javi?"
With a beaming smile that unearths his boyish dimple, he cups your jaw and guides you closer so he can whisper, "I have everything I want now, Celina."
The breeze whooshes around you both and rustles the leaves of the tree above head and undulates the cornucopia of flowers that fill the yard around you. A few petals get carried up in the current and waft towards the house. You follow their trajectory and notice your mother standing on the back patio. She's wearing a flower-print wrap dress that accentuates her round baby bump, and she's waving at you while cradling the basket filled with viandas and eggs against her hip.
You're just about to call over to her, but the breeze whips around you now, and just as you feel Javier caress his big, warm hand over your tummy – stirring you to look up into his stare and get lost in his coffee-brewed brown eyes, your alarm goes off and snaps you awake.
A flood of warm, fuzzy tranquility fills you as you lie there, trying to keep all the pieces of the dream from slipping away into that obscure haze that tends to muddle the details the more alert your mind becomes.
What a weird dream, you think, but your smile doesn't wane as you get out of bed and set out to get ready for your day.
The smile is on your face now as you sit at the table in the club house's outdoor dining area, stare faraway as you look out at the rolling green of the nearest golf hole just beyond the shade-covered terrace.
You'd gone over to your father's place, like agreed, and he'd cajoled you into having brunch before going off on the daytrip he'd planned. Of course, though, you hadn't gotten to enjoy the savory dishes you'd both ordered before your father was pulled away by a jovial member here and there who just had to bend his ear about this or that.
Truthfully, you didn't mind having the distraction to gaze off and think about the dream some more. Wondering what the meaning behind it could be naturally led you to thinking about Javier, and fantasizing about him in a dorm room's cot, naked and in a rut for you. It made heat tingle up to the apples of your cheeks while it warmed your core with cloying desire.
You're sipping your passionfruit mimosa, continuing to stare off at the palm trees in the distance while thinking about how gorgeous Javi looked asleep in your bed post-Valentine's Day, when your father finally returns to the table and slips back into his seat across from you.
"Sorry about that. Anyway, where were we?" he's asking in his cool, bass-filled baritone stirring you back from the mental image of Javi's eyes looking like dark chocolate chips when the sunlight made him squint after he sat up in his bed and smiled down at you the other morning.
"…You were promising to have a nice surprise at the end of this road trip?" you retort, adjusting your napkin over your lap before resuming eating. "And I was asking if the surprise would be to make up for Camille's inevitable stupid comment—"
"Mija, don't start," your father quickly grumbles, eyes plaintive as he murmurs, "She is more than aware about the importance of today, and has made arrangements to stay at her sister's. So no, she won't be around to make any comments—"
"Good. I'm so glad she's learned her place," you cut in facetiously before taking another sip of your mimosa.
His deep, mustachioed scowl tells you how unamused he is by you, so you change the subject with an aloof hum of, "You mentioned you'd be traveling back to D.C.?"
With a grunt, he nods as he cuts into his omelet. "Yes. I suppose I can tell you now, that I'm being considered for an Admiral position—"
You pause in your noshing and place your cutlery down to give him your undivided attention as you exclaim, "Really?! Congratulations! That's great, Pá—"
He holds up a hand to gesture for you to not get too spirited as he mutters, "None of that. There isn't anything to congratulate over. Not yet, anyway. It's a very competitive process for the appointment. So, I'll be meeting with the chief of naval operations. If all goes well, then I meet with the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff."
Giving him a defiant scoff, you insist, "Just being considered for that is an accomplishment, Pá. It's a big deal, so quit trying to be so cool."
Raising his brows sardonically at you, he deadpans, "I've never had to try at being anything. I just am, chistosa."
You snicker and grin, impish as you chime, "Whatever you say, Admiral-in-waiting."
His chuckle is amused, but he shakes his head ruefully at you.
A pleasant lull passes between you in which you both finish your brunch and partake in idle chit-chat over your second drink before he gestures to the server for the check.
You're just grabbing your purse in preparation to leave after he's just handed the server the bi-fold, when he reclines in his chair to nurse his iced parcha drink before conversationally inquiring, "How're things going with Javier Peña?"
The standoffish part of you winds up like a rattlesnake seething in your chest, but you feign neutrality in your demeanor as you aloofly retort, "Is that your best attempt at getting some form of corroboration regarding my personal life?"
Instead of the overbearing recrimination you expected, your father answers you with a mild remark, delivered cavalierly after he finishes his drink.
"Your acknowledgement is enough corroboration, tesoro. So, ready to go?"
A bit miffed, you take your time finishing your grapefruit mimosa before plunking the empty flute down on the table, pushing your chair out, and swiftly rising before sauntering out from the terrace through the crowded club house – without waiting for him.
Without batting an eye, your father vacates the table and strolls out, finding you sat at a bench overlooking the parking lot.
You know he's testing your boundaries because you only divulge things to him when you're activated and want to put him in his place, but you learned long ago that is a futile endeavor, because you end up walking away more upset than victorious.
So, when he approaches the side of the bench that's vacant, clearly expecting you to tell him off, you look up at him stoically.
"I don't want to be baited by you. Not today."
His stony expression dissolves, and his wide, expressive eyes soften the split second before he diverts his gaze and turns to look in direction of the car.
"Is it so wrong, that I would want to know if this man is making you happy?"
You exhale and stand, gripping your purse to be pinned at your hip as you reply, "You forfeited that privilege a long time ago, so please respect my privacy," before walking away from him to go wait by the car.
With your back to him, you don't see his genuine frown as he watches you go.
While you both drive away in silence out of the Dorado Beach golf club's gated entrance en route for the destination your father had planned to take you in order to celebrate your mother and honor her memory, Javier is walking through the seized warehouse acquired during the military raid just that morning.
He and Nic rode along, but did not go in with the soldiers until after they'd taken the site and ushered in the 'all clear' callsign over the radio.
Compared to Search Bloc, this was a relatively bloodshed-free outing.
"Jav, take a look at this," Lopez calls over from just inside the loading dock's storage area, gesturing at a large crate that had just been crowbarred open.
Coming over to peer in, he's not surprised to find bricks of cocaine hidden under a fragrant layer of coffee grounds. However, it's the contraband found in the adjoining room that surprises him.
"Looks like they were in the middle of breaking down a shipment for local distribution. Notice anything?" Nic queries as they move through the room of tables with the product broken out.
"It's all packaged the same way as the stuff found at the caseríos," Javi ruminates out loud.
The interrogation of the suspects swept up in the raid doesn't net out much, but with confirmation that the warehouse was a stop off for getting the heroin and cocaine from the Mexican cartels, he had enough to piece together some possible routes used to ferry the stuff from the Dominican Republic into Puerto Rico.
Still, the organization was so opaque, it was hard to conclude who of the Familia was responsible for facilitating the operation from D.R. to P.R.
What Javier doesn't know, and what is established almost a decade later, is that Junior Capsula ran the operation that had made him a millionaire, with the help from two trusted partners: Elvin Torres Estrada, aka El Muñecón, and Ramon Antonio Del Rosario-Puente, aka Toño Leña. The three of them had been able to carve out a racket thanks to the spillover from the Mexican and Colombian drug wars of the late 80s and early 90s, using their organization to transport cocaine and heroin from three routes. While the cartels fought for turf and supremacy in trafficking drugs up to the U.S., Junior and his associates took advantage of the bottlenecking and provided the alternate routes needed.
The Caribbean had long been a way station for drug shipments to the U.S. and Europe, but with the increasing militarized 'War on Drugs' along the southern border, traffickers began to look at Puerto Rico as a sought-after drug territory. This was due to the island's status as a U.S. territory, and a major perk that came with it: much of the cargo transported from the island did not have to clear customs before entering the eastern U.S. seaboard. That allowed Junior – who'd began his career in narco-trafficking as a drug-boat driver until 1993, when he struck out on his own by carrying out a hit on a truck driver who'd allegedly stolen a shipment of Colombian cocaine – to build the narco network that had him controlling 90% of the drug trade in the Caribbean.
With Toño Leña overseeing the transportation side, they would use small airplanes to drop bundles ferried from the three drug pipelines, dropped them in the Dominican Republic where they'd be collected, repackaged and moved to Puerto Rico or the U.S. The product that made it to the island would then be distributed out by El Muñecón, who'd supply the Puerto Rican drug gangs with the most territory and dealing points the bulk of the product. Said gangs, like the ones hit at the caserío massacres, would then supply drugs to smaller dealers who'd kick up dues to them, as well as to other traffickers with networks moving drugs up to the Northeast and over the Atlantic to Europe.
In all, Junior's core organization was made up of hundreds of people, insulated across all echelons of society, who helped obscure the hierarchy of the network to outside forces. The millions made went into luxury cars, boats, homes – all under shell company names, or "straw owners" or "jockeys." The latter were co-conspirators with legitimate standing who would help conceal the true ownership of assets, as well as facilitated laundering the money through property and business ventures. They'd do so with 'reputable' facilitators who'd assist with the placement, layering or integration of the organization's narcotics proceeds within lawful economic or financial systems.
In essence, Junior was the mastermind of making an illegal organization that acted as a symbiote for 'legitimate' business entities, developing a beneficial relationship, encouraged by corruption and greed. Which meant there was little appetite to uncover the organization's dealings, no matter how much violence and bloodshed skyrocketed on the island.
Javier suspected there was a system at play, just under the surface, though. So, he and Nic requested to see any deeds, titles, and business licenses with any association to the people and places that had been raided.
They'd been walked into a stuffy, humid back office Comandante Ayala supplied for them so they could dig through everything on the case so far, and for once in his life, Javier lamented not having a computerized way to research everything. Instead, there were boxes and boxes with no discernable filing system piled around the room for the two of them to work their way through.
"So…you take the ones on the left, and I'll work on the ones to the right?" Nic quips dryly as he wipes the back of his palm along his brow to sweep away the already beading perspiration dripping from his hairline.
"…Whatever we do find in all this shit? Remind me to have someone scan and copy it all over so it's on a computer," Javi deadpans as he flips the top of the nearest stacked box off, digging into the cluster of manila folders as he gripes, "At the very least, we'll be able to type into a search bar when we need to find something…"
Nic grunts flatly, already plunking down into a swivel chair by the window, and reading through some files while he unseeingly fiddles with the air-conditioning unit's on switch and temperature setting.
It isn't until he sits himself and lets out a weary exhale that his mind triggers a realization: Jesus. I actually would kill to have all of this in a laptop.
He smirks to himself, knowing how gleeful you'd be to know he's been worn down of his abhorrence towards the 'digital age' you've been foretelling to him, let alone that he'd kill to have the convenience of a file search at the tips of his fingers. Well, more like the tips of his pointer fingers.
While he internally admonishes himself for already starting to daydream about you instead of concentrating on the file he's buried in currently, you're trying not to succumb to the impulse of putting your guard up even more than you already have with your father.
The drive on Route 2 West had never been your favorite, and doing it now when there's so much tension definitely had your hackles up.
"Why didn't you take the highway?" you can't help ask as you stare out the window at the traffic trekking by.
"Because, you can't get any of those off the side of the highway," he answers and points ahead to a cluster of stands just ahead. "Your mother loved stopping and perusing. She'd make me pull over, no matter if it was a sunny day or during a downpour."
You look out the windshield to see the kiosks lined up along the right side of the busy road. They were bustling with patrons who'd pulled over to stretch their legs and have a look at the fruit, viandas, artisanal treats and crafts, or to grab something to nibble on or drink before heading back onto the route.
Unbidden, you crack a smile as the memory of your mother holding your hand while she talked to the fruit stand owner whilst they bagged everything, crossed your mind. It was then proceeded by the image of her patiently watching you while she let you pick out the mangos and guayabas you thought were the best from the bunch.
Blinking free from the memories, you realize your father's pulled the car over along the grassy side of the road up ahead from the bulk of the other parked cars.
"Just a little pitstop?" your father suggests and gives you an expectant look.
You relent, smiling at him as you nod. "But I get to pick the fruits," you tell him as you eject your seatbelt and grab your purse.
"Fine by me, tesoro," he chuckles as he follows suit.
Before long, you're cradling a paper bag with a bounty of fresh fruits tucked in it while you wait in line at the food truck selling pastries and fritters, as well as a fragrant-smelling coffee that has you swooning.
Your father had gone back to the car to drop off the bundle of plátano, guineo, ñame and panapén he'd gotten from one stand, so you had a moment to yourself while you stepped to the front of the order window and requested the two coffees, then stood aside to wait. Hope Javier's doing ok, you can't help think as you idle, and are so lost in thought that you miss when they call out your order.
When you realize it, you rush to the pickup window, but your father has come just in time to grab both to-go cups for you. Placing a few folded bills into the tip jar, he takes each cup and gestures for you to walk ahead back to the car.
Once the bag is secure in the back seat and you're in the passenger seat, your father passes you one of the cups.
"Are we going to veer over to the coastal route next?" you ask as you peel the plastic lip on the lid back before taking a sip of the coffee.
"No, I wanted to take you somewhere special. A place I used to bring your mother to," he answers in a pensive baritone timbre that stirs you to look curiously at him. For some reason, your stare looks dubious to him, so he grumbles, "We had moments like that, you know—"
"I didn't say anything to the contrary," you scoff and squint at him before sniping, "You seem to forget I was around and remember a time when you and her were happy…"
That douses his umbrage instantly with cold water and has him exhaling before tersely muttering, "It's going to be a winding, bumpy drive the rest of the way, so get comfortable…"
Needless to say, the rest of the drive from Route 2 up into the mountainous roads winding up through the lush terrain that makes up the scenery of most central municipalities of the island, is a silent once, save for the radio playing Puerto Rican oldies. At least when the signal would be unincumbered by the occasional flare of static caused by the interference of the elevation and surroundings.
Still, you manage to use the silent drive to gain some docility by continually reminding yourself, He's trying. You have to try too.
You're so invested in your internal recitation of this new mantra that you don't realize you've stopped until he's turned the ignition off. Snapping out of your faraway daze, you look around at the site he's parked in front of and gape in awe.
"Come, I set a reservation for us," your father is remarking as he exits the driver's side.
Bemused, you quickly undo your seatbelt and follow, still staring at the expansive view before you.
He turns and notices your transfixed look and smiles, coming to stand next to you so you both can look towards the almost ethereal view of the splendor that is being on top of a mountain at the center of the island that looks down at rolling hills and valleys of every shade of tropical green you can imagine.
"Your mother always said being up here reminded her of Medellín," is his rumbled remark. "The view is even better from the restaurant."
Indeed, your father was right.
Once you've been sat at the top terrace with the veranda that faces out to the sprawling view, you dreamily stare at how the sunset cresting in the West casts a bronzed, blushed hue over the valleys over yonder, with the twinkle of distant lights from humble homes dusting through the frondy foliage and canopies that make up the timeless terrain.
"Estamos en el campo," you remark wistfully as you admire the scenery, unable to avoid being reminded of the lovely view Javier had taken you up to once – overlooking that gorgeous dusky view of Medellín in early twilight.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say the jibarita in you misses being in the peace and calm of campesina life," he can't help jibe before he sips the ron he ordered.
You snicker, musing, "Well seeing as I had no say in the matter, I'd learned to appreciate living en el monte and getting bossed around by grandma."
He hums, smiling ruefully as he concedes, "My mother wasn't the easiest to deal with, but she loved having you stay with her. You came back much more self-reliant—"
"That's because she made me fend for myself when I complained. Once, she said, 'You're not sleeping and eating in my house if you don't know how to be grateful'," is your charge, but you sit back in your seat to sip your Cuba libre before shrugging, and adding, "But when she found me by the river a few days later where I'd set up camp – eating boiled plantains and eggs I'd foraged – she told me I could go back to the house."
Your father frowns. Sure, he'd taught you survival skills from the time you were old enough to talk and retain information, but hearing you inoffensively replay having to put them to use because of his own mother, has made the knot in his chest loosen.
"She never told me that. Why didn't you ever mention it before?" is his low-octave query, intense gaze softening at your dismissive wave of your hand as you finished your drink.
"Because you left me there, so I figured you'd intended for her to teach me lessons like that," you tell him honestly.
After all, you'd been ten or eleven years old, and not unaware of the tension starting to form between your parents, so when he'd gotten stationed overseas for ops training, and your mother had agreed to go with him, they'd thought having you spend that time with family would be for the best. That they could try to rekindle their relationship without having you see any more arguments and fights that would likely occur when things were tenuous between them. At least – overtime – that's what you concluded was the reasoning for getting dropped into the rural hills of Puerto Rico, or left for months at a time to live with your 'Buela in Medellín during summer breaks.
So, the juxtaposition of having a splendid, charmed life at your Buela's house in Medellín, versus the more rigorous, jíbara life of your Grandma's finca in Orocovis, never bothered you, let alone figure into any of your resentments. No, those would come later…
Still, you'd also compartmentalized so many of your feelings towards those times, that looking at the sad expression on your father's face now has you vacantly wondering out loud, "What? You always said experiences fortify the person you become; turns a person to steel towards the hardships of life. That being forged by adversity makes for the strongest steel of them all."
His silence is weighty, expression carving into a stony scowl at your assertion, while his eyes shone with conflict.
Just as he's about to open his mouth, though, the waitress appears with your entrees.
The mouth-watering mofongo con camarones a la criolla – your favorite dish – is piping hot and steaming with the fragrant aroma of the sazón, onions, tomato and garlic that comprise the bisque-like creole sauce saturating the shrimp-covered dome of fried, mashed plantains. You're eager to indulge in the delicacy, but once the waitress departs, you can't help notice how your father just stares at his arróz mamposteao y bistec encebollado guardedly – not making a move to place his napkin on his lap and pick up the utensils to dig in.
Thus, you find yourself sighing, before changing the subject.
"So, what would Ma order when you brought her up here? I bet it wasn't anything with gandules in it," you drawl goofily, cracking a smile when he scoffs and shakes his head. "She thought they were so gross—"
"Which I think she only said so to annoy me, since I like arróz con gandules and ordered it for us the first time we came here. I learned never to make that mistake again," is his snickered rumble as he shifts his chair further into the table and drapes the napkin over his lap now. "Her favorite was the white rice, red beans, and carne guisada. With a big slice of aguacate on the side," is his wry remark, chuckling when you playfully point your fork at his own hefty piece of avocado on his side plate. "It's the best up here. Have some."
Humored, you cut a sliver of it with your fork before partaking. "Mmm, like butter," you sardonically swoon, earning a warm chuckle from your father.
The rest of dinner is nice, filled with irreverent chatter and the delectable meal. After you're both sated and the bill is settled, you exit to return to the car, where you expect to just hop in and make the trek back down the mountain, but instead your father surprises you by going into the backseat for something.
"Before we head down, I thought we could have another of your mother's favorites."
He produces a rectangular carton from a paper bag, and you instantly beam with mirth. "A brazo gitano?! I haven't had one in ages," you marvel after he's handed it to you. "When did you get this?!"
He sits on the front of the car's hood and watches as you merrily open up the box to produce the Spanish cake roll that was filled with guava. With a nostalgic smile, he murmurs, "While you were picking fruit, I got the last one for sale at the pastry truck. I figured we could have it for dessert while looking at the view before it gets dark."
You sit on the hood next to him and offer him first slice of the artisanal roll, which he cuts into with the Swiss Army knife he's produced from his pants pocket.
Once you're both eating the fluffy and sweet confection while admiring how the sun finally dips behind the mountain range and a shroud of stars is revealed in the navy blue of the sky above while the cool breeze flits across the fronds and tall grasses, you spare a glance towards your dad.
"Was this the surprise?" you ask, affection lightening your tone.
"Nope. That's still to come."
Intrigued, you are more than content to drive back and wait for said surprise, especially when any tension between you both has finally dissolved away. You both talked and joked, reminisced about long ago family trips, silly anecdotes, and even bantered about old times. Like the time he'd taken you to see The Godfather in the theater with him, and him insisting it was a completely acceptable film to let an elementary school-aged child watch at the cinema.
"—Movies are for everyone! Especially great cinematic films like that."
"I don't disagree, but do you remember the looks you got from the ticket taker?"
"Looks que looks – as if I gave a damn what some punk with long hair thought—"
"Ok, fair point. But you did take me to Rosemary's Baby when I was little—"
"…That was your mother's fault. I didn't know what it was about," he rasps in a bass-filled grumble, scowling when you laugh. "I thought about grabbing you and heading for the exit pretty close to the start of it, but we were sat too far in the center of the row—"
The irreverent giggle bubbles out of you just before you snicker, "Was it the bedroom scene?"
You're unaware that he has a vivid recollection of how you'd watched, perplexed at the infamous scene. And he can still hear your little voice, piping up with a barrage of questions the entire drive home after the movie, with your child-like innocence, albeit perturbed confusion, inquiring, 'Why all the lady's friends were bad,' among other things.
"Yes. That was definitely not a film for a child. Your mother eventually agreed, albeit amusedly…" is his dolefully sardonic retort as he pulls into the driveway now to the stately tropical home in the gated, beachfront community in Dorado he uses as his main residence on the island.
Once he's parked in the vacant carport adjacent the two-story house with the tiled roof, you both unload the car of the road stand purchases and head into the home via the door located in the interior of the marquesina. And once you've placed the bag of fruit onto the kitchen island's counter, your father hangs his keys on the nearby hook next to the pantry before gesturing for you to go into the living room.
"So, the surprise," he announces as he rounds you to go to the entertainment system against the far wall that the large tufted couch faces, and retrieves something before turning to you. "I had this made for you."
You blink at him curiously before looking at the jacketed VHS tape he's handing to you, perplexed when you don't see any feature film or studio labels on it to identify what the movie cassette could be. Before you can ask, though, he gestures for you to sit on the couch, and after you've sat down, you finally notice the file box tucked in a bottom shelf of the entertainment system once your father has bent down and grabbed it.
"And, I thought you could have these so you can put them in an album, if you want," he's telling you as he puts the box down on the coffee table before he removes the lid and sets it aside.
He sits next to you and watches as you lean forward to peer into the box.
It's filled with neatly-stacked photo envelopes filled with developed prints. When you look closer, you realize many of them have your father's scribbled handwriting on the corner, marking the location and year the photos were taken. Some even have your mother's cursive script. One reads, Celina's first beach day, 1963.
Overcome, you look with wide, tear-brimming eyes at your father.
"I don't think you've seen most, since we moved around so much, but I always kept them stored, for safe keeping—" your father's calm baritone elaboration is cut short by you hugging him tight.
He reciprocates by winding his strong arms around you and relishing the tender moment.
When you're sure you can pull away without so much as an emotional sniffle, you clear your throat and ask, "What is the video tape of?"
His smile is barely subdued as he grabs the VHS and removes it from the sleeve before going to the VCR. Once the tape is in and he's turned on the television, he presses 'Play' on the remote and goes back to sit next to you.
The screen crackles to life with an at-first granny countdown sequence before the beginning of a super 8 home movie starts to play. The camera lens is pointed up at the clouds of a sunny day before the camera pans down and over at someone sitting under a leafy tree.
The instrumental melody of 'Here Comes the Sun' by The Beatles plays over the home movie as the person holding the camera nears the figure under the tree.
Looking up and over her shoulder, your mother smiles and scrunches her nose at the camera, mouthing what looks like, '¿Que haces con eso?'
You realize the camera is held by your father when he comes into view after sitting next to her on the blanket and pivoting it so he can film them both as he leans in and kisses her cheek. She smiles and funnily pats his clean-shaven features before wrinkling her nose cutely at something he says, which from your lip-reading, looks like, 'Bellísima.'
"Most of these don't have sound. I remembered how much you both liked this song, so I had them use it," he tells you, watching your transfixed expression while you watch unblinkingly as more footage from different home movies play.
While the video of your mother wearing a bohemian dress and doing a silly cha-cha dance for the camera plays, you remember that indeed, your mother would sing this song to you in the car to cheer you up when you were in a mood, sat grumpily in the backseat, or obstinately in your room while refusing to go play outside.
Your heart swells with pure joy seeing her vibrant and youthful, as she holds up the basket of flowers she's just picked up to the camera and grins at something your father must've said to her whilst he filmed.
The delighted bubble of laughter bursts in you at the footage going to your 'Buela sat on the front patio of her house, waving at the camera and giving a Cheshire smile when you toddle into frame and drape over her lap, little hands pulling on her skirt for her to give you attention before your 'Buelo comes into the shot to pick you up and hold you up to bounce you in his arms.
Happy tears brim and spill from your eyes to roll down your cheeks as more wonderful moments you'd been too little to remember play out over the instrumental song.
You feel still, completely content – like you've been dipped back to a time when nothing had been lost.
So, you don't expect the added surprise of when the song's ending chords are strummed, for a new series of home movies to play, that have actual recorded sound.
"—Ay Diego. You're really going to mess around with that camera now?"
"Why not? Vamos, bellísima. Give me a smile? Before la fiera comes down—"
"Don't call her that!" your mother chastises and swats his arm, causing the camera to swivel momentarily about the Sunday afternoon sun-lit kitchen before your father scoffs amusedly and resumes pointing it to your mother as she stands near the sink in mid-lunch prep. Squinting impishly at the lens, she derides, "Salió a ti, chistoso—"
"Oh, no. Not in the least. Es pura hija tuya—"
"You're really using that camera for the first time and wasting the fancy film con huevonadas?" is her wry snicker as she goes back to chopping a green pepper.
"Yes."
"Ah pues bien."
"Mami, is lunch ready?"
The camera pans around to focus on the doorway just as you come around from the living room and don't even spare your father a glance.
"Not yet. Come help, and it'll be ready quicker."
"Ok," you say dutifully as you retrieve the foot stool and carry it over to place it down next to her.
"Look, Celina. Smile for the camera," your father cajoles from behind the lens as you stand on the stool and get ready to help wash the rice sitting in the bowl by the sink.
You roll your eyes and look at the camera lens, brow furrowed. "Daddy, that's stupid. Why would I smile when I'm washing rice?"
At your mother's humored hum, you relent and smile, showing your child-like grin that's missing a few baby teeth before shaking your head and going to work sifting your hands to rinse the rice grains in the bowl with water they've been soaking in.
"Ah, look at my two beautiful girls, in the kitchen," is your father's smug, albeit affectionate observation. At your mother blowing a raspberry and pursing her lips derisively at his musing, your father makes a quippy grumble before heckling, as if to the audience, "Rosario, ever the skeptic. Mi bellísima—"
"Ay, Pá, cut it out!" you jeer, grimacing the way a little kid grossed out by her parents being mushy towards each other would while your mother laughs melodiously next to you.
You laugh as the video cuts with your father's grumbled huff before going to the next home movie.
The rest of the time watching the VHS tape is spent that way, with laughter and merry reminiscing. Before long, you end up curled up on the couch, with your head on your father's shoulder, rewatching the anthology of home movies he strung together for you.
When you fall asleep, he lays you down on the sofa and places a throw blanket over you before kissing your forehead and wishing you a goodnight.
You're disoriented when you wake the next morning, and gasp after awareness sets in. Luckily, your father had already put a pot of coffee on and had the presence of mind to have a change of clothes ready for you, so after a quick breakfast, you get ready and make a mad dash to your car, heading to your condo in order to shower and get dressed for work.
As you collect your work tote and rifle through it to make sure you have everything you need, you press 'Play' on the answering machine to check the messages left while you were out.
"—Hola, nena! Wanted to see if you were free for happy hour drinks. Llámame," is the first message, left by Zoraida. No doubt, wanting to catch up and distract you about tomorrow…
The answering machine's robotic recording announces the next message, pulling you from your thoughts.
"Hey, querida. Just calling to check in. Hope you had a nice day, and that all went well with your dad. I'll call you tomorrow. Love you."
Any melancholy that was about to set in was scattered by the light that filled your heart at hearing Javier's soulful baritone voice. You wanted to call him immediately, but decided against it, figuring he'd be very busy.
And, he was, thanks to the bureaucratic hurdles he'd encountered in Santo Domingo that morning.
One thing he did not miss was dealing with the sabotage and stonewalling from officials who should have stopping the traffickers be at the top of their priority list, let alone within their best interests to cooperate. Luckily his lack of patience helped him figure out a resolution.
"—My contact in the State Department made it clear that they would spearhead a measure to increase the U.S. National Guard's patrol of the waters of the Mona Passage. Frankly I'm inclined to lend my backing and speak to the governor, seeing as we're not getting the kind of cooperation we'd hoped for," he's elucidating in a non-negotiable tone now to the government official who'd refused his request for the DEA to have access to surveillance ops data collected by the local authorities.
It seemed to do the trick, since within an hour he received a call from the Ayala confirming he was given clearance to hand over classified surveillance findings to him. While he left Nic to coordinate the handoff with his counterpart assigned to the capital, Javier went outside to get some air.
He was craving a cigarette badly, and was trying not to succumb to the impulse of going to the breakroom and putting money in the vending machine for a pack. So, he checks his watch and decides he needs something to take the edge off.
You're just in the middle of reading over some requisitions while you nibble on a sandwich from the cafeteria when your cell phone starts ringing in your purse. Sitting up from your desk to retrieve it, you answer it as you dab your lips with a napkin.
"Hey, corazón. I'm not interrupting you from anything—?"
"No, not at all," you eagerly cut in, smiling as you sit back down and tell him sweetly, "I wanted to call you this morning after I got in and heard your message, but figured you'd be busy. I miss you."
"I miss you too," he says with genuine warmth, as if he needed to say it to get a load off his shoulders. "So, everything went alright?"
"Yes. It was a nice day. I'll tell you more later," you say easily, more interested in hearing how he's doing than possibly getting emotional on the phone. "How're things there? Everything ok?"
"It's the same shit, different day. But making progress, I think. Hoping to tie up a few things here before we head back," he remarks in that way you know means he doesn't want to give you the particulars. "Anyway, I won't keep you. I just wanted to check in. I'll call you tonight—"
"Oh, Zoraida badgered me to go out for drinks tonight," you tell him, frowning before you assure, "I'll try and make it an early night—"
"No, don't do that. She's been after you to catch up for a while," Javier insists good-naturedly, adding in a rumble, "You gotta tell her all about your jevo and how good he gives it to you, no?"
You snicker coquettishly, feeling titillated by his confident, umbrage-free recall and his ability to make it a sexy taunt. "Mmm, well I can always count on you to remind me of such things, mandón. I'll try and keep it as PG as possible," you silkily muse as you idly run your fingers through your hair, toying with a few strands as you add, "Can I call you when I get in? I'm going to need my jevo to make sweet, naughty promises to hold me over for another night without him."
Javi groans, as if tantalized by your suggestion. "Yes, call me, guapita," he tells you in a gravel pitch. But then he pauses, before asking concernedly, "What're you planning to do tomorrow? I mean, are you going into work? Or taking the day?"
You sigh, tugging on the strands of hair you've looped around your finger. "I have a big meeting in the morning that I don't want to miss, but I'll probably take a half day…not sure I'll be of much use after that, so I'll go to my place and just…just decompress and not be in the way…"
Scowling, Javier feels a pang of hurt, knowing you'll be self-isolating for fear of being too emotionally vulnerable in your bereavement.
"…I'll let you go. Promise you'll keep your cool and stay safe?" is your pensive query.
"I will, querida. I love you."
"I love you too. Call you tonight, hermoso. Be good until then."
He smiles, despite himself, before purring, "Mira quien habla. Take care, cariño."
"I will, chulito. Bye."
The rest of both your day are busy. You're thankful for it, seeing as that stubborn melancholy keeps trying to wiggle its way free from where you've buried it deep down. Javi, on the other hand, is getting more and more aggravated by the red tape regarding getting all the copies of the financial documents transferred to the office in San Juan.
He had a few DOJ lawyers putting pressure on the banks trying to block complying with a subpoena, but he was loathe to idle around for another day while you were in self-imposed solitude. It was weighing on him.
Nic could sense it.
While they both sat eating dinner in the stuffy file room that they'd made their homebase, the other agent eyed him over his can of beer before finally deciding to do some fishing.
"Something on your mind?"
Javi popped a plantain chip into his mouth, crunching on it and shaking his head while he kept his eyes on the file he was skimming over.
"Some one on your mind, then?"
That got him to give Nic a flinty glance before he chewed on the next chip, but this time, he didn't give an answer.
"You know, we heard the rumor. It made it all the way back to headquarters," the keen-eyed man muses, adding nonchalantly, "Must've been a nice coincidence, you two ending up in the San Juan federal office—"
"Let's just keep it to the case, Nic," is the sharp retort Javier lobs his way as he shuts the file's folder and reaches for his own can of beer.
Nic raises his brows and leans back in his chair, so Javi assumes that's the end of his querying.
"…If by chance you needed to head back before things are squared away for the financials transfer, I could stay and oversee that," Nic comments, the suggestion woven into his aloof tone. "No need for both of us to sit here sweating our asses off."
Javi glances sidelong at him while he sips his beer. Nic gives a one-shouldered shrug before returning to his own log he'd been tinkering with all day.
"…I might take you up on that…"
It was the most admittance he'd be getting from the boss man, so the other agent smirked to himself and nodded.
You, on the flipside, are admitting it all to the girls over drinks at the go-to beachy bar your clique loves hanging out at.
Coming straight from work, you'd walked into the bar expecting only Zoraida to be waiting, but were surprised to see Naida and Tayra at the corner booth as well, ready to shower you with gifts. The former gave you another wonderful scented candle she'd gotten you addicted to since moving back to the island, while the latter slid the box of rich dark chocolates you love across to you with a wink.
Zoraida broke the ice regarding the long-awaited topic of your love life by handing you a gift bag with a cunning smirk. You pulled out the very risqué see-through black lingerie – a halter-top style onesie with a thong crotch – and balk at your friends before they bossily cajole you to tell them everything and not spare a single detail.
So, you do. Albeit skipping as much of the tumultuous times of your on-again-off-again relationship with Javier to date. Over a couple of hours and several tropical cocktails and appetizers later, you've dished everything, including the absolutely wonderful weekend leading into the spectacular Valentine's Day. You'd even gone into your purse and retrieved the group photo from the dinner with Steve and Connie so you could show them how handsome your jevo is, as well as give them proof at how infatuated you two are for each other.
"—Ok, he's guapísimo and you got him wrapped around your little finger. Tell us how good he is—"
"Zory, obviously if she's put up with him this long? El señorito Javi sabe chingar," Tayra counters sassily.
"And she said he was a papi chulo when she met him, so what else does she need to say?" Naida tries to give you a reprieve in giving raunchy, salacious details.
But Zoraida will have none of it. "Detalles ahora, doña," she singsongs playfully as she taps the table to the rhythm of her cadence.
You dramatically roll your eyes, but your smile is mischievous as you declare, "He's the best lover I've ever had. I don't think I could be with anyone else…which is why I was celibate the whole time after I came home."
The girls exchange looks of surprise, floored by your candor.
"Javier is the most sensual, selfless, and shamelessly amazing amante – like, there's no one else who even compares. And, he's loving, but naughty, secure in letting me take the lead when I want to be in control, but super sexy when he's in control. I sometimes tease him just to get him riled up to manhandle me – to get all bossy and dominant – and make me his. He talks dirty like no one else I've ever been with, but not like in a meaningless way. Everything he says is hot, but caring – like, he checks in and makes sure he's doing what I want—"
You pause in your rambling admittance when the waitress comes by to check in, and you all politely ask for another round.
Snickering, you continue in a hushed tone, "I've never been with someone who cares so much about me, and who's so committed to my needs, and is so attentive towards my desires and my pleasure."
Naida whistles at that, while Tayra nods as if that is a glorious statement.
Zoraida narrows her gaze and hits you with the question you know she's been waiting to blurt.
"Does he make you come?"
"If Javi doesn't make me come at least twice when we do it, he takes it as a personal failure – and then makes me come with his mouth or fingers," you state unabashedly before sipping the last of your drink.
That finally cracks Zoraida.
She proudly grins and puts her arm around you as she whispers conspiratorially, but loud enough for the other girls to hear, "It sounds to me like Mr. Javier Peña is a keeper!"
You snort and nudge your shoulder into her wryly before the girls start teasing you gleefully.
"Can we talk about all your sex lives now?!"
The girls humor you, regaling you of their recent sexcapades for the rest of the time until you all have to call it a night and head home.
It's a while later after, and bone tired after spending the day in the drudgery of file reading, Javier decompresses with a hot shower. He is finishing drying his hair post-shower and eyeing his duffle, wondering if he should start packing it when his phone starts ringing.
He tosses the towel aside and grabs for it off the charger, dropping down on the narrow bed as he answers, "Wild night with the girls?"
You chuckle, drawling, "Drinks and sex talk is hardly a wild night with the girls, stud."
"Sex talk, eh?" he questions appealingly, smiling when you hum flirtatiously in response. The air-conditioned room is cool and comfortable as he stretches out on the bed in his pajama bottoms, so he relaxes backwards into the propped pillows as he idly scratches at his chest while he asks, "Care to share some?"
He hears the shift and rustling of the bedding as you adjust to lounge up in your pillows. "Well, after the girls nagged me to spill everything 'Javi Peña,' they filled me in on their love lives; how they spent Valentine's. Naida's been dating the same guy for a couple of years. They live together, and she told us how they tried roleplay the other day," you tell him brazenly, and he can hear the smile in your tone. "Tayra's a serial dater. She's never kept a guy around longer than a few dates or hookups. She told us about the last guy that she let go down on her in her office late one night. Oh! And Zoraida has a roster of guys she sees – you know, like on rotation, so she told us about the baseball player that asked to lick her ass—"
"Whoa," Javi sputters at the unfiltered gossip, exhaling sardonically before he snickers, "So much for keeping it PG. And what did you tell 'em?"
Your giggle is smoky before you purr, "Que eres el amante más asombroso de mi vida."
That you're the most amazing lover of my life.
His pulse rushes at that, shooting warm desire into his apex and making him lustful, so he murmurs, "Oh yeah? And what sexy details did you give to prove that?"
"Nothing as bawdy, don't worry! Well, actually, I guess the most detailed tidbit was that you always make me come – that if you don't make me come at least twice, you take it as a personal failure and make it your mission to make me come with your mouth or fingers—"
"Cristo amado, woman!" he exclaims, incredulous smile quirking his features while an embarrassed flush rises up from his neck while you guffaw a sultry laugh. Tracing the inner rim of his bottom lip with his tongue, he deadpans, "Great. Now I'm going to have to pretend I don't know that you told them all that—"
"Why pretend? It's not like I said a bad thing! You can tell your friends about how good you make me come, if you want, chulito," you taunt knowingly. "Or whatever naughty details about our sex life you'd want to brag about. It's only fair—"
"That is never gonna happen, atrevida. No matter how much I get hounded," he huffs in a faux-grumpy tone, but he can't help smile when you make a disappointed little grumble. "I think you're just being naughty to get a rise out of me, eh, malvadita?"
You hum dramatically before chiming, "Maybe," then pause, and sigh tiredly before musing, "It was nice, having the distraction…"
Javi hears the sadness just under your tone, and sits up on the cot.
"Querida…you want to talk about it?"
"No, I just…it's late, and I'm being silly. You get some rest, mi amor. I'll be better after tomorrow."
He frowns, running his hand impulsively through his hair to stifle the ache of not being able to instead pull you close and hold you tight. "Ok, preciosa. Sleep well. I love you."
"I love you too, mi cariñito. Be safe. Goodnight."
The solace you felt thanks to Javi promising to be home soon allowed you to go on autopilot whilst you got ready for work the following morning. It also helped that there was just one more day of feeling the pull of melancholy you were weary of fending off already. At least that was the mantra you were running in your head until someone knocked on your door.
You didn't expect your father to be on the other side when you answered it.
"Pá," you greet, bemused before frowning confusedly and asking, "Did we make plans—?"
"No, I just wanted to stop by and drop these off for you," is his remark as he greets you with a kiss on the cheek before crouching to pick up the box at his feet, along with the sturdy shopping bag filled with the viandas and frutas from Sunday you'd left in your haste the morning prior. "I, uh, figured you would be busy today, so figured I would drop them off before you left for work."
You smile as you take the bag from him so he can dutifully carry the box to your coffee table and place it onto an unoccupied corner. "Thanks. I was running late yesterday and it slipped my mind to grab them—"
"It's alright," he assures as he faces you and vacillates, as if unsure with what to do next. He scrubs the inside of his hand over his moustache and mouth as he glances over at the dining room table and sees the bouquet of flowers Javi gifted you for Valentine's. "Well, I'll leave you to it—"
"Dad."
He pauses and looks intently at you, and ends up being taken aback when you approach him to give him a thoughtful hug.
"I'll call you soon so we can have another paisa dinner," you whisper against his chest before clearing your throat and stepping back with a small smile.
Nodding, he kisses your forehead, relaxed as he drawls, "I'd like that very much, tesoro."
You chat a bit more on the way to the door – making sure not to address the heavy meaning of the day, and you part on good terms, waving goodbye to him as he heads for the elevator.
With a deep, cleansing breath, you go finish getting ready for work.
By the time you make it to the big meeting, you're feeling like you can hold it together. That you could maybe even get through the day. So much so, you get lost in some busy work when you get back to your office, the kind that make you start itemizing next steps on projects, department to-do's, forming an absent-minded itinerary of things you need to get to as soon as possible.
But then your mind becomes preoccupied with a sense of obligation, a nagging feeling like you're forgetting to do something. It's the kind of thing that feels like it's been routine – something meaningful, but no longer an option, and it needles you the entire time you trek back to your office, until it finally dawns on you.
Oh! I have to call 'Buela and—
The thought skids off the track and derails into a deep ravine of guilt and grieving, filling you with sorrow at the realization that this is the first anniversary you were without your grandmother.
It's like a cold dagger that seeps icy hurt into your chest, overwhelming you with melancholy.
On autopilot, you manage to scrape your wits together to not start bawling until you've made it to your car and driven out of the federal campus. By the time you make it to your apartment, you are frazzled and flushed from crying. The muggy heat is sweltering in the early and sunny afternoon, so you're quickly sprinting through the door and over to turn on the consola de aire acondicionado that's in the main living area before rushing to crank shut all the windows.
You make it into your bedroom and turn on the wall-mounted unit so that cool air can fill the space as you hastily strip out of your work clothes in order to sit and curl up into the pillows to have a good, long cry.
Once you've showered and gotten into the billowy dark gray t-shirt dress you favor for lazying around the house, you feel better enough to find ways to occupy your time – or at least to try to attempt to divert the melancholy threatening to have you fall into a grief spiral.
Looking over, you see the bag on the counter and the box of photos your father had dropped off to you that morning, and feel inspired with a couple of ideas on how to invest your attention into things that will absorb your time.
Hours later, you lean back into the couch and finish the gulp left in your wine glass before pouring a hearty refill from the bottle you've half drained since you'd set up shop in the living room.
You place it back down on the cool floor next to you as you shift forward to return to your project.
A short while later, once the buzz reaches your head, you take a healthy swallow of what's left in your glass and amble backwards up onto the cozy-throw-covered-couch so you can survey your progress. The box of photos is sat on the chair adjacent to the couch, and you have several photo albums arranged in varying stages of completion over the coffee table.
Leaning heavily into the couch cushion, you close your eyes and let the chill of the air-conditioned breeze fan over your toasty senses for a few minutes, before grabbing the VCR remote and pressing 'Play.'
The montage of home movies your father surprised you with begins to play where you'd paused it earlier.
Setting the wine glass aside and shoving the now-mostly-empty bowl of chips away so you could tuck your legs under you more comfortably and pull the cream blanket over your lap, you watch as the little toddler version of you dressed in blue overalls and little yellow sandals holds your mother's hand while she plucks a mango off of the tree in your grandmother's backyard. She places it down int a nearby basket, and you mimic her by picking up a fallen mango from the grass and dropping it into the same basket before tugging on her hand to continue over to the next mango you spot within reach.
Sniffling, you use the sleeve of your dress to dab at your teary eyes, lip trembling as you take in a cleansing inhale to try and clear the emotion from knotting in your throat.
You're startled when three knocks suddenly rap on your door, making you whirl inelegantly in your seat and perplexedly look around for something to tell you the current time. The VCR display says it's close to 4:30pm, which makes you sputter as you press 'Pause' on the remote and kick off your blanket in order to then rush to your feet.
"Un momento," you shout as you hastily shut the TV screen off and put the clutter of empty snack bowls down on the floor, and shove the tissues out of sight from the door before you rush over to unlock it and open it.
Javier stands at your threshold with his travel duffle hung on his shoulder while he holds a bouquet of pretty pink flowers in his hand.
You're so surprised to see him that you gasp and stare with flustered awe at him before bounding forward to throw your arms around his torso. A little 'oof' escapes him as he holds you to him with his strong forearm not currently occupied by the flowers or the weight of the travel bag.
Nuzzling you lovingly, he gets lost in the soft scent of your hair and how nice it feels to have you in his embrace.
You hug him tight as you bury your face in the soft cotton of his safari beige-toned button down, breathing in his warm scent before you snap to your slightly wine-dulled senses and stumble backwards to pull him into the apartment and out of the heat of the outside hall.
"Oh my god, w-when—what're you doing here?" you stammer as you fluster timidly, feeling too much of a mess suddenly.
"I took the earliest flight I could. Lopez stayed behind," he explains as he closes the door behind himself and sets his duffle aside by the entry to turn and hold out the lovely bouquet, murmuring sweetly, "These are for you."
Your heart flutters as you take the flowers and slowly realize they're pink gardenias. Deeply touched, you hug them to your chest and stare up with glossy, trembling eyes at him as you whisper airily, "You remembered?"
With a gentle smile, Javi nods, and you sniffle – overcome, when he pulls you close and kisses your forehead.
Pink gardenias were your mother's favorite flowers. You hadn't seen a pink gardenia since her funeral, so to see the gorgeous pink blossoms nestled together now – knowing that Javi went out of his way to get them to honor her? It has you feeling breathless.
You wrap your arm around his waist and lean into him, melting when he claims your lips with his own.
Hints of merlot still cling to your mouth, and he's just realizing you're seemingly not wearing anything under the cozy t-shirt dress when you lean back and look up at him with open emotion filling your expressive gaze, hugging the flowers to your bosom as you idly scrub the back of your hand across your tear-streaked cheek.
Javier's deep brown, soulful eyes crinkle at the corners as he tells you, "I, uh, know you were just gonna spend today alone, so I hope this is ok."
"I—" you begin and immediately pause when you realize the state you and the apartment are in. There are dishes in the sink, mail stacked carelessly onto the console by the phone, you hadn't gotten around to taking out the trash in the kitchen, several pairs of discarded shoes were left by the entry where he'd just left his bag, and the conspicuous clutter in the living room. It all causes you to feel shame.
"I-I would've gotten things sorted if I'd known you were coming today—that you were going through the trouble," you attempt while looking at the bouquet cradled in your arm, before flinching as you exclaim, "Oh! Let me get these in water—"
Bemused, he looks around and doesn't see what has you fretting, so he walks towards the couch and further into the nice air-conditioned space, as he assures, "It's no trouble, querida. I had to be back here for that meeting at La Fortaleza tomorrow—"
He spots the bunches of used tissues and bowls clustered on the floor by the corner of the couch. A quick glance at the clutter of albums and developed photo sleeves on the coffee table, as well as the bottle of wine tucked behind the leg of said table clue him into what you've been up to.
You're clumsily rifling through cabinets in search for a vase, and once you find the cylindrical shaped one from underneath the sink cupboard, you place it on the counter and notice Javier's made it over to the couch.
"Oh!" you fret as you scamper around the kitchen counter on nimble bare feet, and go to hastily scoop up the plates and bottle, fumbling with grabbing up the mess of tissues as well as you fuss, "Sit, sit! I'll clean up quick—"
"Let me help you," Javi attempts as he tries to take some of the clutter from your arms, but you recoil with embarrassment and rush back to the kitchen.
"N-No, just sit and relax. I—I'm just going to tidy up," you're thinly assuring as you toss the tissues into the zafacón, then place the dishes to clatter into the sink before hurrying to put the wine out of the way by placing it in the corner of the counter so you can quickly grab the vase. But before you can pivot around with it to run the tap and start filling it with water, you fumble it in your hold and it tumbles out of your hands to fall with a crash to the tiled floor. "Shit!"
He'd been already rounding the counter to come help, so he now rushes over to practically pick you up and maneuver you away from possibly stepping on any shards of glass, as he warns, "Careful, cariño."
Once he's placed you down in the hallway away from the broken glass, Javier spots a paper bag left on the elevated dining side of the counter top, so he grabs it and turns to sweep the larger shards together with the side of his boot as he assuages, "Here, I'll just scoop it into this—"
But you're already dashing into the laundry room and back with the broom and dustpan set, clumsily trying to disjoin them as you fluster, "I'll pick it up! Don't touch the glass, I can sweep it up and—"
You're so frazzled that you yank too hard, and the dustpan clatters to the floor while the broom bangs into the wall when you finally un-attach them.
A wave of something fragile, yet chaotic, swirls up in you, and you're not sure if it's the wide-eyed gape Javi gives you, or the scalding sense of embarrassment that lances through you now, that caused it to flare up like hot air in your chest. The latter has you feeling at your lowest. That he's seeing you be a pathetic, drunken mess, and that this whole thing seemingly is establishing what a disaster you truly are.
Whatever it is – likely a combination of everything – has you so mortified that you're suddenly letting the broom clang to the floor as you hide your face in your hands.
"I—I'm sorry. This—this is why I needed to be alone. I'm just a fucking mess," you haltingly hiss around the sobs now wracking through you. "I hate being like this—hate you seeing me like this—"
"Mi amor," Javi croaks thickly, throat feeling tight from how a tangle of conflicting feelings wedges in his windpipe, so he exhales gruffly and cuts the distance between you so he can pull you protectively into his chest, desperate to take your pain away, but helpless with how to do so. Consolingly, he husks, "You're not a mess at all—"
"Yes I am! I-I just keep falling apart, and here you are seeing it and s-seeing how pathetic and pitiful I am when I can't keep my shit together," you frustratedly exclaim as you wring away from him and angrily pick up the broom, as you rail, "I can't even pull it together a-and not scare you off—"
Watching you spiral is something Javier is bemused, stung, overcome and activated by, all at once. It rakes up so many feelings in him, and makes him burn with the compelling need to give you solace in any way he can. Seeing it happen the first time – when your grandmother had passed away – had branded him with a daunting sense of protectiveness over you. But unlike that time, you were truly adrift now, and not begging for him to tether you back and anchor you from the volatile, emotional tempest you were in. That was likely because you'd been drinking and had so much grief compounded within you over time, that you felt your only option was to suffer alone.
And he'd derailed that for you. So, he now had to haul you back from the chasm you were prepared to fling yourself into.
The broom isn't even in your grasp completely before it's flung away by Javi into the corner of the fridge and wall, just as he sweeps you away from the kitchen to be pressed between him and the hallway wall at your back. You gasp as adrenalin hits your bloodstream and zings a lurid thrill through you that clears the buzz enough for you to focus your wild stare on his purposeful glare.
"Do I look scared off, querida?" is his assertive, husky rhetorical question.
Brow furrowing, you shake your head insistently as you hiccup, "N-No, but—"
"Celina."
You pause and stare attentively at him now, feeling like a tuning fork just got chimed inside of your ribs by his firm, grounded baritone use of your name.
When he sees your eyes sharpen and your brows rise in anticipation, Javi cups your cheek with one hand while the other cradles your lower back. Your breath hitches, stare flicking to his mouth and back up to his smoldering gaze when he leans in and rumbles decisively, "I'm not letting you get all worked. You don't have to have all your shit together, especially today. You're going to let me clean this up, and you're going to stop trying to keep things bottled up."
Your eyes flutter at his command, but you're already stubbornly starting to protest, so Javier insists, "Listen to me, corazón. You can trust me. I don't think any less of you for 'not having it all together' today," and pauses to emphasize his point by resting his forehead to yours as he murmurs, "It's ok not to be ok."
Exhaling shakily, you close your eyes and curl vulnerably into him. You're so emotionally raw, that you can't even muster words.
Javier kisses the top of your head and lets you relax against him before he assures in a gravelly mutter, "Now, go sit for me. I'll clean this up quick."
He nuzzles the top of your hairline affectionately and pats your tush in a 'hop to it' gesture.
As soon as you've scooted onto the couch in a way that allows you to peer over at him, Javi goes to work picking up the large broken shards of the vase to plop them into the paper bag, then grabs the broom and swiftly sweeps up the smaller jagged pieces into the dustpan to be dropped in as well before be carefully closes the bag and shoves it into the now-full trashcan. Once he's sure he's gotten all the glass swept up and that there aren't any shards lingering in the bristles of the broom, he ties up the garbage bag preemptively before setting the broom and dustpan back down in the laundry room where they're stored.
You watch him the entire time, eyes wide and glossy with your pining, as he moves around the space while the anxiety still wriggles in your chest.
Getting to stare at his divine, perfect fit blue-jean-clad ass walk down the hall before he lopes back to come towards you makes delight palpitate some of the anxiety away, though. The kind of delight that tingles excitement in your core and makes you fidget with the heat of your arousal spiking through you now when Javi nears.
The air from the consola fans across you both, and while he's glad for the kiss of the cool breeze against his skin, he can't help notice how it's not cooling you down at all. Your cheeks are flushed, and you look a bit ruffled still, unaware that you're a bit wound up with self-conscious anxiety and yearning.
His dark-coffee brewed eyes lower appraisingly over you as he gets to the side of the couch – lingering on how your nipples are studding through the clingy fabric of the t-shirt dress. Seemingly mystified with the conflict you're exuding in your uncertain state, Javi hesitates on whether to sit next to you, before he settles his features into an earnest regard, and asks in a baritone rumble, "Did I do the wrong thing? Coming over, I mean."
You sit up on your knees and absently clutch the back cushion as you fluster, "N-No, you didn't do anything wrong—"
"I can leave, if you want," Javi says in a steadfast way, a hand at his hip while he gestures with the other to where his duffle sits, as he huffs, "I should've called before coming. It's fine, if you'd rather not have company—"
Deflating onto your haunches, you swallow the lump in your throat before professing tightly, "I don't want to be alone."
It's then Javi sees the indecision crease your brow, and realizes you're truly at a loss, and not used to being out of control like this; at having your desires in conflict and not having a way to regain your calm. He's never seen you so unsure and self-reproachful. It makes him realize you need coaxing towards stable ground.
"Querida. If you want me to stay, then you have to tell me so."
You blink in surprise, and Javier stands his ground – hands on his hips and expression etched in that assertive way from before, but this time his soulful eyes are crinkled almost goadingly at the corners.
A shiver goes up your spine.
"I want you to stay," you tell him, sitting on the couch with your legs folded under you, but still timid.
He cocks an eyebrow and leans his weight onto his left hip as he eyes you challengingly, drawing out in a smoky purr, "I don't believe you."
That gets the reaction he hoped for.
Your brows furrow together and your eyes narrow. "Oh, really. You don't believe me?" you mutter crossly before scooching to the edge of the cushion you're sitting on as you imperiously snark, "And what do I have to do for you to believe me then, hm?"
Javier smirks as he gives you a laconic one-shouldered shrug, before he croons, "Show me that you want me to stay."
A little fire of desire is set inside you at that, and all your squeamish, flustered embarrassment of before is snuffed out by your need to buck up against his challenge.
The buzz from the wine tickles through you still as you stare at him in that searing way that promises sultry, albeit wickedness, from you in response to his self-assuredness, but really, you're feeling the gumption bubble up and clear the fuzzy anxieties of before away. Especially the more you see his dark eyes begin to smolder with lust.
Licking his bottom lip while you stand on your bare feet and cut the short distance between you both, Javi feels anticipation curl deviant thrill up in his apex. That quickly becomes burning arousal when you stand up to him on your tippy toes and grab fistfuls of the front of his shirt to yank him down to meet your kiss.
He ends up hissing in surprise when you suckle on his bottom lip before nipping it possessively and growling, "I want you to stay, Javier."
The urge to just take you pulses in his veins and digs down into his loins, but he wants to wind you up some more – to get the angst and upset of before completely torn asunder; to be replaced with your vivacious, unabashed desires he's become so adept at stoking loose.
"Hmm, is that so?" Javi purrs in that incandescent grouse that always rakes over your titillated senses like sinful velvet, as he gropes his big hands down your curves puckishly before pulling you close so he can order in an audacious whisper, "Fucking prove it, then, bravita."
An exhilarated wave of arousal pulses through you and has you tingling with desire at his instigating command. You want to just pounce on him, but something daring and needy has you wanting to wind him up right back. To rile the urge you saw flash across his dark eyes earlier back to the surface and entice him into carnal hunger with you.
Javier is surprised when you lean back from his embrace and worry your bottom lip between your teeth as you encircle his left wrist and cup his hand, leading it up your skirt and between your thighs.
"I want you to stay, and I want you," is your silky whisper as you guide his digits to touch your warm and bare pussy, emphasizing your point by grinding your slick seam over the pads of his fingers as you look searingly into his hungry stare and ask airily, "Do you want me, mi amor?"
He was hard when you slipped his hand up your skirt, and he's straining against his jeans now from your provocative question while rubbing your dripping cunt along his fingers.
"More than anything," he hoarsely mutters as he starts to part your folds.
At his answer, you nimbly scamper back and out of his reach suddenly, and Javi's expression is priceless when you grin and lilt, "Then fucking prove it, guapito."
It's so brazen and goading, the way you got him wrapped around your little finger only to then snap him back – to push the deviant, primal buttons that spin lurid desire up in him and have him unleashing all his suppressed urges. That provoke him to dominate you in a feral way that has a visceral shudder quivering through him.
Before you can even attempt to sprint off like you'd planned to, Javier's already lassoed his arm around you and pinned you to him as he grabbed the hem of your dress and yanked it up and over your head in a brusque movement that has you gasping and teetering in his hold. He effortlessly spins you around to wring the material off and flings it carelessly away before he manhandles you down onto your hands and knees to the blanket-covered-couch as he hurriedly yanks his belt buckle loose and makes short work of opening his fly.
You're mewling and arching back excitedly when he drops onto his knees behind you and quickly lines himself up before he plunges his ramrod erection into you to the hilt with a rough groan.
His hips slam into you and cause you to almost fold forward, so Javi grips the back of your shoulder and guides you roughly down to position you in a way that'll have you at his mercy, but able to hold onto the armrest for balance.
Just as you arch your spine to rock back into his next thrust, Javi crowds over you and dominates the hell out of you now.
The air-conditioning unit hums along in the ambient beat of the fan swaying to and fro while the sounds of you getting railed by Javi echoes in the living room, getting louder and louder as his pounding thrusts become piston-like slams angled up into that devastating spot inside you.
"Ah! Mmph, oh Javi—" you cry out, feeling spun up by the sensory overload of his weight pressing into you, his cologne and sweat permeating your own overheated scent, his gruff groans and growls of savage approval at how you're reveling in how he's taking you, and the taste of him now when he plunders your mouth with his own in a greedy kiss.
When Javi maneuvers a hand to tease his fingers over the hood of your clit, you whimper, "Nngth!" and break the torrid kiss to bow into the couch cushion under the onslaught of overstimulation.
Your silken walls clench hard around him, making Javi moan and nuzzle you lovingly before he shifts back to balance his weight and take hold of your waist to ground you both in the building crescendo of scintillating sensation that's propelling you both into a tizzy towards release.
He's enthralled on how you're moaning broken little sounds of ecstasy the harder and faster he fucks into your squelching cunt from behind, and he watches you under heavy lids as you reach a hand backwards to cling to his forearm as his grip on your waist becomes more possessive – desperate, even.
Your sheath is fluttering with impending climax, and the throaty way you begin to beg, 'Javi-Javi-Javi!' has something scalding tangling in his chest and making him wild with the need to wreck you with daunting pleasure – the kind that will make you rapturous and euphoric.
Just as your coupling hits an animalistic zenith, you sob his name before wailing a reedy sound as you climax, gushing your orgasm as your sheath clamps down around his cock.
"Oh fuck—!" is Javier's guttural grunt before he pants a harsh groan as his release barrels through him, stealing his breath and having him buckle forward to crowd over you.
In this heightened state, you can feel his climax surge deep inside of you while his heartbeat throbs against your back. The dizzying delight you experience at the bloom of warmth radiating in your womb has you sighing out a luscious sound that makes Javi melt into you.
Before his knees gave out, Javier wraps his arms around you and rolls sidelong into the sofa's back cushions in order to keep you folded backwards into him so he can worshipfully cuddle and nuzzle you while you both recover.
The post-coital bliss has you blitzed out in the most wonderful way. You're dreamily sighing as you come back down from the stratosphere and affectionately interlace your fingers with the hand caressing your womb. As your body temperature begins to normalize, you feel the chill in the air and the cool press of the steel from his watch's band as the wrist it's attached to rests against your sternum. The palm of his hand is just below your clavicle, thumb sweeping soothing along the delicate skin while he noses into the sweaty hair at your nape.
Dimly, you reach around your side to shift your hips so you can turn to kiss him over your shoulder, and end up comically realizing Javier got you completely naked, but left himself fully clothed. He didn't even get a chance to kick off his boots.
"Oh my god," you snicker before caressing your palm along the length of his jean-clad lower thigh before simpering, "Babe, how are you even comfortable like this?!"
He snorts and nudges his temple affectionately against you as he deadpans, "M'not. You got me so riled up though. Stripping down was not a priority."
You laugh, light and effervescent, grinning when he nuzzles your neck and grunts a silly sound.
"Well, it's a priority now, chavón," you simper between giggles as you undulate your hips into him. "Desnúdate, ahora."
Javier impishly pinches your waist and grunts at your order of 'Get naked, now' before eagerly shifting you up with him so he can comply, laughing warmly when you start to help him undress by unbuttoning his beige shirt with hasty fingers, yanking it open and off his shoulders while he hurriedly, and simultaneously, kicks his boots and pushes his jeans off.
Once naked, Javi murmurs, "Lay back for me," and helps you adjust to lie length-wise on the sofa as he maneuvers to sit between your parted legs.
The cool air caresses over you both and keeps you from overheating while Javi takes some tissues from the box on the side table and tends to you. Tenderly swiping up the spill of his seed that's weeping from your still tingling pussy, he makes sure to be delicate with his aftercare so you can relax.
You sigh blissfully and close your eyes as you reach for him after he's set the sullied tissues aside.
"Feel better?" he rumbles when he cuddles up with you across the length of the couch. You nod and tuck yourself against him, so he wraps his arm around your waist and gives you a loving squeeze, as he drawls, "Good."
While you're cooling down together, Javi combs his fingers through the back of your hair soothingly while you caress yours along his forehead and brow, occasionally brushing your lips over his, and sighing happily when he presses soft kisses to your cheek and jaw.
When you start to shiver from the air conditioning, he tries to pull the edge of the throw blanket around you, but much of the length of it is pinned underneath you both, so he murmurs, "Wanna take a hot shower?"
You nod, but before Javier can start sitting up, you hook your leg over his hip and silkily lilt, "But first, I wanna take care of this," and coax his semi into a full erection with a few strokes of your hand before guiding it to your primed entrance.
His groan of approval is quickly followed by him plunging his cock slowly in before maneuvering you both on the sofa so that he can be on his back while you ride him with sensual gusto.
After the amazing romp, you both take a long shower together, dry off, and end up in your bed.
You're under the quilt while Javi lounges with his hands tucked behind his head and in his nude glory, reclined against the propped-up pillows and enjoying the air conditioning in your bedroom while you both talk. He'd noticed you'd moved the vase with the flowers he'd gotten you for Valentine's to the top of your dresser, so you'd explained that you'd intended to pick out some of them so you could tie them together and hang them to dry out in order to preserve them.
"—I'll have to take those out so I can put the new ones you brought in that vase," you're remarking as you shuffle into a sitting position as if you're about to get out of bed and do so now.
Javi tows you close by lassoing his forearm around your waist as he sits propped up on his elbow. "So you're saying you've kept flowers from every single bouquet you've ever gotten?" is his puckish query, giving you a faux haughty look as you scoff.
"No, silly! I've only preserved a few flowers from meaningful arrangements," you insist as you pat his forearm to be let loose so you can shimmy out of bed, and then go retrieve a large ornate cardboard box with an attached flip-open lid and scamper back with it.
He sits up and pulls the quilt back for you so you can slide under it once you've placed the box onto the bed, and gives you his undivided attention as you open the box and reveal that it's where you place very sentimental mementos – including an assortment of individually preserved flowers. Each are wrapped with a ribbon that has the date you received them listed in your handwriting. Along with the flowers are letters, postcards, and other special keepsakes.
"See? These are from the first bouquet you gave me, in Medellín," you tell him as you pull out a trio of preserved red roses tied together by a white ribbon. He is surprised to see indeed, you have the date and location written on it too, and he almost misses your pensive smile as you add, "'Buela saved them for me."
Javi glances at you intently then, so you clear the lump in your throat and retrieve the next trio of dried flowers.
"These are from the time you surprised me for my birthday," is your musing now, smiling as you place them back and gesture to a few others and recite, "These are from my maid of honor bouquet at Irina's wedding, and these are from the arrangement at my cousin's reception—"
You pause before pointing out the white lilies from your grandmother's wake, and the pink gardenias from your mother's velorio, feeling that prickle of grief begin to crest up in you.
Sensing it, Javi interjects in a searching drawl, "What about the roses from the arrangement I had Marisol leave in your office?"
Blinking comically at him, the melancholy is forgotten as you scoff and snipe, "Nope! I didn't get a chance to. And anyway, all of these I saved because they're to honor the moment, or for me to keep the happy memory, and when I saw those roses? I was livid."
His brows rise and his pouty lips are inviting when he irreverently gripes, "So you would've saved flowers from the grand arrangement that mystery admirer had sent to your office—?"
"No, because once you told me you hadn't sent them, I let Ellis take them," you bossily cut in and pat his bare thigh conciliatorily as you tease, "Take a look, tough guy. Only ones I've kept, are yours."
Grunting contrarily, Javi purses his lips and grumbles in a faux huff, "But someone delivered a whole flower shop's worth to you—"
You exhale glibly and busily organize all the flowers to be delicately stored in the box as you sing song, "Yes, mi amor, I've gotten lots of flowers from lots of guys in the past, but you're the only one who's given me a bouquet and made me feel warm and fuzzy, so those are the ones that matter enough to be kept."
You look over at him then, pure moxie in your bright eyes, and Javier feels that funny feeling in his chest that's a combination squeeze and flutter of happiness.
The molten look in those brown orbs makes you tingle, so when he slides the box away in order to gather you to straddle his lap, you're feeling alight. And then he wraps you up in his arms and hugs you so fiercely that all you can do is loop yours around his shoulders and nuzzle into his neck lovingly.
"I felt the same way, giving them to you," he tells you in a soft murmur after you soothingly comb your hand through the back of his hair and kiss the soft skin between his ear and sideburn. At your loving cuddle, he smirks and nudges his temple affectionately into yours as he mutters, "Show me how you pick the flowers and preserve them?"
Smiling against his cheek, you give him a cheeky squeeze before doing just that.
Once the trio of flowers are picked from the bouquet and you've tied a string around the end of the stems and hung them to dry on the curved loop of the dresser's mirror, you rewrap the ribbon around the remaining bouquet and rinse out the vase so you can place the lovely pink gardenias in it.
The entire time, you're telling Javi about the day you spent with your father. He smiles, happy to hear your sentiments, and frankly relieved that it was a mostly pleasant occasion.
When you've finished arranging the flowers, Javi pulls on a pair of sweatpants you'd stored in a drawer for him while you retrieve your silky robe and put it on after having proposed ordering delivery for dinner.
"—All I made were viandas, so want me to order pizza?" you're asking as you pick up the vase now.
"Sure. Whatever you want, cariño," he tells you and chivalrously takes the vase from you and gestures with a nod of his head for you to lead the way.
Feeling a giddy tickle in your tummy, you playfully tow him along by the drawstring of his sweatpants to exit your room and enter the guest bedroom.
He sees you've adjusted your altar of family photos to now include the silver-framed photo of you, your mother, and your grandmother in the center, with a tall continental candle lit next to it. There was a vacant spot on the dresser that Javi places the gardenias onto for you, and before he's able to move back, you take his hand and guide him to stand in front of the wide dresser with you.
"I dreamt about her the other night. Sometimes, I wonder what she'd think – about everything, I mean. What it would be like for her to be around – for you to have met her," you're confessing in a faraway tone, staring at the photo of your mother before glancing up at Javi and smiling dreamily at him, as you admit softly, "I think she would've loved you."
His brown eyes almost shimmer with how the candlelight flickers across them when he caresses his palm to the small of your back while he cups your cheek gently with his warm palm, thumb tracing along the apple of it as he rumbles, "I feel the same, querida. I know my mother would've. I bet they would've gotten along, too."
The sentiment warms your heart, and makes you lean into him so you can stand on your tippy toes and brush a doting kiss over his scrumptious lips.
All the gloomy melancholic feelings of before have been blown away by the beaming unconditional love Javier has given you – by how unrelentingly passionate and tender and irreverent he's been since he showed up at your door like the handsome sweetheart he is.
The rest of the evening is calm.
After you called in for the pizza order, Javier pulled on his college shirt and took out the garbage for you. By the time he was breezing back in, you'd stored the verduras in containers and were finishing with the dishes. He strolled over to start drying the dishware for you while teasing you about being so flustered over nothing earlier.
"—Acted like the place was condemned—"
"I was embarrassed!"
"Over a few dishes and tissues?"
"Not just that. All the clutter, the garbage—"
"Baby, you've not seen clutter. You missed out on the pigsty Steve's place was after Connie went back to Miami. That was some real shit to be mortified by—"
"Ay Javi," you snicker ruefully and cut the faucet before drying your hands on the towel hung on the decorative rack, sighing to yourself before you concede, "The mess felt like a manifestation of how much of a mess I was today…"
Stowing the glass currently in his hand in the cabinet, Javi turns and herds you close by your hip before murmuring, "I know today was hard for you, preciosa. But you don't ever need to feel like you have to keep that bottled up. You can tell me what you need. I should've called before just showing up—"
"No, I just have always thought it would be better to just be alone today…but I didn't want to be alone," you stare up at him with gleaming eyes, worrying your bottom lip before confiding, "It felt safer."
He understands what you mean, but the pang that courses through him is still a sharp one. Hearing you say so and knowing how you've suffered alone out of a lonesome need to protect yourself from more pain has him yearning to be that safe space for you, and leaves him simmering with the need to prove that to you.
Just as he's about to assure that he'll do whatever you need to feel safe, no matter how silly or what not you might feel about it, your house phone starts to ring.
You pick up the phone where you left it on the counter and answer it. "Yes, thank you. Please let them up," you instruct before thanking the night attendant and going to return the phone to the charging base. "Pizza's here. Oh! Let me go put something on," you say hurriedly as you scamper down the hall to put on clothes in order to answer the door.
Of course, though, when you rush back in the matching stretch-knit mint-colored pajama bottom and blouse, Javier's already handing the delivery guy cash and taking the large pizza box, thanking him before quickly shutting the door to keep the cool air in and prevent you from trying to argue with him about it.
"Javi—"
"Hot stuff, comin' through," he retorts glibly as he maneuvers around your cross-armed stance to head to the kitchen. "And the pizza's sizzling, too."
You snicker at his quip and shake your head, relenting in even attempting to admonish him.
"Mmhmm, 'hot stuff' indeed, gracioso," you chuckle and jokingly pat his ass on the way around him to grab plates.
A couple of slices between you and a glass of wine each a short while later, and you're lounging on the sofa together, watching the home video from the start.
Javier loved seeing the younger versions of you – going from adorable baby to sassy elementary-aged little girl – and was intrigued to see the slivers of loving interactions between your parents. Your mother was stunning and sardonic, almost precocious, with a brilliant smile and bright eyes you'd inherited from her. And your father seemed like a completely different person than the hardscrabble, intimidating man with steel in his bones that you'd described previously. Instead, he seemed a wide-smiling, charismatic and wry romantic.
And when the video was rewinding in the VCR, you retrieved the big photo album that had once been your grandmother's and showed him how you'd added some of the new pictures you'd gotten from your father. There was a really nice photo of you as a toddler, holding hands with your father while walking up a hill, and the look in his chiseled features was of pure love for the little girl you were.
"—Oh! And look at these," you're excitedly exclaiming as you pick up a prettily adorned album and show him it contains the photos from your cousin's wedding. You place it on his lap before sitting next to him with your legs tucked under you as you chime, "God, that was such a fun night."
His full lips pull into a mischievous smile as he goes through the photos. "Back in the hotel room? Sure was," he quips, earning a playful swat on his bicep. When he flips to the page that has the photo of you, him and your grandmother, posing at the table together, he's overcome with fondness.
You sniffle, and he quickly clears his throat as he puts his arm around you and kisses the top of your hairline.
With a deep sigh, you sit up and grab for a newer album. It has a shiny cover of blue-on-blue leaf pattern print. As you open it, you amusedly murmur, "Figured we needed our own."
Javi peers down at the open album sitting on your lap, and the delighted pride that fills his chest radiates across his features at seeing the first picture you'd taken together – back in the hotel room in Cartagena. Next to it was the photo of Javi hugging the pillow in his sleep, and below both was the picture you took of him with the sunset warming his handsome visage. When you flipped to the next page, he was taken aback to see you'd clipped out the photo from the newspaper article that had you both standing only a couple people apart, and on the adjacent page was the picture from the Valentine's Day double date with Steve and Connie.
"I still have the doubles from the wedding I can add—" you're telling him when you glance up and find his brown eyes flicking to you with something smoldering that makes a flash of thrill tickle into your core, and before you can finish talking, Javier is kissing you passionately until the album slips from your lap onto the couch from him whisking you up to be cradled against him.
It's all he can do to express just how enamored and happy you make him.
The urge to profess so many things – to blurt out 'Marry me, querida,' – swirl in his heart and have Javier buzzing, but he knows it's not the right time. That you've just achieved a hard sought-after sense of calm, and things between you both were hopeful, albeit delicate.
No, he would wait. He had to, considering there was still so many things he needed to accomplish before being able to drop down onto a knee and ask you.
You're swooning by the time Javier carries you bridal style to bed, having barely had enough time to turn the TV off and place the album back onto the coffee table with the others before he swept you up against him.
Being snuggled against him, skin-to-skin after making love, had you serene – feeling like you wanted to stay still in the moment with him forever.
Waking up early the next morning in his arms was divine, but since he had the meeting at the Fortaleza first thing, you forced him out of bed and into the shower so you could iron his shirt and pants for him. By the time he came back into the bedroom with a towel around his waist, you were already in the kitchen, setting the cafetera onto the stove. He couldn't help smile at how you've picked out a light gray suit, crisp dress shirt, and a necktie already, laying it out on the bed for him.
"Do you want something to eat?" you call out while you retrieve the coffee mugs.
"I'll have whatever you're having," Javi answers back as he quickly dresses. Once he's got everything on but his blazer and dress shoes, he pads down the hall while he fusses with his tie. "Don't go to too much trouble though—"
"I'm just going to heat up the viandas and boil some eggs then," you'd started to say as he started to remark, so you snicker and pause at the stove when he snorts and looks irreverently at you. "What? You said whatever I was having. This is a desayuno típico."
"All right, I'll try it," he assures as he keeps fiddling with his tie. You scoff humorously and swat his hands away so you can do it for him, smiling when he croons, "You trying to turn me into a jibarito?"
"Maybe," you joke and purse your lips teasingly at him as you smoothen his collar and straighten the red, silver and white-striped tie into place for him. "Are you going to the office after the meeting at La Fortaleza?"
"Yeah. The building we're setting up shop in for the DEA field office operations is almost ready, so Steve and me have to spend the afternoon deciding how to divvy up the teams between there and the Federal campus," he explains while you heat up the food and hard boil the eggs after taking the coffee kettle off the burner and setting it aside to cool.
He dutifully serves the coffee into the two mugs you set out while you work around the kitchen as you ask, "So then you'll be splitting your time up between the field office and the main building?"
"Probably not. I'm thinking on stationing Segarra at the field office and staying in the Federal building," he muses before taking a sip of his coffee. He leans his hip into the counter, watching you retrieve bowls from the cabinet before you serve the reheated plátano, ñame, guineo, and panapén into each.
"Oh, that's your ASAC, right?" you query as you retrieve the eggs with a cooking spoon and run cold water over them before removing each from their shell and placing one in each bowl with the viandas. At his dry grunt of acknowledgement, you multitask sprinkling a pinch of salt into each bowl before drizzling olive oil over the meal while inquiring, "So why don't you like the guy?"
Licking his lips of the coffee, he gives a one-shouldered shrug, griping, "He's just an upstart with no real experience. And he's tried to be a get-over, and cut corners—"
"That doesn't sound familiar," you razz as you grab a fork for each of you and wink playfully at him when he frowns with comical displeasure. "Come sit and eat, chulito," is your flirty order as you saunter by him with the food, musing lightly, "You can tell me all about it."
Javier does, explaining all the reasons why he doesn't like Segarra while you have breakfast together at the glass table, after marveling how tasty the campesino-inspired peasant dish really was.
By the time he has to head out for the early meeting, you're seeing him off at the door with an amorous kiss.
"Good luck, agente," you sweetly coo before brushing a rogue wisp of hair back from his forehead for him.
"I'll need it, jefa," he husks and pinches your hip affectionately before giving you a peck on the lips and heading out to the tropically sunny morning.
You feel lighter than you have in days. Like the world has gone still around you and is content to remain blissful, no matter what.
You're practically floating when you get to work later that morning.
All the missed messages and memos don't even make a dent into your serene mood, and even the latest HR nonsense regarding administrative box checking doesn't faze you. Frankly, by the time you're checking emails, you start day dreaming – letting a fantasy unspool in your mind about living a charmed life with Javier. Of being lovestruck peasants who frolic through a countryside meadow and lay in the cool grass together while watching the clouds go by.
Quit being so silly! You have to admonish yourself of the flights of fancy in order to concentrate on your work, but a girlish smile still ghosts your lips as you resume your task.
It's hours later when Javi is in his office, going over the stacks of evidence Lopez had shipped via courier from Santo Domingo. Sans his light gray blazer, he's able to more comfortably stretch out the weary muscles in his back before absently loosening the knot of his tie, eyes remaining glued to the document he's currently skimming over.
After the bureaucratical meeting at the Governor's mansion that morning, he was glad to be back to focusing on the case at hand. He didn't feel cut out for the political jockeying, and while he held his own with the officials and had a pleasant enough exchange with the governor, Javier didn't like going to those kinds of things without something substantial to show. At the very least, though, he had assurances of more cooperation with cabinet departments regarding the leads he wanted to chase down in the privately-owned sectors.
And the promise to put pressure on other leaders in the Caribbean region when it came to cooperating in a joint trans-national task force was one that he felt he could at least believe at face value, for once.
He was just thinking of calling Lopez to check in with him when three swift knocks rap on his closed door.
"Come in," he distractedly calls out as he skims a line at the bottom of a financial disclosure form, trying to make out the signature.
"Is this a good time, Agent Peña?"
Javi whips his attention up to blink surprisedly across at you, almost awestruck to see you peeking around the slightly ajar door. You're in a chic burgundy blouse and matching trouser that looks tailored to perfection on you, hair swept back from your face and up in a bouncy ponytail.
"Celi—I mean, Director Reinosa. Y-Yes, I was just looking over something. Come in," Javi stammers and corrects as he stands from his desk and gestures for you to enter his office.
When you step in, it's then he notices the takeout bag you're holding in one hand. He can see through the momentary vacant sightline out to where his admin's desk faces his door, and spots that the woman seemingly just returned and was shooting him a questioning look. So, Javi intercepted closing the door behind you, and gestured to her in a way that spoke clearly before shutting the door: Do not disturb.
"I figured you hadn't bothered with getting lunch, so I thought we could have a do-over?" you unconcernedly muse as you hold up the bag to show him the logo of the Japanese restaurant from a few weeks prior, leaning up on the tippy toes of your black heels and kissing him on his lips before flouncing towards the sitting area in the corner of his office to unpack the bag onto the glass coffee table in front of the leather couch and side chair.
The unruffled, carefree confidence you're exuding – how unabashedly unconcerned you are about being seen together at work, let alone that you've set up an impromptu lunch date in his office – has heat blooming in his chest, making his heart skip a beat.
As you're setting out the different containers of food, you lilt sardonically, "I took the liberty of ordering you something I thought you'd like more than sushi, and grabbed you more than chopsticks to use this time."
Rolling up his shirt sleeves to his elbows, Javi comes over to join you, and ends up smiling when you kick off your heels and sit lotus style on the carpeted floor instead of the couch before grabbing his steak hibachi meal and handing it to him. He crouches down to sit next to you, and only after you've set everything out and popped the tabs on the soda cans, does he lean over and kiss your cheek.
You grin, giving him a knowing look, so he whispers conspiratorially, "Is this your subtle way of saying we need to disclose our relationship status to Mercer soon?"
"Only if you don't want to sneak around anymore," is your silly counter as you snap your chopsticks apart and prepare to pick up a piece of salmon sushi, as you add, "We can't really go crazy with PDA even after it's known—"
"So I can't just kiss you in the lobby, in front of everyone, you mean?" is his taunt, eyes crinkling mirthfully when you blow a raspberry imperiously at him and squeeze his knee.
"I've had my fill of HR bureaucracy already, fresco," is you snicker, earning a droll hum from him. "So? How was the meeting?"
Javi catalogues all the food in the container before answering, "It was alright. I spoke with the governor for a bit."
"Oh?" you ask before eating a piece of sushi.
"Yeah. He's really gun-ho about the Mano Dura initiative. Promised to make headway with other officials across the Caribbean. Which is good, since we kept hitting roadblocks in Santo Domingo," he remarks before digging into his meal, humming with gusto.
Chewing thoughtfully, you take a sip of your drink before pointing out, "You haven't really talked much about the investigation here. If you don't want to—"
He shakes his head before dabbing his mouth with a napkin to assure, "No, it's just different here. Plus, we've been busy, catching up with each other."
You smile, licking your lips self-consciously before conceding, "True."
"And anyway, I'm still trying to make heads and tails out of things here as it is. We don't have a typical cartel dynamic, like with Medellín and Cali. It's been challenging, figuring out the players, how they network," he elaborates before eating a forkful of fried rice.
You hum thoughtfully, before commenting, "You're right. I haven't really thought about it, but crime is discussed in opaque terms here. There's no reporting on Escobar-level figures or anything like that."
"Exactly. Which is strange. It's starting to make me suspect that it might be by design," Javier rumbles before blinking at your surprised look. "I only mean that things might be more insulated here. Escobar and the Cali Godfathers started on the outside and wormed their way into controlling things by threat and corruption. I'm wondering if it's a different setup here."
That makes you hum bemusedly as you sip your drink.
Deciding to change the subject, Javi leans in to whisper cockily in your ear, "Can we fool around in my office, this time around?"
Huffing sarcastically, you nudge him wryly with your shoulder and sassily scathe, "How long have you been wanting to ask that, beyako atrevido?"
He showily nuzzles your neck, feeling heat zing through his veins at your lovely perfume and warm skin, growling before he gravels, "Only since you sat here licking your lips, smelling fucking good, looking so goddamn sexy."
An exhilarated flutter of desire skitters into your core and makes your pussy throb.
"Well then, I suppose I'll have to make it up to you, sometime," is your silky murmur before looping your fingers around his tie and towing him closer so you can kiss him sultrily on the lips.
Fuck, Javi thinks to himself, beyond turned on now. But even he isn't shameless enough to take a nooner in his office, with a bustling department just beyond his closed door. The filthy allure of it has him so aroused, though, that you end up having to nip his bottom lip when he tries to deepen the kiss into a torrid make-out session.
"Mmph!"
"Down, boy."
"…That's easier said than done, bravita."
You giggle at his grumpy pout, and irreverently use your chopsticks to pick up a piece of hibachi steak in order to feed it to him. He snorts and eats it, winking at you when you hum a silly sound that communicates, 'Be good now?'
The rest of lunch is great, and you depart with a smooch to his smiling lips before exiting with the bag in your grip, leaving only the aromatic scent of the meal as the only evidence of your date in the spacious office.
With all the planning and arrangements for the field office setup, Javier would be busy the next few days, but had asked if you wanted to go to dinner at Steve and Connie's Sunday night when you'd talked on the phone later that night. You were excited for it, and even picked up a nice bottle of wine and whiskey to take over when you went food shopping after the work the following day.
You're merrily humming to yourself as you carry the grocery bags up from your car and enter the lobby of your condo, already thinking of how much you were looking forward to spending the time with Javier and the other couple, when the attendant called out to you.
"Señorita, there was a delivery for you. I didn't want to leave it at your door," the man explains as he retrieves a small bouquet of pink carnations from behind the counter.
You rush over, surprised, and thank the man, taking the cellophane-wrapped flowers that were tied with a baby pink bow with you.
A dreamy smile pulls at your lips as you ride up in the elevator. He must've sent them, just because – and so they'll eventually end up joining the collection preserved in the box. The thought makes you gleeful, so as soon as you're off the elevator, you hustle with everything to your apartment door, unlock it, breeze in, and place the grocery bags on the kitchen counter before walking over to the sofa to sit so you can delicately fish the card out from where it's tucked beyond the stems and sticking to the wrapper.
Plucking it out and free, you set the carnations down on the cushion next to you so you can open the card. It has a simple 'Thinking of you…' written in cursive on the cover.
When you skim the message, your giddiness deflates into perplexed uneasiness, instantly.
Being a shallow, uncaring hypocrite. You deserve to be exposed for it. Only a matter of time.
There was no signature. No other identifiable way to know who the author was, or what they were even referencing.
You were left befuddled first, unnerved second.
Staring down at the carnations, you vacillate with what to do.
You're unaware that the decision you eventually make will only lead to an unexpected confrontation that will tip things into a precarious sequence of events you're woefully unprepared for. Nor do you know how it will change everything in your life.
All you do know, is that you aren't interested in letting anything affect your happiness, so, you decided not to let it.
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Read Chapter 44: Deserving - Part 1
Spanish-English Glossary:
Papisongo = Puerto Rican slang for a very sexy man; a stud
Malvadita = Wicked little girl
Mi amor = My love
Muecas = Making funny faces
Coquí = Puerto Rican singing tree frog; named for the sound he croaks
Plaza = Marketplace, or stronghold. In reference to the cartels, it means the general territory, or square of power
Caserío = Public housing; housing project
Hermosa/hermoso = beautiful (female); beautiful (male)
Canela = Cinnamon
Guapita = Sassy/foxy/daring/testy lady
Seductora = Seductress
Chavón = A man that's pestering you
Bravita= Tough girl; feisty girl
Mi rey = My king
Dios mío = My god
Mi cariñito = My sweet little darling
Beyako = Puerto Rican slang for horny/naughty guy; akin to "horn dog"
Bebito = Little baby (male)
Eres mi vida, preciosa = You're my life, precious girl
Chulo/Chulito = Cute guy; little cutie
Corazón = Heart; pet name to signify how deeply you love someone
Querida/querido = Affectionate term, akin to expressing one's want and desire
Mija = Short for mi hija, aka my daughter; my girl
Pá = Short for 'Papá' which means father, or poppa
Chistosa = Funny girl; wisecracker (female)
Parcha = Passionfruit
Tesoro = Treasure; darling
Toño Leña = Nickname that roughly translates to 'Tony Firewood'
El Muñecón = Nickname that roughly translates to 'The Doll Boy"
Viandas = Root vegetables, like plantains (plátanos), yams (ñames), green bananas (guineos) and breadfruit (panapén)
Estamos en el campo = We're out in the country
Jibarita = A little peasant girl
Campesina = Country girl; farm girl
Ron = Rum
En el monte = [Up] In the hill
Finca = Rural property
Mofongo con camarones a la criolla = Fried, mashed plantains with creole stewed shrimp
Arróz mamposteao y bistec encebollado = Stewed rice and beans and steak soaked in onions
Gandules = Pigeon peas
Arróz con gandules = Rice with pigeon peas
Carne guisada = Beef stew
Aguacate = Avocado
Brazo gitano = A Spanish cake roll based from a Swiss-roll-like pastry dessert that resembles a "Gypsy's arm", popular on the West side of Puerto Rico
Marquesina = Open air garage or carport
¿Que haces con eso? = What're you doing with that?
Bellísima = Beautiful woman; 'Most beautiful woman'
Ay Diego = Oh Diego
Vamos, bellísima = C'mon, most beautiful woman
La fiera = The savage girl; wild beast
Salió a ti, chistoso = She takes after you, funny guy
Es pura hija tuya = She's purely your daughter
Con huevonadas = With stupid nonsense
Ah pues bien = Oh, well fine then
Mi bellísima = My most beautiful woman
Hola, nena = Hey, girl
Llámame = Call me
Jevo = Puerto Rican slang for boyfriend
Mandón = Bossy man
Cariño = Darling/sweetheart
Mira quien habla = Look who's talking
Cariño = Darling/sweetheart
Guapísimo = Super hot and handsome
El señorito Javi sabe chingar = Little mister Javi knows how to fuck
Papi chulo = Ladies man
Detalles ahora, doña =Details now, missus
Amante = Lover
Que eres el amante más asombroso de mi vida = That you're the most amazing lover of my life
Cristo amado = Christ beloved
Atrevido/Atrevida = Daring man/Daring woman
Preciosa = Gorgeous; precious
Paisa = Colombian compatriot; term of endearment amongst Colombians, especially in Medellín
Consola de aire acondicionado = Air conditioning unit/console
Un momento = One moment
Zafacón = Trashcan
Guapito = Handsome (said in an affectionate diminutive)
Desnúdate, ahora = Get naked, now
Velorio = Wake; veiling ceremony where people sit vigil
Verduras =Vegetables; usually root vegetables
Gracioso = Funny guy
desayuno típico = Traditional, or typical breakfast
Jibarito = Little peasant boy
La Fortaleza = The Puerto Rican Governor's office and mansion; aka 'The Puerto Rican White House'
Jefa = Boss lady
Fresco = a guy who's being 'fresh', or naughty/pervy Señorita = Miss; little lady
Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving a comment and sharing your feedback. I would be eternally grateful.
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stuffing
summary: javier has never been able to get enough of you, but it's only gotten worse ever since you've become pregnant.
pairing: javier peña x f!reader
word count: 3.1k
warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n; unprotected p in v; oral (f receiving); fingering; established relationship; pregnancy sex/kink; squirting; cum eating; cum play; creampie; some dirty talk
• masterlist •
Life in Laredo was boring.
Boring people, boring houses, hell, even the birds singing here seemed boring.
But that’s how Javier liked it.
The biggest news here was barely worth a mention compared to what he had seen in Colombia.
He was more than fine with this boring life, no more chases, no more heavy protection tact vests. No looking over the shoulder, no suspicious staring.
Though, he still did that from time to time.
Couldn’t quite shake the habit of suspecting people planned something bad, occasionally checking his car for bombs.
He’d probably never lose these things, it was too deeply embedded into his being now, had become a part of him.
But that’s why he loved this boring life.
Coming home to the little plot of land they had purchased right next to his father’s, staying close to Chucho and helping out whenever they could.
Coming home to a warm home, decorated with silly little trinkets, pretty paintings.
Everything neatly organized but with a certain chaos to it. He didn’t like things too neat, and while their home was tidy and clean, it looked lived in.
Maybe a little wild at times.
Not bare or sparsely decorated like safehouses or his apartment back in Medellín.
He loved coming home to the smell of food wafting to the front door.
Loved coming home to her.
His lovely wife, her back turned towards him as she worked on something, hair up and out of her face.
Moving her pretty hips and ass as she hummed along to whatever song the radio was playing. Completely in her own world.
He smiled when he saw her, walking up to her and pressing himself close, hands on her hip and kissing the back of her head before pressing one against her exposed neck.
She was warm and inviting, letting out a small sigh when she felt him, leaning back while still working on whatever food she was making.
“Looks good, cariño.” He said, kissing that spot behind her ear that let her sigh even deeper before resting his chin on her shoulder to watch.
“Thank you, it’s the stuffing for the poblano peppers I wanna make at the cookout tomorrow.” She said, her skilled hands cutting vegetables into small portions. “I know I could whip it up tomorrow, but I have so many things still planned and I don’t know how I’ll feel.”
A smirk stretched his lips wide, his hands roaming to her large, round belly. Just letting his hands smooth over it for a moment, they wandered to the underside of it, gently lifting it.
The sigh of relief that spilled over her lips echoed loudly in the kitchen and he watched how she put down the knife, just leaning back into him, hands gripping the counter.
It was a heavy weight in his hands and he couldn’t imagine carrying that around every day.
But she was such a champ, despite her swearing and complaints. And she had never looked more beautiful.
“We could make a different kind of stuffing.” He suggested, tone teasing. “Together.”
A small laugh bubbled in her chest, and fuck, how he loved hearing it.
“Pretty sure there’s enough stuffing inside of me already.”
Javier had always been pretty insatiable when it came to her, whether it was for the basic need of wanting to fuck his beautiful wife or because his past was plaguing him and he needed a respite, seeking comfort in her body rather than his usual vices.
But ever since she had become pregnant, he truly couldn’t get enough of her, hands all over her round belly and swollen breasts, needing some part of himself buried inside her pussy.
Not that she minded, he always made sure to make her feel good.
“C’mon, nena.” He said, letting her belly down again gently, taking notice of how she slumped a little. “There can never be enough stuffing inside of you.”
She rolled her eyes with a groan, partially from the heavy weight returning, partially because he was ridiculous. In the best way, of course.
“Better keep that talk to a minimum tomorrow.” She warned with a grin, turning around in his arms and leaning back against the counter.
“Yes ma’am.”
His lips on hers were gentle at first, moulding languidly together, his hand roaming up and down her side. Moustache tickling her upper lip.
Letting his tongue find hers, he could taste some of the vegetables she had chopped up, smiling at that. She tasted amazing and Javier couldn’t wait to have whatever she was making tomorrow.
But first, he wanted her.
Deepening the kiss, his hands wandered down to her ass, squeezing hard which made her moan.
The most beautiful sound he knew, soft and already high-pitched, a song no one else would ever know.
“C’mon, nena” He rasped against her lips, a small groan leaving him when her hands wandered into his hair. “Let me take care of you.”
She chuckled at his words.
“Take care of me or of your dick?”
Javier had to laugh at that as well, forehead coming to rest against hers, looking into her eyes.
“Is that what you think of me?”
She shrugged her shoulders, upside down smile on her lips.
Her hands moved to his cheeks, squishing them just lightly. She really wanted him, feeling wet already at the thought of him inside her.
But she needed to finish chopping the vegetables first, knowing she wouldn’t come back here once he had her in bed. And he wouldn’t do it.
“Can I finish this first, Javi?” She placed a kiss on the bridge of his nose, right over the small scar there. “I know you won’t let me out of bed once you get me there.”
Javier sighed but nodded. Anything for his wife.
Kissing her forehead, he let his lips linger there as she hummed. “I’ll help you, cariño.”
It took them longer than expected to land in their bedroom, with Javier trying to get things done the fast way and getting reprimanded by her more than just once for how sloppily he diced the vegetables.
But, they had managed somehow, leaving the mess to get cleaned up in the morning.
She giggled when he pushed her onto the bed, gently, before kneeling before her.
Hands on her belly, lips back on hers.
“Wanna taste that pussy so bad.” He said, one hand sliding to her thigh and slowly pushing up the hem of her dress. “Wet and sweet for me.”
Kissing down her jaw to her neck, he could feel the moan vibrating in her throat, her hand at the back of his neck.
“Please, Javi.” She sighed, enjoying the way his lips felt against her skin, how tantalisingly slow he moved his calloused hand up her thigh.
Her legs spread further, allowing him to trace his fingers up the inside of her thigh before reaching the hem of her panties, already wet.
A soft gasp echoed between them when he pressed a knuckle over her clit, applying just a little bit of pressure.
Her fingers curled into his neck, eyes closed.
She was much more sensitive now, every little touch so much more intense as he languidly dragged his knuckle over the damp material.
“Feels good, huh, nena?” He asked, leaning back to look at her face, drinking in her pleasure as he pressed a little harder.
She nodded, humming, biting her lip when he brushed over her clit again.
“Take them off, Javi.”
He grinned, fingers hooking under the waistband and tugging them down her legs when she lifted her hips to help him.
Both his hands were back on her immediately, bunching up her summer dress so he could look at her soaking pussy when she leaned back on one arm. The other caressed the back of his head still.
No matter how often he saw her, he always looked mesmerised somehow, like this was his first time.
Made her feel special, the low, quiet whistle and grin on his face making her giggle.
“Pretty pussy all soaked for me.” He said, eyes still on her middle as he used his thumbs to spread her open, the air chilly against her. “You're stunning, cariño.”
She couldn’t quite see, her belly too big already, but she felt the rough pad of one thumb press into her clit, making her hips jerk forward.
“Always for you, Javi.” She smiled, nails scratching against his scalp.
His dark eyes found hers, sparkling and so loving and he leaned up towards her face, pressing a long kiss to her lips.
“Let me taste you, nena.” He said.
Just a few years back, when she had met him between his stays in Colombia, he would have just dived in without even asking, merely announcing it.
It made her happy that he had settled a little, had found enough rest to allow himself to change just a bit.
Just a little though, still falling into his old ways more often than not.
Exactly how she liked it.
“‘Course, Javi, you fucking know that.” She chuckled, kissing him again before he settled back down, grinning like he’d just won the damn lottery.
In his mind, he did.
With a woman so stunning, so perfect with her charm and wits and that round belly only making her angelic.
He felt like he had done something right for once when he put a ring on her, just them in a tiny ceremony.
Only Chucho with them.
They never liked the big celebrations, just them was enough.
“Scootch back and lay down, cariño.” He said, helping her to move back on the bed, making it easier for both of them.
That growing stomach of hers had made it just a little harder to do all this, but they found a way.
She hummed when he kissed down the insides of her thighs, occasionally biting her while his hands kept them spread for him.
Her hand in his hair tugged weakly on his dark locks, making him hum in return.
“So fucking pretty.” He murmured, right before finding her middle, tongue twisting around her clit, seeing how her back arched off the bed, her fingers curling tighter into his hair. “So fucking sensitive, cariño.”
Licking a broad stripe up her folds, he focused solely on her clit, tongue flicking over it before he sucked on it, making her moan and whimper.
“Javi, fuck, that feels good, baby.” She whined loudly, writhing on the bed already, one hand twisted in the sheets while the other still gripped his hair tightly.
She wished she could watch him, watch his face as he ate her out. He always looked so pretty when he did.
So she closed her eyes and imagined his staring up at hers, brows furrowed in concentration. The wet sounds growing louder, mingling with her moans.
Her hips bucked against his mouth and he laid one of his hands on her hip to keep her still, the other finding her wet entrance, two fingers teasing her and making her whine.
“Oh- Baby, please, fuck me with your fingers, please.” She rushed out, trying to inch closer to him but he kept teasing her, letting them glide over her aching hole but not pushing inside. “You’re a mean man, Javi.”
He hummed against her, the vibrations running up her spine and pushed his fingers in, taking her by surprise.
She clenched around him, moaning loudly and throwing her head back as he slowly started pumping in and out of her, fingers curling against that spongy sweet spot inside of her.
“That’s my girl.” He mumbled, grabbing her hip harder as he continued to lick and suck at her clit. “Sweet pussy gripping me so tight, nena.”
Her orgasm was building rapidly, feeling so sensitive as he touched all the right spots.
A different, unfamiliar sensation built alongside it, faster and faster as she writhed below him, whines growing louder.
“Baby- I’m gonna-” She choked out, unable to finish her sentence as her orgasm crashed into her so suddenly and so violently that she couldn’t even make more sounds.
Then she felt it, a warm, wet gush, her hand in his hair managing to tug him away as he kept pumping his fingers, fucking her through her orgasm as she soaked his shirt.
He just looked stunned. This was the first time this had ever happened and seeing her body tremble, legs shaking and her thighs and the sheets wet…
Could he possibly be more in love and crazy for her?
“‘M sorry, Javier.” She gasped out when he removed his fingers once she had calmed down again, breathing hard. “I don’t know-”
“Stop.” He cut her off, rising to his feet so he could crawl over her. “That was fucking hot, cariño.”
His eyes were hungry when he looked down at her, lips crashing into hers.
His moustache was wet, as was his chin and she could taste herself on him when he pushed his tongue into her mouth.
She could practically feel how excited he was, not that he ever wasn’t, but all the shame she might have felt at what she did was melting away as he kissed her so roughly and passionately, his hands moving to push down the straps of her dress.
Quickly his fingers unclasped her bra and she helped him take it off, groaning when his rough hands cupped her sensitive breasts.
“God, I love you pregnant.” He said, kissing down her neck to her chest.
She giggled, the sound broken by a gasp when his mouth closed around one nipple.
“Just ‘cause my tits get bigger?”
Javier had to laugh at that. “Exactly, and you’re fucking sexy like this.”
She rolled her eyes, moaning again when his tongue curled around her nipple, back arching into him.
“Can you finally fuck me?” She asked, hands in his hair. “Please, baby, it hurts.”
He sat up, taking off his soaked shirt and throwing it to the side, revealing his toned chest and soft stomach.
“Hurts for me, nena?” He said, brow raised as his fingers fumbled with his belt buckle. “Gonna need my dick to help you feel better?”
She nodded, biting her lip as she watched him take off his jeans, then his underwear, his hard cock springing free.
“Say it.”
Her legs wrapped around his waist, trying to coax him closer.
“Need your cock in my aching pussy, Javi. Want you to fuck me.”
His hands wandered to her dress, still bunched around her hips and pulled it off of her.
“My pretty little wife.” He chuckled, lining himself up with her, her legs draped over his hips. “You sound so sweet, you’re always so good to me.”
Slowly he pushed in, watching for her reactions as he pushed in deeper, until he was settled all the way.
She moaned, eyes closing and her hands reaching for his thighs, needing to hold onto him in some way.
“Feels good?” He asked, running his hands over her legs, then placed them over hers.
A low hum left her and she nodded. “Move, baby. Wanna feel you.”
Javier obliged almost immediately, rolling his hips slowly, pulling out before pushing himself all the way in again.
Dragging low moans from her, short gasps and pants.
Watching her face contort in pleasure when one of her hands left his leg to squeeze her own breast.
“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous, cariño.” He groaned, feeling her clench around him. “My dirty, little wife.”
A new orgasm built rapidly, his dick hitting all the right places inside of her, his groans and moans only helping the waves of pleasure grow.
She opened her eyes to look at him, watching his muscles flex as he slammed his hips against hers, when he lifted her legs to lay them against his shoulders, changing the angle and moving faster.
“Oh- Javi, fuck!” She gasped, feeling herself so close already as he kept fucking her. “You feel so good!”
“I know, nena.” He rasped, his eyes moving back and forth between her face and her bouncing breasts. “Be a good girl for me and let go, yeah? Wanna feel that pussy all tight, you’re so fucking gorgeous like this, cariño.”
Just a few more thrusts, looking at his face, teeth bared and brows furrowed, her second orgasm crashed into her, making her tense up and moan his name, squeezing him so tightly he had to stop for a moment.
“Just like that, nena, yes.” He breathed out, picking up his speed as he fucked her through it, rhythm faltering. “That’s my girl, fuck-”
His hips pressed into her, a guttural groan ripped from him as he came, fingers curling into her thighs.
“So fucking pretty with your belly, fuck- Gotta give you more.”
She barely understood his rambling over the blood rushing in her ears, struggling to breathe as she still felt the pleasure running through her.
But something about it was just incredibly hot.
He let her legs down gently before pulling out carefully, spreading her legs to watch his cum leak out of her.
She felt hot under his gaze and watched as he used his fingers to push it back into her, making her groan and roll her eyes.
“Javi, I am already pregnant.” She said, watching his face closely.
He hummed in response, still pushing more back into her.
“Just gotta make sure.” He said, hearing her laugh at that. “Love seeing my cum inside you, cariño, you know that.”
“Just gotta make sure…” She mumbled under her breath with a chuckle. “You’re ridiculous.”
Happy with what he’d done, he leaned forward to kiss her belly before leaning over her again, putting his fingers to her mouth.
“Open.”
She did, sucking his fingers into her mouth and humming at the salty taste, both of them together.
When he pulled them out again, he kissed her, soft and tender now, his hand smoothing over her belly.
“We do make good stuffing.” She said, trying not to laugh but feeling herself unable to when he started grinning.
He laughed too, loving her laugh and kissing her forehead.
“We do, and I’ll make sure there’s more where that came from.” He said, eyes twinkling.
“Not tomorrow.” She warned.
He kissed her cheek.
“I won’t have to mention it, everyone can already see how well I stuffed you.”
That earned him a playful swat on the arm, pushing him off of her with a laugh.
Yeah, she really loved this Javier.
And she could imagine letting him stuff her just once or twice more.
He was pretty good at this, after all.
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Pedge-Page MASTERLIST
All fics are explicit content: 18 + ONLY, MINORS DNI
🔸️- indicates new
Joel Miller
Rough Day tags: freeuse, rough to soft Joel
Swim Lessons tags: friends to lovers, teasing, shower sex
There's Only One Joel Miller tags: posessive, dubcon, slight breeding
Mother who Provides tags: sub!Joel, breastfeeding, mommy kink
You Please, My Pleasure tags: Sub!Joel, Mommy Kink
Pregnancy Ft Tommy, Breakfast Bunch tags: pregnancy, sharing, cucking, breastfeeding, breeding
Bloodkink!Joel tags: fear, blood licking, toxic
Discipline tags: sub!Joel, ball torture, hands free orgasm
Live a Little, Give a Little, 🔸️More [part 2]🔸️ public sex, exhibitionist, strangers
lactation tags: preganncy, breastfeeding
belly bump tags: pregnancy, cumplay
featuring Tess tags: pregnancy, forced breeding
Lactation 2 tags: breastfeeding, hands free orgasm, breeding
Sub/Himbo!Joel: Safe, Closer , 🔸️Statement🔸️, Mine is Mine tags: sub!Joel, breeding, Mommy kink
Piss Kink : piss kink 1, piss kink 2, piss kink 3, foot job drabble , Thirsty! , piss kink 4, PlushiesxPK Crossover, Shared Room, Puppy Lessons, PlushiesxPKxPregnant Crossover🔸️ tags: piss kink, occasional sub!Joel
Adventures in "Joel Dealing with his Preggo Wife" masterlist - (updated 4/14)
Plushies Series Masterlist - (updated 3/2)
Best Man Series Masterlist - (updated 12/22)
Other drabbles: horse, reversal, lap, training, slaver, hard to get, little pill, dreams
Extras: babee, soccer mom, Sarah's crush, helper, butter, ring, pickup lines, seahorse
Din Djarin / The Mandalorian
Partners tags: fwb, breeding kink, dub con to non con
Drabbles : riding, feeling, Lothal Cat, hunt
Frankie Morales
Cravings Series
Sharing is Caring Series - (updated 12/12)
Drables: suffocate, tied, patch, taste, Thanksgiving, kiss
Javi Peña
One Last Time
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Bogotá, Summer, Age 28: Moving Out
Javier moves to Colombia to fight the war on drugs. You help unpack, sort of.
Rating: 18+
Warnings: Smut, Tearful Goodbyes, Javier Peña Threatening to Put a Foot in His Mouth (but it's not a kink), Some Emotional Turmoil.
A/N: Cracking along with the timeline now. If you can't tell I've been procrastinating posting this chapter for a while and I'm still not 100% on it, but we move. This episode marks the end of the young!Javi era as we move into Colombia Javi era. The P.S at the end of the chapter discusses timeframes and canon divergence. Enjoy!
Bogotá, Summer, Age 28
“Javier Peña, you have an ungodly amount of stuff for someone who supposedly packs light.”
It was a polite assessment, even by your standards. Javi’s new apartment was full to the brim with unopened boxes. Seemingly missing the point of pre-furnished, government-issued accommodation, the overzealous nature of his personality that you thought he’d outgrown apparently still lingered when it came to his packing habits.
Part of you lovingly considers if it’s his Mother’s ‘just in case’ attitude rubbing off when he needed her most. The other thinks he just couldn't be bothered to cull any of his belongings, instead simply resolving to bring it all and hope for the best.
Either way, the sheer amount of stuff was a stark reminder of the longevity of his stay in the capital. It was looking to be at least semi-permanent.
You couldn’t deny that the move had taken you by surprise. More accurately, it was a punch to the throat. Just when you thought things might actually be on their way to working out, he had been given a provisional date to be shipped out to the embassy following his success within the unit. The war on drugs was escalating, everyone knew it was going to be big, and Javi had ambition, buckets of it. He’d said yes in a heartbeat.
You tried not to dwell on the fact that bit had hurt more than anything; the immediacy of his response, the way he didn’t even look at you from across the room when he said 'yes, he’d do it.'
You had been naive to think the same age-old problems were going to be put to rest as you laid cheek to cheek in his twin-size bed. The sweet promise of trying had lasted less than a night. A nice idea while it lasted, shattered by a single phone call that Javi should have let go to the tape so you could have at least watched the sun come up together.
Who the fuck calls at 6am on a weekend, anyway? The DEA, apparently.
Instead of picking things up where you’d left off at twenty-four, you had geared up to spend yet another year more or less apart as he got his affairs in order and prepared for the promotion. Since he definitely wouldn’t be staying, there was no point pursuing anything in the way you had imagined that night. The trip home had been a good start, but it wasn’t enough to make him stay. Chucho had been right, of course; he was both feet in or not at all.
For the second time in your life, a single phone call had changed everything. The weekend ended, you went back to New York, and your life continued all but unchanged, with the notable exception of at least having Javi back in your life in some tangible way. The finer details of his presence, however, remained ever-fitful, a conversation perpetually reserved for another time.
You had planned to call Jack as soon as you landed but he was already at the airport, waiting with a Statesman-branded sign at the arrivals gate. You think back to the phone call in the bar after Stella’s wedding, how clear the choice - Javi or bust - had been. Moments of supposed clarity can seem so ragged through the altogether finer lens of retrospect. Looking at Jack as he waved at you gingerly from across the concourse, you resolved to no longer place so much weight on predictable plot lines. You’d tried, you’d failed, you were carrying on. Rolling with the punches was a natural requirement of your line of work and should, you resolve, be accounted for in your personal life as much as your professional one.
“How was your weekend?” He croaked in his usual heavy drawl, tucking you under his arm and walking you toward the parking lot and the Bronco. You’d missed his sober humour, predictable conversation, and clean smell. You knew he was working out the answer to his own question before it had even left his mouth, assessing the damage, determining if you were lovestruck or loveless. As usual, your ambiguity was admirable. It was what made you good at your job.
“Let’s go for dinner and not talk about it,” you’d replied in a surprisingly happy daze, satisfied to have something else to focus on, if only for the evening.
All in all, the trip home for the wedding had left a bad taste in your mouth, the glue trap snagging in all its former glory. Although pleased that Javi had started the process of finding his feet there again, the will-you-won’t-you incidents of the weekend were enough of an experience to stave you both off for a while.
As always, you resolved that outside of Christmas you wouldn't be going back home again for a while. But, knowing full well you sounded like a broken record when it came to you and Texas, this time you felt the need to mean it more than ever. New York, and all its treasures, had a lot to offer you, and it was time to start making the most of it. You could no longer keep indirectly planning your life around your unconventional childhood sweetheart and the places he may or may not be. With Chucho’s blessing, your ticket back to the city was notably one-way.
Had you run into Javier in the meantime? Yes. Once, maybe twice. If anything, it was the most normal thing about the last four years. ‘Picking up where you’d left off’ seemed to at least extend to the return of the not-so-yearly reunion. Preparations for the move had been busy, but not so busy that you hadn’t at last taken advantage of the proximity of your respective places of work. The doors slid in their obscure, unpredictable way, and you would happily admit that having him back, at least in your bed, had been the best thing to happen to you in a long time.
With the most familiar parts of your relationship at the very least back on track, you struggled to find any reason why this weekend should be anything other than business as usual. So here you were, boxes in hand, feeling distinctly normal in the wake of an exceptional situation, the continuity of casual sex continuing to mask a harsher reality.
But, once again, it seemed like your time was up, and neither of you knew how to face up to what that was going to mean this time.
“I don’t know if you’ve ever had the pleasure of moving countries, oh wait, I know you haven’t, but you need a lot of stuff. UPS aren’t just going to ship whatever I left behind at a friendly price.”
“Civilisation does exist in Bogotá, Javier.”
“But home comforts do not. And that includes you. If I hadn’t packed so much maybe you wouldn’t have needed to come along. Begging only gets a man so far.”
He hadn’t even needed to ask if you’d help out. You never would have let him make the move alone. He was right, being transferred to a new country was a big deal, and not something to be taken lightly. Laredo might have been lost to him for a while there, but 2000 miles was still a long way. Consequently, watching him settle into his new home was proving to be an interesting case study.
His adjusted relationship with his hometown had been made more than apparent in coming back for the wedding. The familiarity of it all wasn’t enough for him to feel comfortable, but you could see the reminiscent pull of longing as he’d temporarily laid his head to rest there again. That house and everything in it had been his whole world at one point and to be denied or something like that, if only by his own hand, was always going to take its toll.
His work had become his centrefold the moment Lorraine had changed her course and set him free. But was that a factor of choice or necessity? Once again, was this move just the next best thing to avoid facing up to the prospect of what he actually wanted, rather than what was wanted of him?
For the first time in your life, there was something you truly didn't know about him. Why here? Why now?
Questioning the crux of someone's intentions when they barely seemed to be sure of them themselves was neither clever nor kind. But it was curious to see how he went about the process here - the invaluable opportunity to rip it all up and start again, perhaps when he needed it most.
Some things were the same as always. He was meticulous in a way that make sense only to him; where he wanted things, how he wanted them handled, whether he wanted them hung, folded, or stowed. But in between those precise movements, the ones he was using to orient himself in this new space, he seemed sporadic and lost. No matter what his intentions were, the move would be a welcome distraction from the inside of his head, the same way his work always had been since Lorraine. But there was a heaviness about him that was hanging on his every move.
The chance to start over was costing him something, and you both knew it.
You’d be lying if you denied your hopes that he’d be feeling the weight of your loss as much as you’d be feeling his. You were happy for him, truly, but you wondered why his stability always came at the cost of your assurance.
You’d got close for a moment there, really close, to what you both wanted. Or so you thought. You of all people knew the impression that you didn’t deserve good things was a hard one to shake.
“Besides,” he continues, drawing your attention back, “you always complained about the state of my dorm room. At least this might be a welcome improvement. It’ll be nice not to have roommates in my twenties again, too. That shit does not get easier.”
“Not going to miss Quantico?” you tease, revelling in his terrifying stories of the grown men on base who had still failed to grasp the concept of basic personal hygiene.
“Not. A. Bean. I’ll take the complimentary bachelor pad any day of the week. This place is swish.”
“Well, it will be once you put all your shit away.”
“We,” he corrects, smugly, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “Once we put all my shit away.” He smiles his shit-eating grin in return for your emphatic scowl. “You know you love me really.”
You avoid the opportunity for confession, throwing a box marked ‘Heavy’ toward his toes instead. It was going to be a long afternoon.
Boxes unpacked, arguments resolved, and multiple beers consumed in the process, you leave the apartment and enter the simmering heat of the evening no earlier than 8pm later that night.
You can see why people said living with your significant other was the truest test of a relationship. You don’t know if it’s years of being in the company of federal agency men, but you definitely can’t recall him being half this annoying to inhabit a space with when Chucho had been around to keep you both in line. If he’d given you one more haughty instruction on how to fold a fitted sheet, you’d have actually threatened him with grievous bodily harm. Even Statesman would have trouble explaining that one to the US embassy.
Thankfully, finally free of the inside of that apartment, he offers to take you out to dinner for your troubles, quelling the worst of your brooding mood with the promise of good food and a stiff drink.
You settle into a small restaurant on the corner of the square and over your food attempt to discuss the prospects of his new life in this admittedly fascinating place. You were trying, really trying, to put a positive spin on things. But as you circle around something like small talk- what the work would entail, what he hoped the people would be like, whether the pay was any good- it dawns on you slowly just how little Javi had been relying on his expectations when planning this move. If 'planning' was even the word.
As you toe the line of your careful questioning, not wanting to rock the boat too much, it becomes abundantly clear that he hadn’t wanted to think about getting out here at all. Signing up had been a matter of making a snap decision and simply holding his nerve for long enough to see it through when the moment came. The boy was a menace, truly.
“They’re probably going to expect a bit more forethought when you actually start the work, you know that, right?” you ask tentatively, in between mouthfuls of food.
“I’m good at my job, stop being cheeky,” he quips, but you know he sees your point. “If I’d thought any more about coming here I would have changed my mind. You of all people must understand that.”
You hmph in agreement, knowing he’s referring to your behind-the-scenes move to Nashville for the Statesman training programme. Sometimes these things required a leap of faith, free of the potentially dangerous influence of the people you loved most.
“It’s just something I have to do,” he continues, chomping away at his food. “They need me. This is where the fight is.”
Honour, duty, perseverance. Some things didn’t change. For a while now, the biggest fight had been against himself. But he didn’t need reminding of that. You resolve not to push the matter any further. You would find out what was going on eventually, it just wouldn't be tonight.
“Did you pack that shirt, by the way?”
“Which one?” he asks suspiciously, looking at you over his arepa.
“You know which one. The ugly one.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sniffs uninterestedly, no longer able to meet your eye.
“The one with the shapes, Javier. The weird, zig-zag shapes that I’m pretty sure belonged to cousin Frank before Maria made him get rid-,”
“-I dont own a single ugly shirt. You must be getting me confused. With Jack maybe.”
“Fine, fine. Just know that you’ll be absolutely covered for birth control while you’re here. Just slap that bad boy on and, boom, away you go. By the time I next see you you might be… priestly.”
“You seem to have forgotten how you felt about the jeans that go with the shirt,” he teases, quirking an eyebrow at you from across the table.
“I didn’t forget,” you grumble quietly, knowing you’ve lost your argument at any mention of his collection of well-shaped denim. Those jeans still kept you up at night.
Despite the underlying tone of the evening, he’s overly affectionate with you as he talks, more so perhaps than he’s allowed himself to be since the wedding; turning your hands over in his own, brushing away your hair, catching your feet with his own under the table. He’s taking the chance while he can to act as if everything's fine, as if it wasn’t all hanging by a well-meaning thread. Colombia or not, you had both been treading lightly since last year, neither one of you wanting to rock the boat father than you knew it could take. But these meetings had always been about pretending. Clearly, the premise had stuck.
And to make matters harder, he even seemed like his usual self, to a point.
The weight of uncertainty he'd been carrying with him about returning home was more or less processed on that very day last summer, forced to fruition by fifty extended family members and a kiss in a proverbial broom closet. His wounded interior played the part of his former self, with the hardened outer shell trying to present something altogether more transformed. 'I'm not the person I once was' it seemed to scream, but even with Lorraine, even at his lowest after he'd left, he was the same deep down; soft and sweet and deeply, deeply hurt by what had happened there. But he still persevered, still wanted to see it all through.
There are passing moments now, where an old Javi and a new one meet roughly in the middle, for moments at a time. Tonight is one of them.
You aren't sure which is worse, having seen a version of him so forcibly different to the one you know, or catching these glimpses where he's absolutely, fundamentally, the same. The way you'd been ready to jump back in after less than forty-eight hours together was, if anything, proof of how indistinguishable those two persons may have always been.
But old or new, he was here, 2000 miles away, nonetheless. He'd finally taken that leap. You weren't one to flatter yourself, but there was something bigger going on that left him so determined to get himself here, mere hours after trying to put a life together in place.
He would be alright, you knew that. But it was you you were worried about this time. This boy, this man, was very well going to be the death of you with the undeniable influence he had over your headspace. You wouldn’t trade his reestablished position in your life for anything, but you had to admit that an extended period of time apart, even one forced by an unideal situation, might be exactly what you needed. You couldn't think straight when it came to him.
Subsequently, when you get home a few drinks later, it’s you that forces the change of tone, feeling the ticking clock of the evening’s farce weighing heavily.
“I can sleep on the couch,” you call down the hall as he disappears into the bedroom to get changed. “I really don’t mind.”
“The couch?” he calls back with ire. “Bug,” he huffs, poking his head around the doorway, “don’t be ridiculous. You’re getting shy on me now?”
“No! No, I’m just saying, I don't want to assume-”
“-you want some pyjamas?” he interrupts, disappearing back into the room and continuing as if the query had never been raised.
“...please.”
He throws you a pair of his boxers and a DEA issue t-shirt, both approximately two sizes too large for you. They smell just like him, and you smile as you push your nose into the plush fabric.
When you walk tentatively through to the bedroom he’s already stripped down to his boxers, and is trying to find a suitable spot for his dirty clothes in the absence of a laundry bin. You stand for a minute and watch him with an affectionate smirk on your face, but feel as though you’re loitering in the space, unsure of which way to step. For the first time since things had been back in place, you notice the feeling between you is tense.
Settling on leaving the clothes on the floor, he looks up when he notices you hovering and frowns curtly. “Why are you nervous?” he asks with a small scoff, leaving you nowhere to hide.
“I’m not,” you reply, too fast and too sharp.
“You’re fizzing, it’s making my hair stand up on end.”
You brush him off with a shrug but can’t deny he’s right. You’re feeling the weight of it all, the final night, the reality of waking up tomorrow morning. You leaving, him staying. Trust him of all people to flop so dramatically between optimism and pessimism. This time last year he was doom incarnate, now he’s treating your final night together like a sleepover. Which, technically, it is.
“I’m just trying to be practical, Javi,” you sigh frustratedly. “You’re here, in another country. Tomorrow I’m leaving. We need to be realistic about what that means. You’re not going to be in the room next door anymore, or even the next state over.”
Ignoring your serious tone, he rolls his eyes at you belligerently. “What? You don’t think you can resist me?”
“Fuck off,” you chuckle, his flippancy breaking through your veil of concern, and you breeze past him into the bathroom to retain some kind of frugality about the situation.
You didn’t want to pull away from what you’d managed to make together over the last few months, the normalcy and strange consistency you’d regained in light of his fraught engagement and the damage control that followed. Finding solace in your original arrangement had been the closest thing to home you’d felt in a long time. You didn’t want to let it go so soon.
But that was then, and this is now. Leaving him was akin to taking your medicine, or eating overcooked vegetables.
In the next room, you examine his bathroom set up and smile weakly at the way it mirrors the Peña house. Toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, comb, brush. Little did the outside world know how far this man was from the 3-in-1 bathroom display of every hook-up you’ve had since 20. Javier deep conditioned, bi-weekly. It mirrored the way he liked clean creases in his bedsheets but very rarely managed to attain them. Chucho raised a burned-out perfectionist who still liked brownie points for trying. Plus, by now, Javi was well aware that his good looks got him at least some of the way to where he needed to be.
“Everything okay in there?” He calls, obviously noting the lack of any bathroom-appropriate sounds. You shove the tap on quickly in reply and make movements of brushing your teeth, but your mind is elsewhere. “No midlife crisis occurring in my presence, right?” he queries, poking his head in and catching your eye in the mirror.
“Not yet,” you joke, the words garbled around your toothbrush.
“You look good in my clothes,” he observes plainly, and you watch the way he casts his eyes over you from the back of the bathroom, propped against the doorframe. His bare frame is overwhelming as you watch him watching you, unashamedly dragging his eyes over the back of your body, pausing at the creases at the top of your legs that he always claimed to be his favourite part of you.
“Usually you suggest the opposite,” you note back quietly, quirking an eyebrow at him.
“I feel like this is a good compromise. I win either way, whether they stay on or not.”
“I didn’t realise it was a competition.”
He comes up behind you now and meets your eyes more firmly in the reflection, pressing a small kiss to the crown of your head.
“If you’re the prize, it always has been.” With that, he saunters off and leaves you in peace.
Resolving it would be smart to get an early night in preparation for tomorrow, the two of you head for bed immediately. But, despite the busy day, the nervous energy remains, crackling in the space between your adjacent bodies. The two of you lay there, staring through the darkness at the small sliver of light cast from the open window.
“It’s fucking hot here, you know,” you huff, rolling over for what must be the tenth time already, “and that’s saying something. It’s worse than home.”
“New York can’t be that hot, can it?”
“Home home,” you mumble, feeling the slip of the statement.
“Then take your clothes off.”
“What?” you scoff, turning to look at him through the half-light.
“Take them off,” he repeats simply. “I don’t mind. If you’re so hot.”
You stare at him, trying to read the expression on his face. It’s devious.
“It’s no different to home home, or my home, or your home,” he persists. “I’ll do it too, if you’re shy.”
“I’m hardly shy, Javi, you’ve had your tongue in my assh-”
“-we allll get shy. It’s okay, querida, I’ll go first.”
You bat your hand at him over the sheet to stop his fidgeting as he motions to take his remaining item of clothing off.
“Can you just.. not!” you snort with laughter, shuffling away from him to the furthest edge of the mattress.
“What?” he quips, feigning confusion.
“Just put your dick away, Javier!” He gestures taking offence but he’s grinning from ear to ear, reminded of how much he loves to indulge in winding you up.
“So, what, no sex?”
You sigh at him heavily, but your frustration is hollow. “It would be foolish,” you offer, instead of a no.
“It would be a productive use of our time given that neither of us is going to be sleeping any time soon.”
“This is feeling awfully familiar, isn’t this how we slept together the first time?”
“Something like that, although my memory is hazy, care to remind me how it went?”
He rolls toward you, capturing you halfheartedly in his grip in case you really are opposed.
“Javi,” you warn, but any feeling behind it is half-hearted.
“If I had known the last time we fucked was going to be the last time we fucked, I’d have done it differently.”
“Differently how?”
“Well I guess you’ll never know now. And that’s just a shame for everybody. But especially you.”
You roll your eyes at him. “How about a cold shower? You fucking horndog.”
“...how about a bath?”
He’s going to put your toe in his mouth. You know it.
He’s been pondering the inner arch of your foot for at least thirty seconds from his position at the opposite end of the tub, rubbing his thumb up and down it with slick, soapy, movements that are starting to tickle. You see the twinkle in his eye, the way he looks up at you across the bubbles to judge just how much trouble he’ll be in. His mouth opens, just a tad.
“Don't you dar-”
When you feel his lips touch the tip of your toe, you squeal, pulling your limbs away from him quickly and flailing about in the process. As he moves to catch your slippery digits, the two of you slide and flail ridiculously in the water, rolling against one another unappetising. When you both finally right yourselves, Javi unable to contain his laughter, you trying to prioritise your annoyance over your giggling, the water is everywhere. There’s more of it on the floor than in the tank.
“You’re a dick, I hope you packed enough towels in all of those boxes to clean that up.”
He shrugs at you smugly, seemingly unable to care about the mess. He gives one last playful tug on your foot for good measure, and then finally leaves you be, letting the water level return to a flat plane.
“What are we going to do, Bug?” he asks, at last, finally addressing the topic you know he’s been avoiding all day.
“What we always do, Jav," you reply quietly. "We make-do.”
“This isn’t what I wanted... when we decided.”
“We never got as far as deciding,” you huff, struggling to hide your curt tone.
“You know what I mean. I really thought- I don’t know.”
“I know, Jav. I did too.”
“I feel like I’ve let you down,” he sighs, curling his fingers around your calf under the water to rub gentle circles there.
You swallow down the desire to say you agree with him. Coming here was still a choice, a choice he made willingly, you think.
“It’s hardly your fault,” you offer, but your enthusiasm falls short. “We’ll get there. Eventually.”
“I don’t think I’m going to be the same when I leave this place. When I come back to you.”
His profound assessment takes you by surprise. It’s the first time he’s offered any insight into his own thoughts about being here, about how insane this line of work is really about to get.
“Just come back. That’s all I can expect you to do. Just make sure you do.”
“So what, we just… pause? Again?” he questions with an unimpressed flair.
“I don’t think we’re really in a position to define what’s going on right now. Last I checked you called things off because you were about to become a husband and a father. Then we were about to, what, elope? Work things out? And now we’ve been openly in love since last August, but still seeing other people. At this point, whatever will be will be. The universe clearly has its own designs.”
“We’ve been in love for longer than August,” he scoffs quietly.
You eye him up, quietly, thoughtfully.
“Well then I guess we have time on our side, for once.”
“I know you’re trying to be profound, but you haven’t been able to look at me for about ten minutes now.”
“It’s because I know your wet ballsack is about two inches away from my knee-”
“Sweetheart,” he presses, tugging you by the foot once again to pull you towards him in the water, only to turn you sideways to another unflattering angle.
You haul yourself upwards, hands on the edge of the tub, and resolve that he’s not going to let it go. It seems appropriate you’re both naked while you have this conversation. Call it pathetic fallacy, symbolism. It’s how he makes you feel when he draws you out like this, exposed, but somehow also warm and at ease.
“I really thought we were there too, Jav. I was really excited for a minute there. It’s not like I expected things to just be simple for once but I definitely didn’t expect… this. You’re right, I do get that you have to do what you want to do. And you know I’d never say a word against that. But I’m sad it’s still costing us. I’m sad it’s costing… me.”
“It won’t change a thing, though, right? All in all?”
You laugh at his ability to draw optimism here. “Technically, it will change a lot. Theoretically, everything has been the same for a while. You'd think after all this time we'd be used to the idea of finding one another in different places.”
He huffs, and pulls you up to lay against his chest, caressing the sides of your body as he lines you up against him. You wonder if you’d ever imagined to find yourself here, nearly ten years ago, the first time he held you close when you were searching for solace.
“Whenever we’ve got it right, I’ve had the best time of my life, loving you. I know I haven’t said it enough, but it’s true. This mess that I’ve made of it all is my greatest achievement if it means I’ve had even a fractional amount of time knowing you like this. I’m sorry it hasn’t been better for longer. I’ll do everything I can to make sure that one day it can be.”
“You’re just saying that so I can’t stay angry at you for moving to a different country,” you offer sardonically, but the dry humour does nothing to mask how heavily his words sit in your chest. You love him so much. It was awful sometimes.
“Shut it, you. I prefer it when you’re sweet and cosy.”
“No you don’t,” you mumble back into his chest.
“You’re right, I don’t. Are you hungry again?”
“Yes, those boxes have fucking killed me. Let’s get takeout.”
You order in, excusing yourselves at second dinner on the basis of something like ‘needing to get to know the local area’. From Javi’s extensive collection of boxes, you manage to excavate an impressive selection of tapes, all the good ones, in fact, that had been missing from your own collection for years.
You eat the takeout out from the carton, realising very quickly that despite the heavy packing, Javi's distinctly lacking crockery.
For what was meant to be an early night, the evening was now reflecting something closer to the long summer nights between the school years than the turning point of a lifetime.
“There’s not even a fucking time difference," you mumble as you watch the clock pass midnight, still unable to feel dozy. "I feel like I’m at a sleepover party or something, I'm completely wired.”
“You’re just elated about being in my company, it’s like old times.”
And he’s not wrong. The best part of the last few months has been how reminiscent of how things used to be, but this was a next-level imitation of your childhood insomnia. Resolving to at least be productive, you stand to clear the boxes away, and bend to grab the trash bag from the floor to throw it down the chute.
Noticing the absence of the line of his boxers grazing the hem of his shirt, he stops drinking to stare for a moment.
“Do- do you have underwear on under my shirt?”
“... no? They got wet when you splashed about in the tub.”
He growls, half in despair, half in desperation, and before you know it you’re flipped onto your back and onto the couch again, his frustrated groans broken only by the way he’s biting at your neck in utter desperation.
“For fucks sake!” you sigh into his mouth as you manoeuvre yourself underneath him. “What did we say?”
“No, what did you say. I wanted to fuck. Just shut up and kiss me.”
“Javier,” you try to protest, but it’s meaningless. You didn’t want to say no. You wanted to say yes to every part of him.
“Just one more night, please." He hovers over you, consuming your line of vision entirely to stare down at you with utter sincerity. "Please. I don’t want to leave this behind yet, I’m not ready. Tomorrow I’ll be good and we’ll say goodbye, but not yet. Please. Just let me make you feel good, and then I’ll let you go again.”
You smile sadly at his pleading, his promises to behave, the nip of his teeth against your chin when his words are said and done.
"What would it be like? If it was, like you said... the last time?"
"Oh, it would be, special. Extra special."
He pulls the t-shirt from your head and swiftly follows with his boxers, arranging yourselves to lay flush against the other, with nothing but the damp slick of the room's heat to come between you.
"Care to share?"
"Mmh, it would be deeply, deeply, romantic. The way that I know we don’t always allow for. But I would allow it, just this once."
"'Romantic'," you repeat back, longingly. "What does romance look like on you, Javier?"
He shifts again, this time to run the hard length of himself against you, dragging slowly, raising your interest until you're warm and wet to the touch.
"It looks like your hand in mine, every time it gets the chance. It looks like Christmas eve of '83 when I realised how badly I wanted you like this all the time, every day. And you said no, and I knew why, but all it did was make me want it more."
You watch in the warm glow of the room, the way he slips into you, inch by inch, observing every twitch of your body with awestruck wonder. You feel him in your stomach, impossibly close to you, and press the flat of your palm to your skin to mirror the place he must be inside you.
"And on me?" you squeak, your eyes never leaving the sight of the two of you like this. "What does it look like on me?"
"It was watching you give me up, knowing what it cost you, and doing it anyway. It was you saying I told you so, but only when I wasn't in the room. And it was you taking me back, still, knowing it was doomed, but following me all the way here either way."
He pushes deeper, somehow, further, butting the coarse hair of his pelvis against your own, until it's barely susceptible where the boundary of you and him end and begin. When he's satisfied that he's taken as much as he's going to get, pushed as far as he can go, he gathers you up, covering all of you with the taut stretch of him until the only thing you can feel other than his skin against yours is the press of the brown leather against your back. He's all you can feel, all you can taste- every inch of your body feels alight as it thrums against his, palm to palm, cheek to cheek, bone by bone.
"And us? What's it for us?"
He starts to move, but he doesn't stop talking, not even a second.
"It's you and me and the in-between moments we've gathered together despite a lifetime of being pulled apart. It was waiting forever to even try."
The way he runs his mouth, full to the brim with sweet nothings instead of his usual filth is, truly, romantic. You feel the tears well in your eyes, part in pleasure, part in pain, as you're forced to visualise again, very literally, what you stand to lose.
"Javi."
"It's the pieces of you I'll find here when I'm bruised and broken and so, so alone."
You sob with the fullness, the overwhelming feeling of his skin on yours and his words ringing in your ears. He collects the sounds with harsh kisses.
"Romance is a lifetime of loving you, Bug, however best I can. And romance is knowing I will learn to love you still, in the hope that one day it will be exactly how I want it. Romance is knowing we'll get what we want, and it's holding on long enough that it finally, finally arrives."
His thrusts are deep and precise, coming every time to toe that stretch of your bodies meeting, the line blurring more and more as you hurtle towards the edge, hand in hand, side by side.
"Tell me you love me," he pleads, shamelessly. "I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing you say it."
"I love you. I do."
"Again," he huffs, even closer now.
"Oh, I do, I do, I do."
And you know, once and for all, that there's nothing left to be done.
You let yourself fall.
“I’ll miss you, again. I always miss you,” you grumble into his button down.
He’d driven you to the airport first thing this morning in his new government issue vehicle. He had paperwork to pick up, forms to sign, things to do. It was best you were out of his hair as soon as possible. If you stayed any longer, a part of you wouldn’t be able to go.
Last night you had been resolutely determining that time apart was for the best, that giving him up was the way to go. As always, now you were clinging on to what you always found with him. You never learned, but there was nothing to fight anymore.
“I miss you now,” he huffs back, matching your frustrated tone. “You’re supposed to be my wife by now.”
You laugh roughly at the statement, but the way your throat tightens is unbearable. It wasn’t a prospect you’d let yourself dwell on before, but the worst part is that you agree with him. He’s right. The simplicity of the assessment is a perfect summation.
You think back to your words last year at the wedding: ‘I hope you’re never stupid enough to try and get married again.’ ‘Never again,’ you still agree with, but with one key correction. Unless it's to me.
“Last year, I said if I ever ran away again I’d take you with me.”
“You’re not running away this time,” you reply, lifting your face to look at his. “You’re running towards something. And if it's what you have to do, then that’s that."
You take the front of his shirt in your hands and grip it tightly, squaring him up against you.
"But you also said you’d come and find me again,” you add, catching him off guard, “no matter what.”
He looks down at you seriously and brushes your cheek affectionately. “I did.”
“So, come and find me.”
You can tell he wants to argue, wants to make some valiant gesture.
“Bug, I-”
“Let’s just…say goodbye. Okay?” you suggest quickly, cutting him off before he makes a promise he can’t commit to. “That way it doesn’t matter when it next is. This is just an ending. We’ve had endings before. And then, when this is all done, and it will be done, we can just begin again.”
You see his brows furrow, perturbed, and, for once, you decide to speak for the both of you.
“It’s you and me, Javier. It always has been. We’ve never had the simple luxury of things just working out, we both have too much to prove. You know, deep down, we’d both end up resenting one another if we didn’t decide to see these things through. You were right, last night, we’re both going to see some shit. Neither of us is going to be the same when we’re done with this. But whoever we are on the other side, we'll just, I don’t know, find each other again.”
You watch the emotions wash over him, before settling on something like a reluctant acceptance.
“I love you, Javier. More than anything. You’re the love of my life.”
He doesn't flinch, doesn't hesitate.
“I love you more, you sweet, sweet, thing. I can’t wait to meet you again.”
“Keep in touch,” you murmur between delicate kisses, and you watch him go, again.
For the variation of goodbyes you’d exchanged in your lifetime, this one is standalone. This was the first one that had length, depth. Even after the phone call about Lorainne, there had been no official goodbye, just a silent drifting apart. He was right, he wasn't going to be the same the next time you saw him.
But equally, for the first time since he’d pulled the rug from under you, you had found your footing again.
It didn't matter how, or what, or when. He was it. Always. And with that in mind, you had the rest of your turbulent life to design around one essential factor that remained an unwavering constant. In the end, it was always you and him.
For the first time since he'd kissed you in that loft, you couldn't bring yourself to muster an ounce of anxiety. You had finally gifted yourself something you had longed for your entire life: assurance. Your choices were made, your end goal secure despite the road winding uncontrollably.
People would come and go, but in the end, truly at the end of all of things, he was it. And that was all you needed to know.
P.S: Now that Javi's got a timeframe attached to Colombia, I just wanted to say that I'm conscious of canon divergence and the link to his character, especially his age, in the show. Based on my dodgy maths throughout (loosely determined from the dates provided at the start of the show) in Changes Javi is in Colombia from roughly the ages of 28-35, give or take a few years for Cali.
This is just my interpretation and I'm aware that it will differ from the age he's usually associated as being. I haven't decided how far I'm going to go with the story, but it will likely end somewhere after Javi's resignation post-S3. The focus was never intended to be on his life during the show, other than in little snippets according to his life with Bug.
P.P.S: I consider @furious-rogue-stuff 's Heat to be the gospel text for canon-accurate show weaving. It's immense, and one of the main reasons I don't feel the need to dwell on that part of Javi's story is because she's already perfected it 😂 Absolutely go and consume her Javi, I beg.
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@furious-rogue-stuff
@athalien
@sara-alonso
@vanemando15
@chronic-nosebleed
@mashomasho
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Narcos Fic: Trigonometry (Part 2: Cosine)
Part 1, Part 3 - Read on AO3 - Masterlist
All In Universe Masterlist
Pairing: Horacio Carrillo x Steve Murphy x Javier Peña
(Parts 1 and 2 focus on Carrillo/Murphy, but part 3 will be Carrillo/Murphy/Peña)
Words: 4,983
Summary: With Javi still missing, Carrillo and Steve visit his apartment where tensions finally boil over (understatement lol).
Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Weapons kink, gun play, power dynamics, praise kink, handjobs, frottage, masturbation, unprotected anal sex/fingering, biting/marking, dirty talk, spanking, comeplay, jealousy, denial of feelings, brief mentions of divorce and open marriage, inappropriate use of prayer (there’s a warning I never thought I’d use lol), mild angst, swearing, smoking, drinking.
Notes: I have no excuses for this tbh 😂 Although it ended up having more feelings in it than intended 👀 And there are plenty more shenanigans to come in the third and final part as well 😉
Whilst obviously I do not own Narcos or its characters, please do not copy, re-post, or plagiarize this fic in any capacity on this or other platforms. If you wish to create any fan works inspired by it, please provide a credit or send me a message if in doubt.
Part 2: Cosine
Carrillo’s seniority made it easy to arrange a helicopter to take them to Bogotá in quick time and with few questions asked. They were still reluctant to officially call it in and gave themselves a deadline of the following morning. That would make it at least 24 hours Javi had been missing, but they couldn’t think about that yet and preferred to see it more as an insurance policy.
Once back in Bogotá, they crossed the threshold of Javi’s apartment and shut the door behind them. The place seemed smaller now that it was just the two of them, as though the walls were closing in and there was no way out.
They both tried to ignore it in favour of looking for any clues instead. Although much like the absence of Javi in his own apartment, the negative space was the problem. The way that things which were unsaid or unaddressed were there nonetheless. It was the implied intimacy of Carrillo knowing his way around and of Steve and Javi having spare keys to each other’s apartments. It was the way the three of them had avoided each other since that fateful night, yet it was clearly all they could think about. It was the way Steve and Carrillo refused to talk about the worst-case scenario for Javi because then they would have to admit they had thought about it in the first place.
However, there was no sign that Javi had been here recently. His bed was still made, there were no messages or missed calls on his machine, and it didn’t look like anyone had broken in or taken anything. It was like the man had simply vanished.
Carrillo took two glass tumblers out of the drinks cabinet and filled them with whatever bottle Javier already had open. He slid one across the kitchen counter towards Steve, who eyed it with great suspicion.
“Don’t worry, I’m not poisoning you.”
Steve pinned Carrillo with a look of intense irritation but accepted the drink with a reluctant thanks.
Whilst Steve nursed his glass, Carrillo pulled his phone out of his pocket, dipped into Javi’s bedroom and closed the door.
Steve wasn’t intentionally listening, but it was hard not to be overheard in this place when the walls were so thin. From what he did catch, it was clear Carrillo was telling his wife he wouldn’t be home tonight.
Steve brought the tumbler to his mouth, suddenly hyper-aware of what else had been pressed against it only hours ago. And in Carrillo’s office several weeks before that. He tipped his head back and downed the lot in one.
Carrillo’s phone call was brief, and he soon returned to the kitchen. As far as Steve was concerned, he’d kept his face and body language neutral, but apparently not from the way that Carrillo was now glaring at him. A look that managed to convey My marriage is off-limits, you don’t know the first thing about our arrangement, and at least I still have a wife.
It worked for them, and that’s what mattered. Not that Carrillo had intended to become entangled with two DEA agents like this, but then he didn’t plan for lots of things around here. Given the intensity of their line of employment, he figured it was an occupational hazard. It didn’t mean he loved Juliana any less, and he didn’t have to explain that to anyone, least of all Murphy.
Whatever the look was had the desired effect as Steve immediately backed off and made to refill his glass. “So, what’s the plan, now?”
“We’ll give the place another once-over, just in case. And then we wait.”
“That’s it? We wait?”
“Yes, we wait. Unless you’ve got any better ideas?”
Of course, Steve didn’t. And he hated that he was deferring to Carrillo’s judgement so much as if he wasn’t a fucking police officer himself. “Fine. We wait.”
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It was well past midnight by the time they came to an impasse, their second search of the apartment throwing up nothing. They admitted defeat after they resorted to checking through Javi’s wardrobe and drawers as though he or any clues were hiding in them.
“I think we’re best just staying put here, for now. See if he turns up over the next few hours. If not, it’s time to call your boss.”
Steve gave a resigned sigh and sat down on the edge of Javi’s bed, resting his head on the heel of his hand. “Makes sense.”
He bent down to untie his laces and kicked off his boots.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?”
“You live upstairs.”
“Javi isn’t gonna turn up there though, is he? If you’re staying put here, then so am I.”
“You’ve gotta be shitting me. You have a phone, I presume?”
Steve rose from the bed with a scoff and turned to face Carrillo, who looked just as, if not more, murderous than back in Medellín.
“Nice try icing me out again.”
“If only.”
They stood dangerously close once again, Steve lowering his head just as Carrillo raised his, allowing them to square up to each other despite their significant height difference.
“Oh yeah, just try it.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Do your worst.”
Their lips were tantalisingly close, swallowing each other’s breath as their noses bumped together now that there was no knife to act as a barrier.
Neither wanted to be the one to instigate what they knew to be annoyingly inevitable by now. But somehow, they both surrendered at once, closing the gap and triggering an explosion of ferocious kisses, clashing tongues and harsh lip bites that left a metallic taste in their wake. There was nothing tender about it as they clawed at each other’s clothes, roughly shoving the other against Javi’s furniture as they undressed.
Jolts of arousal and guilt shot through each man as they ended up on Javi’s bed, distracting themselves from imagining the worst about the owner of the sheets they were now tangled up in.
They settled into a wrestling match, one pinning the other down by the wrists before overpowering him and reversing the position. Each battling to be in charge, much like their joint encounter with Javi. In the end, they compromised by lying on their sides. Large calloused palms seized around each other’s cocks, neither showing mercy as they groped, tugged and squeezed.
Carrillo laved his tongue along the expanse of Steve’s slender neck before clamping his teeth down and making Steve shiver and squirm.
For several blissful seconds, Steve couldn't react and merely leaned into it. His eyelids fluttered shut, and his head rolled back as he let the sensation consume him. Until he remembered who was the cause of it.
He came to his senses and retaliated by sinking his teeth into the thick muscle of Carrillo’s shoulder with a snarl. He sucked at the skin until it reddened beneath him, not caring that he had no doubt crossed a line by leaving a mark.
To Steve’s surprise, Carrillo groaned at the contact and twitched in his palm. So, he did it again, deepening the colour of the bruise until it was almost purple and glossy with saliva in the dim light of the bedroom. The primal noises he was drawing out of Carrillo were like nothing Steve had ever heard from him before, not even when witnessing him with Javi.
With Steve distracted by that curious thought, Carrillo took advantage and increased the speed of his strokes with one hand whilst clutching at Steve’s hair with the other.
“You’re such an arrogant pain in the ass,” he ground out through gritted teeth.
Steve gasped and shuddered at the lethal combination of Carrillo’s words and actions. “Takes one to know one.”
He tried to disguise how fucking good Carrillo’s fingers felt pulling on his scalp. But not well enough as Carrillo just did it harder, tipping Steve’s head back with force and eliciting a symphony of lascivious sounds from his throat. That was when it hit Steve why he had been so fascinated watching Carrillo work earlier that night. A fucked up thought he couldn’t analyse in the here and now, so he pushed it down and focused on the pleasure/pain of Carrillo’s ministrations instead.
“Guess I’ll have to shove my cock down your throat again to make you stop talking. Or maybe reacquaint you with my knife.”
Steve’s entire body spasmed at the mention of the knife, and there was no way Carrillo hadn’t noticed. He closed his eyes, drawing in calming breaths as he felt a familiar pressure in his balls, not wanting to give Carrillo the satisfaction. Not yet, anyway.
But Carrillo kept going. “Such a dark horse, Murphy. I always knew I could corrupt you if I had the chance. I wonder what else you’d let me do to you?”
To finally give voice to the fantasy Carrillo had harboured ever since Steve showed up in Colombia was intoxicating. Obviously, he hadn’t expected it to play out quite like this, and Javier had been the catalyst. But there was a satisfying sense of vindication about all of it.
Steve was breathless and overwhelmed by Carrillo’s sinful words, but he didn’t want this to be over. It was time to give Carrillo a taste of his own medicine.
“And what would you let me do to you, hmm? Don’t think I didn’t see the way you were lookin’ at my gun tonight.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Carrillo rasped with an uncharacteristic lack of conviction.
“Is that right?” Before he considered what he was doing, Steve moved off the bed to retrieve his jeans from the long-forgotten pile of clothes on the floor. He fished out his gun and resumed his place.
Carrillo carried an unreadable expression, but he accepted the gun Steve held out for him. Their fingers briefly connected in the process; an act that made them more nervous than the weapon in their hands. Carrillo took his time to ensure the safety was on and handed it back without saying a word.
Steve stared down at his palm, grappling with the notion of what was about to happen. What he was about to do. The incident with the knife was impromptu, in the open air, and they were both fully clothed. This was different; it was deliberate, premeditated, intimate. It was Carrillo putting his full trust in Steve. Something Steve had accepted might never happen. His ego was too fragile to admit how much it bothered him, but this blew past insecurities out of the water.
It was tempting to run away and lock himself in his apartment for the foreseeable. But he stepped outside his head for a second and paid attention to his body. To the way that his cock throbbed, and his stomach knotted with a new kind of arousal. Something undiscovered and unknown, but something that had probably laid dormant for longer than he realised. He looked up at Carrillo and saw the same hunger in his eyes.
So, Steve dived in head first, covering Carrillo’s form with his own, the gun placed on the sheets next to them for the time being. Steve kissed, licked and nipped his way up and down Carrillo’s torso. He had a newly found confidence zipping through him as he adjusted the speed, placement and pressure depending on Carrillo’s reactions. For a man that was usually stoic to the extreme, it was a power trip to loosen up the Colonel’s buttons like this.
When it was clear they both needed more, Steve gripped the gun in his right hand, checking once more that the safety was still on. He sat up so that he was straddling Carrillo’s thighs, the anticipation evident from the piercing gaze they shared, all the way to their heaving chests and flushed cheeks.
Steve used Carrillo’s forehead as a starting point. He slowly dragged the gun’s muzzle down the bridge of Carrillo’s nose, brushing over his Cupid’s bow and mouth but not lingering - not yet. He paused at his chin, where he increased the pressure and made Carrillo’s Adam’s apple bob again, much like in his office earlier that day. An event that may as well have been months ago for all that had happened since.
He continued his path down Carrillo’s chest and abdomen until he met the dark trail of hairs above his pubic bone.
Carrillo’s cock brushed against Steve’s wrist, causing him to push up against the cold metal of the gun. He let out a low grunt at the friction and badly wanted to do it again.
But Steve was too quick, and his free hand stilled Carrillo’s hips with one simple but effective motion. “Not yet.”
Carrillo’s eyes darkened at Steve’s whispered words that oozed with a quiet sense of authority, unsure whether to be impressed or threatened by the monster he had apparently helped create.
Steve so often expended unnecessary energy with the way he went about things. From what Carrillo had witnessed and what Javier had told him, he knew that Steve was handy with his fists, not afraid to throw his weight around to get what he wanted. Aggression for the sake of aggression, which wasn’t Carrillo’s style. He preferred more efficient methods. So, to see Steve exercise restraint and patience was more arousing than he cared to admit.
Steve re-tread his steps along Carrillo’s torso, branching left then right. Teasing each nipple in turn, like he was making a depraved sign of the cross on Carrillo’s body. Steve wasn’t usually a praying man, but figured there were exceptions to every rule.
In spite of his best efforts to conceal it, Carrillo trembled, every scrape of the gun raising goosebumps, his fists clenching into the sheets by the time Steve lifted it back up to his face.
He traced patterns over Carrillo’s cheeks before painting his lips with the muzzle. Top lip first, then bottom, where Steve waited for Carrillo to take the bait.
And Carrillo took it greedily, sucking it into his mouth with abandon, and this time when he bucked his hips, Steve didn’t stop him. Their grinding matched the rhythm of Carrillo’s mouth, the sweat coating their bodies adding to the slip-and-slide. The way Carrillo’s lips parted around the weapon planting ideas in both men’s minds that only spurred them on further.
Steve eventually removed the gun from Carrillo’s mouth, unable and unwilling to explain being hit by a wave of irrational jealousy over an inanimate object. Instead, he quickly replaced it with his lips, tongue, and teeth, the reticence from earlier no more. But Carrillo was as far gone as Steve and made no objection to the heated frenzy they were wrapped up in.
One of Carrillo’s hands found its way back to Steve’s hair and tugged. “I want you face down on the bed.”
The authoritative timbre of Carrillo’s instruction made it impossible for Steve to do anything but comply. Such few words were spoken, but each one was as efficient and controlled as the man behind them.
Steve lay face down on Javi’s sheets, the gun now forgotten on the nightstand. The scent of fabric softener and something undeniably Javi hit him whilst Carrillo temporarily shifted off the mattress. The rumble of a drawer was next, followed by the click of a lid opening and closing.
All Steve could hear was his pulse thudding in his ears and the heavy breaths falling from his mouth. Trepidation mounted as he contemplated Carrillo’s next move. Would he feel the warmth of skin on skin any second now or the cold barrel of a gun? And more to the point, which would he prefer? Right now, he couldn’t say. He just needed Carrillo to do something.
His questions were soon answered when his legs were swiftly parted. A thick finger coated in lube swiped between his cheeks, teasing over his entrance a few times before risking a light nudge.
Steve was almost embarrassed by his reaction to such a ghost touch, his limbs twitching as he moaned into the sheets.
“Look at you, Murphy. Like putty in my hand already. Think you can take it?” As he asked that question, his finger probed further and eased passed a slight resistance.
“You – you know I can.” Steve fought to keep his composure as the pressure increased on his cock trapped against the mattress. It would have been so easy to hump the bed, scratch an itch and move on, but he couldn’t do it. Much like when he had his back against a wall and a knife to his throat, he willed himself to keep still.
“How about another finger?” With one now buried in Steve, he teased in circles with the knuckle of another.
Steve’s fist thumped into the pillow above his head. “Fuck…yes.”
Carrillo halted his movements but didn’t withdraw. “Yes, what?”
Fucker. Absolute fucker. But Steve didn’t voice his annoyance. He let out a humiliating plea into the depths of the mattress, hoping that by burying his face into the sheets, he wouldn’t have to acknowledge what was happening to him.
No sooner had Steve given Carrillo what he wanted than Carrillo returned the favour. A second finger joined the first, stretching Steve out as he pumped back and forth in a steady rhythm. “That’s it, Murphy. Good boy. You take me so well.”
It was those two words again. Two words that forced Steve’s hand to grasp at the pillow and his ass to lift up to meet Carrillo’s fingers. Fuck. He was never going to live this down. He didn’t even know where it was coming from; or why it turned him on this much. Or why, despite his natural instincts to rebel against Carrillo, he not only craved his approval but also got off on his praise.
He couldn’t deal with examining that closer right now, so he flung his hips back harder this time, taking Carrillo by surprise. He did it again and again until he was fucking Carrillo’s fingers as much as Carrillo was fucking him.
Carrillo’s breath was coming in short, shrift bursts as he watched the spectacle below him. There was that thrill again from knowing he had this kind of effect on Murphy. Knowing that for all of his bravado, he wanted to please Carrillo. And a part of Carrillo got off on Murphy’s reaction to being praised too. It was a vicious circle he didn’t understand. So, as usual, it was far easier to compartmentalise and push it to the back of his mind.
He allowed Murphy to have his fun for a while, to give as good as he got because apparently that just seemed to be how things worked between them, no matter how much each man tried to get one over on the other.
That thought led Carrillo’s free hand to still Steve’s hips and position himself between Steve’s legs. He leaned forwards, his arms braced on either side of Steve’s ridiculously long frame, his cock teasing in the same way his fingers did.
Carrillo reached up to run his tongue along the shell of Steve’s ear, biting down on the lobe as Steve practically purred beneath him. “You still all in, Murphy?” he whispered. Another challenge, another gauntlet thrown down just begging to be picked back up again.
And it was one that Steve couldn’t resist. “If you are, I am.”
That was all the confirmation Carrillo needed to plunge forwards, a firm, deep thrust to start off with and gauge Murphy’s reaction.
Steve let out a laboured grunt as though he had just had the air knocked out of his lungs. This was new; not even Javi had done this with him. He and Connie had dabbled with fingers and toys a few times, but that hadn’t been like this. This was all muscles rippling and straining at his back, and balls slapping against his ass. It had been one thing watching Carrillo do this to Javi, but nothing could have prepared him for the force of nature currently pounding him into next week.
Encouraged by Murphy’s vocal enthusiasm, Carrillo didn’t hold back. Not like the way he restrained himself last time. He snapped his hips against Steve’s at a brutal pace, rolling them in firm circles and leaving behind a trail of bite marks.
All Steve could do was lie there and take it, too overwhelmed by new sensations he didn’t even know his body was capable of feeling. It was all so much. Too much. So, he pushed himself off the mattress, taking Carrillo with him.
They re-adjusted themselves but never pulled apart; both now sat up on their knees. It was ridiculous, but it allowed Steve to regain his height advantage. Although that was small mercy compared to the new angle Carrillo had found in this position. It caused Steve’s eyes to roll back in his head and wiped his mind of all thought.
Carrillo clasped Steve’s waist and cock simultaneously, stroking him in time with his thrusts. “Do you know what I told Javier that night once you were done with him?” He didn’t wait for a reply but held still inside of Steve. His hand kept moving, though, the frantic motions aided by streaks of precum glistening along Steve’s length. “I said next time I want to watch.”
“Fuck…” was all Steve could pant as he spasmed in Carrillo’s hold. “He - he’d love that,” he stuttered once Carrillo moved again. “I fucked him against the sink. Made him watch us through the mirror.”
The mental images running through Carrillo’s head were almost enough to make him come on the spot. He was so close now. “Glad our little show inspired you.”
“I told you, s’not my fault if you can’t keep him satisfied…oh fuck!” His little jibe earned him a sharp swat across the ass.
“And I told you, that mouth of yours was gonna get you in trouble.” Carrillo brought his hand down a second and a third time.
Steve bit his lip, swallowing the whine rumbling in his throat because he wasn’t done goading yet despite the hot sting spreading across his cheeks. “Maybe you just need to find a more effective way to shut me up.”
And with that, Carrillo gave Steve’s cock another once-over and lifted his hand to Steve’s face. He smeared his slicked fingers across Steve’s moustache and lips before shoving them into his mouth.
Steve didn’t know which memory to latch on to first; the one of him sucking Carrillo off in his office, the one of him licking Carrillo’s knife, or the one of Carrillo taking Steve’s gun into his mouth. A heady mix of all three combined with jerking himself off and Carrillo filling him up pushed him over the edge.
His free hand felt behind him and dug his nails into any part of Carrillo he could reach, scraping and scratching like a feral cat as he spilt over himself with a strangled groan.
Carrillo upped the ante as he relentlessly fucked into Steve, the grip on his waist enough to leave reminders in the morning. A hand appeared at Carrillo’s mouth, and he took the hint, sucking and licking as though he was a man starved.
It was the final straw as he let out a growl stifled by a vampiric bite into the flesh of Steve’s shoulder. Breaking barriers far beyond the surface of his skin, even if neither of them recognised it.
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They lay spent and breathless, silent and dazed for several minutes before they cleaned up, trying to push down the growing sense of shame that they had done this in Javi’s apartment. In Javi’s bed. When Javi was…well, wherever he was. It felt like a betrayal, although not in the traditional sense. It wasn’t so much that they regretted what they had done, but that they had done it without Javi. He was once again the negative space in the room.
They took turns to shower, the question of sharing never coming up. That would have been a step too far. Although, as they towelled off and put their underwear back on, they both caught the other in the act of staring. But they cleared their throats and continued as though nothing had happened.
Neither of them said anything when they got back into bed, ignoring that Steve had a perfectly decent double bed of his own upstairs. And Steve was also ignoring the fact that his own apartment and double bed hadn’t been the same since Connie left, and he dreaded most nights alone now. The two men still left a respectable distance between themselves, though, to the point where they were practically falling off opposite edges of the mattress.
Steve reached for his jeans on the floor once again. He shuffled around in the pockets until he found what he was looking for, trying to blink away the flashback he was already having of retrieving his gun just like this. The gun that now had traces of Carrillo’s saliva all over it.
He sat back up and pulled a cigarette out of the packet, offering the same to Carrillo.
Carrillo wordlessly took one, prompting Steve to lean over with his lighter. Their eyes briefly met over the flame, Carrillo mumbling his thanks before taking a long drag. The exhale he let out was more a sigh of relief than anything as the much-needed nicotine began to flow into his bloodstream.
Steve retreated to the safety of the other side of the bed to light up. They didn’t talk for several minutes, both lost in their own heads and ensuring to look anywhere but at each other.
“D’you think he’s alive?” Steve didn’t know what possessed him to ask that of all questions, but it slipped out before he could stop himself.
Apparently, Carrillo didn’t know what possessed Steve to ask that, either, and he gave him a withering look that said as much.
“Someone would have found him by now if he wasn’t. They’d have wanted us to know what they did,” he replied in the end.
Not many people knew the mind of a narco quite like Carrillo, and Steve had good reason to trust his judgement beyond his desperate need to cling to hope.
“What we gonna do if he doesn’t show up?”
Carrillo was more intent on savouring his cigarette than answering another of Murphy’s questions, and left him hanging for a moment. “Get some sleep. We’ll figure it out in the morning if we have to.”
To the casual observer, Carrillo’s words might have sounded cold. But even Steve could see the benefit of his pragmatism at a time like this. He could only imagine how much his mind would have spiralled if he had dealt with this alone. It was oddly comforting for Carrillo to refuse to indulge Steve in his anxieties because that wouldn’t help either man. The words Carrillo and comfort in the same sentence were not something Steve ever expected his brain to conjure up, and he wasn’t sure what to make of that.
“Right, yeah, of course,” was all Steve could manage in reply. He flipped the bedside lamp off, plunging the room into darkness, the only light now stemming from the digital clock on the nightstand and the dying embers of Carrillo’s cigarette.
Steve shuffled down beneath the sheets that still smelt strongly of sweat, sex and Javi but stuck rigidly to his small strip of mattress. He didn’t even dare lie on his back, stretch his long legs out, or fidget like he had the tendency to do when he couldn’t sleep, in case he strayed into foreign territory.
He knew Carrillo was still awake as he heard him stubbing out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. It was followed by the mattress shifting and another deep sigh that had too many possible interpretations for Steve to guess which one was correct. Eventually, all fell still, and Steve couldn’t decide whether he was relieved or disappointed that Carrillo was apparently now asleep.
But that was the thing about stillness; it only took into account what was perceptible on the surface. It didn’t factor in hidden currents that were just as turbulent, if not more so than the visible ones. And what Steve didn’t know was that Carrillo was as wide awake as he was.
Carrillo was used to keeping a level head in a crisis, but even he had to admit he was struggling this time. Not that he could burden Murphy with his concerns. For some reason, he could see why Javier always felt the need to protect his partner. Even now, after Murphy had well and truly rolled around in the dirt with him, Carrillo felt a certain level of responsibility. A responsibility to find Javier but also to protect Murphy in Javier’s absence.
He clung to that reasoning when trying to justify why he had let himself be put in such a vulnerable position tonight. With someone he had always kept at arm’s length. Of course, he only did it to satisfy Murphy’s need for acceptance. Something Javier had been badgering him about for a long time. There couldn’t possibly be more to it than that.
Or at least that’s what he told himself when he slid his leg back into the negative space of the middle of the bed. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to find, if anything. And for an agonising few seconds, his foot lay stranded in the void.
But just as he was about to withdraw and pretend it was an involuntary action whilst asleep, clammy skin found clammy skin. It was a tentative token of solidarity, and both men would deny it if they acknowledged it. But it was there, and it happened nonetheless.
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