#horacio carrillo smut

[heyhilana]

Say Yes (Javier Peña and Horacio Carrillo)

Summary: Carrillo and Peña work closely with you during the takedown of Escobar. With tension rising between you three and you inviting them in to your apartment, a drink turns into everything you fantasized about and more.

A/N: Ha, remember when I posted this accidentally? Welp, that's what happens when you don't check your queue for a few months LMAO. But at last, it's here after many months of writing this on and off since this was a new challenge for me as I've never written a threesome before. I'm 90% sure this is right because I'm running off of low sleep and I will come back to edit this if I need to but I hope you enjoy! As always, drink water and stay beautiful 💚

Pairing: Javier Peña and Horacio Carrillo x !f reader (I believe that's how you do it pls correct me if I'm wrong)

Warnings: (A list whew and I was even thinking about dp but another time) Light spanking, hair pulling, cunt spanking, f and m receiving oral, p in v penetration (don't be silly wrap it up like candy) cumshot on stomach, cumshot on tongue. I think that's it but I will add more if I need to :)

Tagged: @squidlywiddly87 (uh now you can read this LMAO but I hope you enjoy!)

Word count: 7.7k (I promise this was supposed to be shorter)

“Care to come up for a drink?” An innocent question led to a night that was unforgettable if it could be put into words. It sparked something that the three of you were oblivious to. There was tension between the three of you, a sexual tension to be exact, but it was unspoken due to work. Murphy would make note of it, seeing how Carrillo and Peña would look at you when it was ridiculously hot out, you having to strip off a layer or two to keep yourself cool. Your shirt would cling to your body due to the sweat, outline your breasts more than the shirt would do when you weren’t sweating.

He would also make note of how you would take notice of how their shirts would cling to their muscles, seeing how sculpted their bodies were. Carrillo’s arms were…intimidating for some people. But for you, they were what led to a pool of arousal to form in your underwear. Those pants that Javi would wear, that would shape the lower half of his body, mainly his butt, well, you always wondered what it looked like without his clothes on. The three of you thought that you were discreet about the lust that you had for each other, but Steve always took note of it, just to see the annoyed expressions on either one of your faces.

Was he wrong? Not exactly. It was obvious that there was something between the three of you, a carnal desire that was mistaken for something so little, almost nothing in your lives. Sure, there was flirting exchanged from the three of you. One-liners coming from both Carrillo and Peña that would leave you blushing. You playing with their stuff like taking Peña’s aviators or taking Carrillo’s walkie talkie, forcing them to chase after you and grab you, making you all feel slightly aroused by the close proximity that you all shared. It was friendly on the surface, but it was bordering a line of no return. You all were determined to keep it as nothing more, nothing less.

But the lines were getting closer to being blurred by touching each other. It was more frequent, and it was getting harder to never let it drift down to where it was actually needed. You longed for a touch on the arm to go to them grabbing your breasts, just like they longed for you to go to palming them in their pants. And maybe it had to go further with them going under your shirt, getting a chance to let their rough, calloused hands touch your soft skin. Maybe it was necessary for you to reach down, going to their underwear to feel the thin material only making their erections more prominent. Maybe it was necessary to just strip everything off, to act on impulse and do what felt right in that moment. After all, protocol could be broken in desperate measures.

Needless to say, it wasn’t hard to let your mind go down a road of endless possibilities of having just one of them take you, perhaps letting both of them take you. Late nights alone in your apartment could be filled with you moaning their names, one hand down your cotton shorts and the other palming your breast, letting profanities slip out as you drew yourself closer to an orgasm. You thought of having one fucking you senseless and the other fucking your face, neither one of them taking any action in slowing down their actions. How they could edge you closer to an orgasm, but deny it in the last second, seeing you whine at the loss of their touch that was a drug to you. You thought of how they would love to see you beg for more, to fuck you harder, to let you cum, to make you forget the day’s events until you were seeing white.

You just wished that they would take you one day so that you wouldn’t have to wonder how big they actually were in those pants that would occasionally outline their cocks. The image of them right before you, their cocks painfully hard and waiting to fill your mouth up and reach the back of your throat. To feel those soft, delicate hands of yours wrap around it, pumping it slowly and making eye contact with them as you did it, batting those eyelashes at them before taking them in your mouth again was what brought you on the brink of an orgasm. The image of them waiting to take you so they could ruin everything about you, leave you with your makeup running down your face and a hoarse voice from all the screaming of their names would be imprinted in your brain.

And in their respective homes your name could be escaping their lips, their hand down their boxers, pumping slowly and letting a finger circle around the tip, wishing it was your tongue on their cock. They wanted to look down to see that mouth of yours stretched wide open, trying to fit their cock in your mouth so it could reach new depths. They wanted to thrust into your mouth, grab your hair so they could take control while you took it all like the good girl that you were. They wanted to hear and feel you gag on their cocks, making them grunt and whisper sweet nothings to you about how you were doing a good job of taking them with no complaints.

Sweat would be dripping down their face as they thought of taking you in the office after seeing you in a tight blouse and equally tight pants, just wanting to rip the blouse open and hear the buttons fall on the floor as they took a breast out of your bra to suck on them, hearing soft moans come out one by one from you before they just took you on the fucking desk. Out in the open to relieve some stress and try to see who could make the other cum first before going home to finish the activities. Or even after a night of going out and going back to each other’s homes like this one, maybe acting on impulse to kiss you instead of watching you walk in, seeing the way your pants cuffed your ass the way they would cuff it with their hands.

The fantasy was alive in your minds, but you guys wouldn’t act on it. Escobar was what mattered, not having Pena and Carrillo strip you naked and take you until you just couldn’t take it anymore, your sensitivity making it impossible to take it from either one of them. Them fucking you until your juices are just coating their fucking cocks, screaming so fucking loud that the cars that drive by are barely audible. Them getting off on seeing you in a state of euphoria, the high of cumming multiple times would have you see white as your eyes rolled back. But Escobar was the top priority, and impulsive decisions were never good. They were unnecessary risks that led to consequences that the faint hearted couldn’t handle.

“One drink won’t hurt, right?” Peña looked at you, and then Carrillo. Carrillo was hesitant, not knowing what one drink would do. One drink was the fatality of all morally right decisions. It could be the drink that led to answers of questions that a sober person would normally omit. It could be a detriment to a friendship, a relationship even. It could change the dynamics of how you would all look at each other, knowing how you all were in a different environment without the looming pressure of catching Escobar on your minds. To let all the stress, whether it would be mental, emotional, or physical just escape for once. That was what one drink could do, but was it worth it?

“Just say yes. That’s all you gotta do.” You bit your lip as you said it, your fingers twirling your keys as you waited for his answer. Were you trying to entice Carrillo by biting your lip? Yes, but what would a little lip bite do to someone? It wouldn’t hurt anyone. What would hurt would be how they would take you objectively, just as you imagined they would. A pain that would be worth feeling as it drew you closer to climaxing and fulfilling a fantasy that was created in the depths of your mind the moment you transferred down to Columbia and laid your eyes on the two of them.

“Yes,” With the way that he said it, it was almost as if he was trying to familiarize himself with that word. After all, it was used in a context of agreeing to go upstairs to a woman’s apartment that he’s been waiting to fuck for as long as he could remember. A smile tugged at your lips from his response and you went to open the door, feeling both of their eyes on your ass. You decided to make it interesting for you by dropping your keys, bending down to reach them, putting your ass out on the forefront for them to look at and long to touch, as were you longing to have them touch you in the most intimate of places.

You finally opened the door, turning on the light and placing your keys on the table, moving out of the way so they could walk in. You took notice of their outfits, Carrillo in that dark green outfit that was a tad bit too tight around his arms, highlighting how strong he was on top. You looked over to Pena, seeing that his shirt was unbuttoned, sweating near his neck which only made it harder to ignore how his neck was a turn on for you. It was just so strong, and it only looked hotter when he was angry. The way his neck would be flexed, the tension reminding you of how his arms would be flexed when he would be man-handling a suspect. You forced yourself to peel your eyes away from them and walked over to the kitchen, going to the refrigerator. Knowing that beer was the “safer” option for three of you, you pulled out three bottles, feeling that wine would be a bit too formal for a night like this.

You handed them the beer after opening it up for them, letting your fingers brush past theirs. You wondered how they would feel on the rest of your body, caressing it or making it a point to feel pain that was more so pleasure for you. You walked back over to the kitchen to get your beer, taking a small sip, letting the alcohol enter your body after a day of no success in catching Escobar. It was disappointing, to say the least. You guys were putting your lives on the line, with no avail. Escobar was always two, three, maybe even four steps ahead of you guys and there was no one to turn to except each other.

The police? Not a chance with the way they were all on a payroll for Escobar and every other drug lord that could pay them off. The Columbian Government? They were just as bad as the police, maybe even worse as they were the ones setting the example for the police to follow. Your government? They were no help to you guys as their actions were the complete opposite of what they said they were doing on television. All they wanted was to ensure that they could get some money out of this and to have the chance to play captain on a boat that was sinking. The president could lie all he wanted to on television, to say that they were making progress in something that was only going to go down in flames in the end. But the fact of the matter was you were the ones that were out there that could see the lies. The government only wanted the glory of saying that they helped with the war on drugs, if you could even it call it that.

Were you guys perfect? No, not in the slightest bit. You got your hands dirty in the line of war, even when you wanted to stay dry for just one day. Blood covered your hands no matter how hard you scrubbed it off. It was still there, in memory. No number of promotions, awards, or congratulations from those that knew or didn’t know the situation at hand could make you guys feel relieved in what it was that you guys did every single day. It changed you guys, whether you believed it or not. You were not the same as you guys were before the wild goose chase of finding and capturing Escobar was set into motion. You saw things you wished to forget, did things that haunted your dreams, and wondered if everything that you guys were doing was for a noble cause.

In theory it was, saving the people from drugs that destroyed families, homes, and could bring down anyone that was against it. But in reality? It was just politics, something that you hated for as long as you could remember. Politics that only worked in your favor when it was something that could suit the ones in power. It was bullshit, but so was everything about this war on drugs and capturing Escobar. You needed a break from the bullshit that surrounded your life as a person trying to capture someone so far out, and so did they.

So, one drink was what brought things to a haze of some sorts, to where you said things that you would normally keep to yourself. You made a few flirtatious comments, letting the alcohol do the talking that you wouldn’t dare say with a sober mind. You guys all went over to your couch, and you were in between the two of them, Peña to your left and Carrillo to your right. The tv was on, playing a black-and-white Columbian movie that none of you guys were paying attention to.

Your beers were slowly dwindling away with each sip and the conversation started to take a turn from light to heavy. You felt yourself relax a tad bit, seeing them relax too and look more alive. You got another drink for the three of you, and the more the alcohol entered your bodies, the closer you got to making rash decisions. You would touch them in places that you only thought of when you would touch yourself, needing a release of some sort without taking it too far. Maybe the lack of eating made it easier to have the alcohol take over quickly, or maybe you were just done waiting for something that needed to happen. They did the same but were more subtle as they wanted to tread carefully, not wanting to blur the lines of friendship over a misunderstanding.

By the fifth round, it was decided that they would crash at your place for the night, seeing as though they couldn’t even call a cab for themselves without slurring their words. You felt yourself become wet at the thought of them staying over, knowing that they would only be in the next room over instead of being a drive away. You weren’t sure if your drunk self could keep your fantasies hidden away with that in mind, and they weren’t sure if they could last knowing that you were in the other room, in skimpy clothing that barely kept you cool with how hot it was down in Colombia.

Suddenly there was less space between the three of you, your arms brushing against one another and they leaned in closer to you, to where you could smell the hints of cologne that sent you on a frenzy. Maybe sometime in between they both made the accusation that you moaned when you got a whiff of their scent, but you only laughed, knowing that they had no clue as to how you really moaned when you were being pleasured. You playfully hit them, letting your touch linger a bit longer than it should’ve. You felt the goosebumps rise on their skin with your touch. The hair on their necks would stand tall as you leaned on either one of their shoulders, and you could feel goosebumps on your skin rise as they would casually place a hand on your thighs, to just grab something that was across from them. Their hands were strong and were interesting to look at, seeing that they held stories that you didn’t know about.

Their eyes would be a tell-tale sign that they had seen the horrors of trying to dismantle a drug cartel. But their hands were the proof of them trying to make a difference. They would move your hair out of your face, taking their time in studying your features. You were all treading on uncharted territory that was dangerous, but danger was what was needed in life. Danger was the fire that would keep you alive. To burn brighter and higher as you took chance after chance to live a life that was only shown in the movies.

Deciding to stop drinking after the fifth round, you got up, placing both of your hands on one of their thighs to balance yourself. You could feel them tense up from your hands gripping their thighs, but they didn’t say anything about it. You took their beers as they were done, and you brought them over to the kitchen to throw them out. You were getting ready to get some water when you heard them whispering. You couldn’t make out what they were saying but you figured it was nothing serious. Suddenly, they got up and went into the kitchen. You turned around and saw them eyeing you, making you feel hot. Their stare made you question whether or not you could last until you went to bed. You went to go to another part of the kitchen, but they got closer to you. You took a sip of your water, needing something to cool you off as you felt hotter with them being so close to you.

As you went to turn, Horacio came up behind you, placing his hands on your hips and dipping his head to bring it closer to your neck, his breath fanning it. Javier was in the front, looking down as he took his fingers and brought them to your chin, lifting it up ever so softly. You stared into those deep but gentle eyes where his irises had bloomed from the arousal that was building from the time he walked into your apartment.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks and you bit your lip, seeing that had a reaction on Peña as he let out a slight groan at the sight of your teasing. Horacio let his hands drift down to get closer to your clothed core, something that you longed for. While Horacio went south, Javier ventured away from the northern area and went to grab your breasts, lightly squeezing them. It felt so fucking good to be touched after such a long time of being denied of that desire.

“Bonita, don’t fight it. Let go.” Javier could sense that you were trying to hold back, not wanting to give in just yet. Horacio hummed in agreement as he continued to kiss your neck, wanting to make it easier on their end to get you to stop holding back. You let out a soft moan, barely audible once Javi got to your shirt, opening the buttons and letting his fingers touch your breasts. Horacio let his hands unbutton your pants, not needing to see what he was doing. Perhaps he had a lot of experience like his partner did.

“Just say yes. That’s all you gotta do.” Horacio mimicked your words from earlier as he let his hand go into your underwear, feeling how your arousal has been building for the both of them. Javier unbuttoned your shirt entirely, letting your lacy blue bra be exposed. You knew that you couldn’t fight it anymore. You managed to catch your breath and open your eyes, still seeing Javi’s eyes transfixed on to you, waiting for your answer.

“Yes,” You breathed out, feeling Horacio’s fingers go down where they needed to be at. Javi wasted no time in capturing your lips, and you moaned in his mouth as his lips were the perfect blend of beer and cigarettes and Horacio had gotten down to putting his fingers in between your lips, gathering your slick to then rub your clit.

“How long have you been like this for? Were you just going to go in your room and get yourself off without a little help?” Horacio whispered in the shell of your ear, rubbing nice and slow, making your hips roll with him. You continued to kiss Javi but Horacio’s words made your face burn with heat, moaning slightly in the other’s mouth as Javi touched you all over.

“Let’s take this to the bedroom,” Javi said in between kisses. You all separated but it wasn’t until Horacio carried you bridal style to the room where it finally hit you that this was happening. This was not a fantasy no longer. No, the two men that you were torn between choosing wanted you just as much as you wanted them. If that was not enough to send you over the moon, the way you were placed on the bed and both of them staring down at you, waiting to ravish you was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Javi turned to Carrillo, and the grins they both shared before moving over to you made your stomach drop. Before you knew it, your clothes were being discarded, shirt thrown to the side, your bra unclasped, pants shimmying down with your panties and you were helping them without a second thought, now with you completely naked and them still fully clothed.

“Let’s see how pent up you are,” Carrillo murmured, him trailing up to you to kiss you and Javi traveling down to your exposed sex, his fingers drumming in between your thighs to get them open.

“Open up for me, cielo.” Javi commanded as you were slowly getting lost in Carrillo’s kiss, his much rougher and hasty than Javi’s. You opened up and soon you felt that fluffy hair nuzzling between your thighs before he used his plump lips to suck on your clit. You moaned into Carrillo’s mouth as his hand traveled to your breasts to pinch and tease your raised nipples, the added sensation making you lose focus. You were biting Carrillo’s lip here and there as your hand was moving down to his pants, rubbing his prominent bulge that you were pleasantly surprised about. Before you could do much more, he moved his hands away to undo his belt, pulling down his pants in one swift move after.

Immediately you were clawing at Horacio’s shirt, trying to get the buttons undone so you could feel him, pull him closer to you so that when your peak reached you could fall apart with him all over you. He laughed in between feverish kisses over your neediness, pulling off his shirt too as he pulled away from you, your mouth falling agape as you realized that everything you thought about him was right and then some.

“How does she taste?” Horacio asked as he was stroking himself in his briefs.

“Like heaven,” Javi pulled his head up to speak and dove right back down without a second thought, making you whine more. Horacio captured your lips once more as he was moving his hand between both of your breasts, nipples become overly sensitive from it all. You didn’t know what to focus on more, but with the way Javi sucked on your clit and licked with the perfect balance, not letting up as if it was his last meal unlocked something in you. There was no guy that was more enthusiastic about eating you out the away Javi was. He put his all into it, occasionally licking from bottom to top, top to bottom to get every drop in your slit, giving you a minute to catch your breath before he went back to your bundle of nerves which made you arch your back. But when the deft fingers that you always found yourself getting lost into looking at slipped into your sex, the band of control snapped.

You moved your hand back down to tease Horacio, slipping your hand under the waistband of his briefs to touch him, semi hard already which put a smile on your face. But that smile soon went away as you felt Javi curling his fingers as he pushed them in and out, lightly grazing your spot as he sucked on your clit a little faster, matching the same pace as when he pushed in. You were a mess, sweat beading down your body, hands trying to find someone to grip to hold yourself together, and you were willing to lose yourself because of their ministrations for a lifetime. And so you did, the way Carrillo’s tongue slipped into your mouth, the twist of your nipple, the curl of Javi’s fingers, the way your bundle of nerves were sent over the edge, you were a goner. Blinding pleasure took up your body, mind, and soul as you stilled in stroking Carrillo’s cock and your legs tightened around Javi’s head. But neither of them stopped working you through it, only continuing and slowing little by little until you were done. With that, they moved away from and marveled at how you looked, the smirks on their face making you want more.

“You sure you’re ready for more?” Javi cooed, and you frantically nodded your head as you got up. Horacio was only in his briefs but Javi was still clothed, making you pout. He realized what you wanted so he undressed so he did as you moved to the edge of your bed. Horacio decided it would be more fun if he kissed your neck while you watched, and the show was more than you expected. You knew that Javi’s golden skin was meant to be worshipped, but to see him half naked as his white shirt was pulled off, undoing his belt as he took off his pants, briefs coming down with them as his cock hard, precum leaking when you didn’t even get the chance to touch him as much as you wanted to.

“Someone likes what they see,” Carrillo whispered in your ear, making chills run through you. He came back around and you realized he took off his briefs as well, leaving them naked right in front of you. Without much thought, you got on your knees, getting close to them. If this was how they were now, you wondered how they kept it together being around you so much. You took both of them in your hands, pumping slowly and looking up at them, seeing Javi gripping the bed and Carrillo trying to hold it together by biting his lip, blood threating to seep out if he bit down any harder.

“Who should I start with?” You batted your eyelashes at them, looking down at their cocks and seeing the precum leaking out over your finger.

“Do what feels right,” Javi encouraged, so you took his, still pumping Carrillo with a little more speed and kitten licking the tip to catch the precum, the salty taste making you smirk. You began to suck the tip, looking up at him with the innocent eyes you always teased him with, you both knowing that there was just a glint hidden in between your stare that meant something else, something beyond professionalism. Seeing that he was straining himself to not thread his other hand in your hair, you went ahead and began to take him all, no more teasing after dreaming of this for so long.

“That’s it, take it all,” Javi praised, grip on the bed getting tighter, his knuckles turning snow white. You flattened your tongue and began to take more of him with ease, and the guttural groans escaping his mouth you were in pure ecstasy. You kept bobbing your head, matching the pace of stroking Carrillo’s cock, your fingers swiping over his tip or you gagging on Javi’s cock. You didn’t care about how used you were for the moment, just that your biggest fantasy was coming true.

“Go please him now, pretty girl.” Javi pulled you off of his cock, and you shifted over to Carrillo, wetness dripping to your thighs with the way he looked at you. Instantly, he wrapped his hand around your hair and spat on his cock, getting it nice and ready before you were beginning to take him in your mouth, the stark contrast between the two driving you insane as you loved the gentle nature of Javi but Horacio’s roughness was just enough to make you want more.

“That’s it, let me fuck that pretty face,” He was thrusting into your mouth and you were taking it, Javi deciding to move your hand away to stroke himself and watch you in the act. You could feel yourself gagging here and there, his sheer size making your work overtime to take him, but when he would hold your head in place to fuck your mouth, you couldn’t help but moan. When you slapped his thigh to let you up, he did, bending down to kiss you afterwards.

“I knew with how much you talk I could put that mouth to good use,” He whispered in your ear as they both help you back up to your feet. Your jaw was a little sore, but it made you excited as you wondered what the stretch would be for you where you needed them most. Hell, if you knew this was going to happen you would’ve trained your other hole to take them both at the same time, feeling them both thrust in and out, the fullness that you craved from them finally being achieved. You pictured laying on Javi’s soft body, back flushed against his chest, his cock halfway in your hole, and Carrillo holding your legs up as he pushed in and out, the stretch making you cry from so much overstimulation as you would rub your clit to match his thrusts. You needed that to happen if this would happen again between you three, but you settled for laying back down on the bed and Carrillo and Javi joining you.

“Who do you want to go first?” Javi asked, hand rubbing in between your legs.

“Depends on what position you both want me in.”

“I want to see you. All of you,” Javi moved his hand down further, index finger swiping over your clit to make you buck your hips. “And considering how much this one looks at your ass, I think he’ll want you from the back. Am I wrong?” You both looked at him, and the amused smile confirmed it all.

“He’s right. Now choose cariño.”

“I want Javi to go first.”

“Say no more, bonita.” He kissed your cheek and moved down, putting his hand sin between your legs to open you up. Carrillo got up and started to stroke himself right above your mouth.

“I’m happy I get to use your pretty mouth once more,” You were smiling as he looked down at you, the way the moon was highlight the sharpness of his body, trailing its way up from his stomach to his chest, to the strong neck that you could see yourself leaving marks on. Your eyes shot back down to his cock however, still glistening and the tip leaking more with precum. You sat up and he tapped his cock against your lips, making you take him in your mouth to stop the teasing. You moved your head as best as you could but when he took control and fucked your mouth again, his cock hitting your throat repeatedly, you were moaning as you enjoyed how he used you, and how you could feel Javi gathering up slick from between your lips to smear on his cock.

“Such a good slut for him,” He murmured as he climbed on top of you and was rubbing the tip of his cock in between your folds, tip hitting your clit especially and rubbing around to make you jump. He pushed in without warning, the stretch making you moan loudly and Carrillo stilling inside your mouth. Your walls fluttered around him as he pushed in more, nice and slow to feel you, take his time with you. You could see from your peripheral the way he was biting his lip, holding it together as he softly sweared under his breath.

“So fucking wet, all for us,” He bent down to whisper it in your ear, making you clench more around his cock. He rutted inside of you, making sure every ridge and curve would be felt. It was a slower pace, but you figured he was slow as you were a little preoccupied with how Carrillo was still using you until he pulled you off, letting you rest your head back down on the bed.

“I want to watch. Give me a show,” Carrillo kissed your forehead and moved off to the side, leaving you to focus completely on Javi. He thrusted with more consistency, skin slapping as you could feel the curve brushing against your walls. You clawed at his back, trying to hold it together as you didn’t think in a million years that he would feel this good in just a few thrusts.

“Javi, fuck, you feel so good,” You were whining more, legs wrapping around him.

“That’s it baby, let it all out.” He cooed in your ear as he went a little faster, the speed finally giving you what you needed. It was as though you two were rocking a little, both wanting the other to pull out but the fullness you had and how your velvety walls clung around his size made it impossible to want to pull out fully. All you knew was that in this moment, you would go into any position for them just so that you could feel both of them fill you up in different angles. Tips pressing up near your spot, the stretch, the way your walls would cling to them out of desperation, everything you could want was happening as you moaned while sucking Carrillo’s cock and Javi was realizing how no matter how much he would tighten his hand it never matched to how you felt.

Javi’s hand snuck down in between you and the flick of his finger on your clit made you jolt, a sharp moan coming out of you and going right to Carrillo as he thrusted into your mouth a little more. Toying with you, he would match his thrusts and slap your clit a little making you whimper before rubbing it to soothe you. Before you could pull him out of your mouth to say anything, you came with a force so heavy it blinded you, the moan coming from deep inside you that vibrated through Carrillo as you moaned. Javi rode you through it while Carrillo continued to use you.

“You loved being used like this don’t you? A little slut for the two of us.” You hummed in agreement which made Carrillo buck his hips into your mouth more.

“Do that again and I might have to fuck your pretty face again,” Carrillo half warned, half made a promise on it. You contemplated on it, but the idea of testing your luck with the man that scared and also turned you on got the best of you. So you did, and the way he took hold of your hair and thrusted relentlessly made you tighten around Javi’s cock.

“Keep tightening around me, hermosa,” The strain in his voice, knowing that he was fucking into you harder, faster, all too consuming while you were testing the limits with your throat, jaw-slacked and looking up at him with the doe eyes that both of them loved once you regained control of yourself. How you managed to breathe through your nose and take it even when he barely pulled out of your mouth to let you breathe was beyond your understanding, but to have both of them was worth it.

“Gonna make him cum, little one?” You hummed in response as Javi’s death grip on your hips loosened and you unwrapped your legs, him pulling out and painting a nice cum shot on your stomach, thick ropes of cum that made you tighten around nothing. He was out of breath, perspiration lining his skin, biting his lip even. He squeezed the tip more to get some more out, and Carrillo pulled out of your mouth. You brought your hand down to get some on your fingers, swiping it up and tasting it. You could see Javi shutter and Carrillo transfixed by the way you lapped it up with each venture down to your stomach and back to your mouth.

“Cleaning up your mess like I knew you would,” Javi moved down to kiss the top of your head as you tasted the last bit of it, enjoying the saltiness of it all. “But how are you feeling?”

“I feel fine. Little tired but I can go on.” You were still catching your breath but the haze that was clouding your mind made you want to go on for more.

“You sure? I don’t want to push you.” Carrillo, surprisingly soft, pushed your hair back.

“If I can’t go anymore, I’ll stop.” You smiled at him and he held back a groan. How could you look so pretty below him?

“You think you can take me?” He countered, and the thought of being stretched out further excited you more than it should’ve. Oh, how did you last this long without having them?

“Doesn’t hurt to try now does it?” The glint in your eyes stoked the fire inside of him that he thought was already burning red hot the moment he entered your apartment.

“That’s a good girl. Turn around for me.” You turned around and got on all fours, facing your mirror and the window which let the moonlight shine on all three of you. He got behind you, hands settled right near your love handles and pulled you towards him, just when you could feel the curve of his dick pressed against your slit, rubbing right in between.

“Look at you coating my fucking dick, baby,” Slapping your ass, you jolted as he pressed the tip near your hole. “And now I get to feel you.” And he pushed in a little roughly, the stretch almost unbearable as you didn’t think you could take either one of them. But you did, the slow yet strong pumps to test you out was eliciting the wanton moans that could be heard out the window. Javi reached down to you and kissed your temple, tilting your head so you could look at him.

“Such a good girl. Don’t stop, bonita.” He pushed the stray hairs out of your face as you took the slow increase in speed from Carrillo, the tip brushing your walls with each thrust. Javi grabbed one of your breasts and teased your nipple, pinching lightly. You bit your lip as the pain and pleasure mixed together, building with each second that passed. You couldn’t see much but both Javi and Carrillo were looking in the mirror, watching you with intensity. Although Javi was through, he felt a jolt go through him as he helped you get off. Carrillo took glances at your ass and your reflection in the mirror, getting harder at the site of you arched down, taking it him whole.

“Ay, ella se siente increíble,” Carrillo threw his head back a little as you started to meet him halfway, your breath hard to catch as you were beginning to get overstimulated. Javi met you down to your face and kissed your temple, mumbling sweet nothings in Spanish that if you could translate you would probably flutter around Carrillo.

“Baby, take a look at yourself in the mirror.” He whispered as his hand moved from your breasts up to your head and grabbed a fistful of your hair. His grip on your hair as he lifted your head up to look in the mirror made you whine, but your walls only tightened when you saw all three of you in the mirror. Javi’s face so close to yours, lips grazing your temple, you bent over in obscene ways, Carrillo taking you where you could see the way his arms were flexed based on the grip he had on your hips. You watched as he fucked you harder, seeing that he was looking down at how he was going in and out of you. You reveled in how soft Javi’s lips were against your skin, how he worshipped you and Carrillo took you in ways you never would speak about in broad daylight. Javi pulled away to move up and face Carrillo.

“Doesn’t she look so pretty like this?”

“She does. Should’ve done this sooner,” Carrillo was throwing his head back as you were beginning to meet his thrusts to get ever inch. Your third orgasm of the night was gaining traction and you were beginning to move a hand down to rub your sensitive clit but Javi stopped you, swatting your hand away and moving his other hand there.

“You’ll cum on our command. Got it?” Javi was looking at you through the mirror. You nodded but then you felt Carrillo and Javi stop. “Use your words.” They were both staring at you and you tried to gasp for some air to speak properly.

“Yes. I’ll cum on your command, I promise.” You darted your eyes between the two and they resumed, much to your pleasure. Deft fingers toying with your sensitive clit, curved and thick cock exploring your walls, and you were in your world of desire that seemed to be taking new heights the more you continued this. But now, with your climax getting closer and closer to blooming, you were beginning to feel your body shake.

“Not yet. Hold it.” Carrillo stayed steady with his thrusts and the tight circles that Javi was rubbing was making you grip the sheets.

“Please! Please, please let me cum!” You were begging, so close to the thread snapping and you cumming undone. You saw that the two of them looked at each other and nodded.

“Cum.” That was all that you needed to hear before you cried out, collapsing your upper half but the lower half being held up by Carrillo as he fucked you through your orgasm and Javi slowed his circles. You soon heard the grunts and felt the slow and sloppy thrusts coming as Carrillo pulled out and Javi moved away. You turned around to face him, on your knees in the bed looking up at him with your mouth open. He came with a grunt, the cum landing right on your tongue and a little on your lip. You swallowed it all and cleaned up, giving him a smile and it made more shot out on his hand. You took his hand and licked it up too, winking at him.

“So proud of you, princesa.” He grabbed your jaw gently and kissed your forehead. You were a mess, albeit a happy mess as you were trying to catch your breath with all the pleasure washing over you. Soon it slowed, Javi’s hand moving away to rub your back and Carrillo helping you lay down. Javi gave you one of the pillows as you lifted your head up to lay on it as Carrillo got up to go to the bathroom. Javi laid next to you and caressed your face, making you blush.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“I am. I don’t know how I’m going to get to work tomorrow though,” You joke, knowing that your legs were jelly at this point.

“We’ll drive you, but you better be walking since we can’t carry you around all day.” He kissed your forehead right when Carrillo came back with the towels from your bathroom. Javi took his towel and Carrillo tossed his to the side, tending to you. He got on the bed and was on top of you, wiping you off as you hummed in relief. Javi finished wiping himself off just as Carrillo got done with you. Still unable to move you were amused when Carrillo tossed your legs a little to get the sheet from underneath them. He then draped it over your lower body and then wiped himself off. Javi got under the sheet with you as Carrillo tossed the three towels in your hamper haphazardly.

“Someone’s gotta do their laundry now,” Carrillo teased.

“I’ll get to it eventually. Gotta find the feeling in my legs again to move.” Both laughed at your new state, used to you running around and now you were bed ridden for the night.

“By the morning you’ll be fine. But sleep.” Carrillo was getting ready to get dressed again as well as Javi, but you got up.

“Can you both stay with me?” You shifted your eyes between them, the little pleading as you moved to the middle of your bed igniting something in them.

They obliged after some thought, you in the middle with Carrillo on your back and Javi near your front. Carrillo’s hand rested on your ass and Javi’s was right near your shoulder. A little awkward, but both of them were softly snoring within minutes with all the energy you took out of them. Maybe you would end up not talking about it until the time came round again or even in passing, but for now you let the calm call of sleep lull you away.

#lanawrites #pedro pascal #pedropascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #maurice compte #mauricecompte #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo fic #horacio carrillo x you #horacio carrillo smut #javierpena #javier peña smut #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña #javier pena smut #javier pena #javier pena fic #javier pena x you #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader

[drabbles-mc]

Unbroken Rules

Horacio Carrillo x F!Reader

For Day 6 of @narcosfandomdiscord's July Smut Challenge: friends with benefits

Warnings: 18+, language, smut, oral (f!receiving), light angst?

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: As per usual this is unedited and unbeta'd. It was also written on three hours of sleep. But we out here! They're, you know, they're smutting! 😂

Narcos Taglist: @garbinge @thesandbeneathmytoes @winchestershiresauce @sizzlingcloudmentality @panagiasikelia @616wilsons @hauntedforsst @mirabee @buckybarneshairpullingkink @boomclapxox @nessamc @southotheborder @supersanelyromantic @padbrookcottage @mysun-n-stars @raincoffeeandfandoms @justreblogginfics @ashlingnarcos @proceduralpassion @artemiseamoon @cositapreciosa @hausofmamadas @narcolini (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

It was surprising to you in a way that maybe it shouldn’t have been that things with you and Carrillo were working as well as they had been. Out of all the men in Colombia you thought you would find yourself casually hooking up with, he certainly hadn’t been anywhere near the top of the list. He really hadn’t made your list at all.

You couldn’t even really remember how it all came up in the first place. A bunch of you had been out after a grueling week, drinking away the stress of it all. In between rounds everyone was catching up on gossip, all the little things that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of it all but were the perfect topics of conversation when the grand scheme had been so exhausting for you all. And there was no shortage of things to talk about. Messy breakups, dates gone wrong, new and not-so-secret relationships abound. Still waters run deep, after all.

At some point you’d all descended into talking about one of the officer’s friends with benefits relationship gone wrong. No one really had any sympathy for him, of course, but it fueled jokes and banter for the next five minutes of conversation. In the aftermath of that, Carrillo had made a comment under his breath about not understanding how you all managed to have time for all of that with everything else that was going on.

“Yea,” you said, just as quietly with a laugh, “I get that friends with benefits probably seems like a weird concept for someone who doesn’t seem all that interested in even having friends without benefits.”

If you hadn’t had so much liquid courage in you at that point, the look on Carrillo’s face would’ve stunned you into silence, maybe even into squaring up your tab altogether.

But as it stood, you weren’t fazed. Instead, you doubled down. “What?” There was extra safety in the fact that everyone else had diverted off into their own conversations—no one was listening to the two of you. “Am I wrong?”

“I have friends,” he said, unable to believe that he was entertaining the conversation with you, letting it be anything resembling an argument.

You arched one eyebrow. “Okay, sure. Let’s,” you took a sip of your drink, “let’s say that’s true.”

He shook his head at you. “You think that because I’m not sleeping with any of them that—”

“I didn’t say that,” you cut him off. “I didn’t even say that you don’t have friends. I’m saying that you don’t seem all that interested in having friends. Which, you know,” you shrugged, “whatever.”

He could see that there was something else on the tip of your tongue. He was logical enough to know that he should let it lie, but he was too stubborn to go on without asking. “What?”

“I just…” you shrugged, suddenly trying to pick your words carefully now that you realized the deep water you’d landed yourself in. “With everything you’ve had going on I’m just not exactly surprised that you’re not keen on people right now.”

He frowned at that. He knew exactly what you were talking about, and as much as he hated that you were bringing it up at all, he was at least thankful that you had enough grace to not blurt it out in obvious terms. If he hadn’t gone to the bar with all of you, he knew that his recent disaster of a breakup would’ve made it onto the gossip wheel. Fair was fair, after all, and it was quite the story for everyone else who was on the outside of it.

He let out a sound that was something between a hum and a grunt of acknowledgment. You were on precariously thin ice as it was but still you took another sip of your drink and forged onward, talking since he apparently wasn’t going to.

“Honestly it’d probably be good for you. It’s been a bit, right? Probably be good for you to blow off some steam if you haven’t already.” You said it so casually despite the fact that the two of you really didn’t have the type of relationship where you were usually offering unsolicited advice about anything, but especially his sex life or lack thereof. Again, if there had been any less liquor in your system, the look on Carrillo’s face would’ve had you melting into the floor.

But somewhere between that conversation and the moment you were in now, with him knocking at your door, the two of you had become friends with benefits. Maybe more benefits than friends, but still, you served a purpose for each other. He wasn’t up for anything serious after a brutal breakup, and realistically he didn’t seem like the most emotionally available man to begin with anyway. And you were too busy letting work take over your life to try and entertain a real relationship. But still, you were only human. He filled a need for you and vice versa.

There were rules to it. Things to keep it from getting messy. Part of you had to think that maybe that was a large part of the appeal for him. Structure was good—he knew how to navigate that. The two of you always met at your place—that was his rule. He never stayed over no matter how late it was—that was your rule. There were a few others you’d each put into place along the way. The big one, the unspoken one, was that if one of you started to feel any kind of off about it, you’d cut the cord on the whole arrangement. The whole purpose of it was to eliminate mess, not make more of one.

The beauty of there being limited friendship built into the actual arrangement was that when he showed up, you always knew why. It wasn’t like he ever turned up on your doorstep just for a drink and a chat.  So when you heard the knocks, you knew exactly what you were going to be in for. He wasn’t one for small talk with anyone, so it wasn’t as though you really had to entertain him very much before the two of you got into things.

There was only a matter of minutes between you unlocking your apartment door for him and the two of you peeling the clothes off of each other on the way to your bedroom. His hands moved quickly, with the same precision he showed in every other area of his life. In record time he had your blouse unbuttoned and on the floor, working the clasp of your bra with the same ease before moving to the buckle of your belt.

His lips moved hungrily against yours. Slow and steady hadn’t ever been the pace with the two of you, but you could feel a different sense of urgency this time. You wondered what happened before he decided to come over. It wouldn’t be the first time either of you took your problems out on each other. Neither of you had ever made any complaints about it.

He undid the button and zipper of your jeans, easily pushing them down past your hips, down just enough for them to pool around your ankles on the floor. Once the backs of your legs met the resistance of your mattress, his hand slid up from your hip, trailing up your stomach until it stopped in the middle of your chest. He pushed with just enough force to get you to fall back onto the bed.

You took his hand in your own, went to pull him down onto the mattress with you, but he didn’t give you the chance. Pulling his hand back, he reached up and peeled his polo off over his head, discarding it somewhere on the floor with the mess of your own clothes. You watched with bated breath as he undid the buckle of his belt with one hand, using the other to run up your calf, over your knee and onto your thigh.

It seemed like your eyes diverted for all of a second, and suddenly he was on you. Climbing up your body, all rough palms and grazing teeth. You felt his lips against your neck and you reached, threading your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck. The second his teeth sank into you, your grip on his hair tightened in turn. You heard the hiss he let out, and you felt the smug satisfaction start to settle in.

Then his lips were on yours again, as desperate as he’d ever been he slipped his tongue into your mouth as he ground his hips against yours. you moaned into his mouth, arching into the contact as you slid one hand down between you, wrapping it around his length. He instantly bucked into your hand, the reaction practically involuntary as he pulled his mouth off of yours.

“Fuck,” he cursed, low and quiet, one hand balled into a fist on the pillow beside your head, other hand on the side of your face. The pad of his thumb rested beneath your bottom lip, almost enough to pull at it if he hadn’t been so distracted by your grip on him, the motions you knew would piece him apart.

His hand slid down to the side of your throat, and you felt your heartrate already speeding up. But then he reached and pulled your hand away, separating the two of you. He was already flushed, breathless, and you weren’t much better considering the two of you had hardly gotten started. It wasn’t the time to ask questions, but the look in Carrillo’s eyes had you wondering if maybe you should.

He didn’t give you the chance. Any attempt you were going to make to try and check in was cast aside as he slid back down your body, lips and tongue trailing the whole way down until he hooked your legs over his shoulders and dove directly between your thighs.

It was your turn to let out a curse, a string of them really, as your thighs clamped tighter around his head, fingers weaving into his hair as his tongue worked you over. Your back arched, fingers tugging harder on his hair as he tried to lose himself in you, tried to use you to cure some sort of insatiable hunger inside of him. It was a fool’s errand that you would let him run on forever if it kept him between your legs the way he was. You had no hope in stopping the moan that came out of you when he slid his fingers into you, legs trembling around his head as he pumped them in and out of you.

“Fuck,” you practically whined. “Don’t,” you lifted your head off the bed just enough to look down at him, the sight of him nearly enough to send you over the edge all on its own, “don’t stop.”

Whatever had sent him to your door had him feeling more agreeable than usual, because he did as you said without a moment’s hesitation. Even when the coil inside of you snapped, when you were lying pliant and breathless on the bed with your legs still lazily draped over his shoulders, he didn’t stop.

It wasn’t until you gently raked your fingers through his hair and let out a soft, unsteady, “Horacio,” that he paused long enough to look up at you, to revel in the mess he’d turned you into. The thought crossed his mind as he looked at you, as he carefully brought himself back up to your face, that he was still good for something, for someone. Despite everything pointing to the contrary, he might still be the right thing for someone. Maybe even you.

You were about to say something more when he kissed you, taking away the opportunity. You didn’t fight him, hand cupping the side of his face as you tasted yourself off of his lips. His hips shifted and you could feel him, still ready, still twitching.

When he pulled his lips off of yours, he sat back, kneeling as he grabbed onto your hips and turned you over so that you were lying on your stomach. Hands still holding onto you, he pulled you back towards him, leaving you braced on your forearms as he slotted himself between your legs. Your fingers curled into a thread-tearing grip on your sheets as he pushed into you. He moved slow at first, and you could feel the way he was fighting to show some restraint. But once he heard the tiny whimpered, “Yes,” you let out under your breath, he immediately picked up his pace.

Even with the stars behind your eyes, you could already picture the finger-shaped bruises he was going to leave on your hips. You pushed back against him, spurring him on as he brought one hand up to grip your shoulder, what little nail he had biting into the soft flesh there.

The only things you could hear above the sounds of your own ragged breathing and heartbeat, was the sound of his hips connecting with you, the scattered curses he let out under his breath the closer he got to release.

You felt the stutter in his thrusts as he finished, melting against you as soon as he did. You felt his forehead rest against your back between your shoulder blades, felt each heave of his chest as he fought to try and get his breath back. His hands loosened, acting gentle against you once more as he held you to him—not that you had the desire to move away anyway.

When he finally pulled away from you, he ran his hand up and down your back again. His voice was almost even as he asked, “You’re okay?”

You let out a breathless laugh as you nodded. It took more effort than you wanted to admit just to turn yourself over so that you were lying on your back again. Once you did, you looked over at him, making eye contact before nodding again and saying, “I’m okay.”

For a beat, neither of you moved or said anything. Carrillo didn’t move to get dressed and leave, you didn’t try to ask what had him in such a state when he showed up at your apartment. For a precious two minutes, the two of you existed in a limbo where there was simply nothing else, no life outside the walls of your bedroom.

Finally, he cleared his throat, looking over at you once more. “It’s late.”

Blinking a few times, you turned and looked at the clock on your nightstand. Your eyes widened when you saw the time, not having realized just how long the two of you had been at it. “Shit,” you said as you ran your hands down your face, “it is.”

The silence that followed spoke volumes. You waited for him to get up and start getting his things the way that he usually did, maybe even toss you something to pull on quickly so that you could follow him out and lock the door behind him when he left. But he was still. The longer you looked in his eyes, the more you realized just what he was waiting for. If he wanted to talk about what happened, you’d listen. That wasn’t against the rules. Staying over was, though.

“Something you want to talk about?” you finally asked when he made no move to start the conversation himself.

He was weighing the options, the pitfalls of opening up to you, the downsides of locking himself away. That was his issue, apparently—never quite showing or giving enough. Or so he’d been told.

“I can’t stay?” Another statement turned into a question. It wasn’t what he actually wanted to talk about, but it was the best he could do. Old habits die hard.

You sighed, head dropping back against the pillow behind you. You stared up at the ceiling for a moment, wanting to choose your answer to the question carefully. There was only one right answer, but you didn’t want to say it wrong.

“I don’t know what happened today, but—”

“Nothing happened,” he said, a little harsher than he meant to.

You paused, pressing your lips together in a thin line. “Okay, fine. Nothing happened. I don’t know what didn’t happen today, Horacio, but I think you should go.”

“Why?”

You let out a tired laugh. “Because that’s…that’s what we do. That’s why this works.” You paused. “Unless you don’t think it’s working anymore. Which means we need to be having a very different conversation.”

You could practically see the walls going back up in real time, not quite as effective as they had been before. “You’re right—I should go.”

He got off the bed, gathering his clothes off the floor and dressing himself as he went. While he was busy with that you went and grabbed an old t-shirt for yourself. Neither of you said anything as you walked with him to the door. It felt different this time. It wasn’t as though the two of you were the types to kiss goodbye—you weren’t a couple after all. But there was a tension in the air now that almost made you feel like he was waiting for something to happen.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you said, “Get some safe, yea?”

He nodded. “Yea.”

You couldn’t get a read on his expression, so you asked, “I’ll see you?”

He knew what you meant despite the vague nature of your question. He gave you another nod. “Of course you will.”

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[twistnet]

hungry eyes [ horacio carrillo ]

⋯ SUMMARY ; you had your eyes fixaited on the commander most of the morning, not realizing that you had definitely been showing him exactly when you wanted him to do

⋯ WARNINGS ; female!reader, slight smut [ illusion to smut; nothing explicitly stated, dirty talk + bedroom eyes ] + mature language

⋯ NOTE ; this content is strictly for those 18+ ; any minors // ageless // blank blogs interacting with this post // masterlist will be blocked

horacio carrillo. the commander of search bloc and one of the organizations currently in the process of helping the american dea with tracking down and removing drug lord pablo escobar from his foothold of power in colombia.

you had been assigned in colombia almost as long as your partner, javier peña, had been. the both of you bonding over your shared interests and the fact both of you had come in during a particularly rough time.

as your time in colombia extended, you quickly made friends, or acquaintances, with most of the people you worked with on a daily basis -- mainly those that worked in search bloc along side carrillo. javi had described him as a man void of emotion, other than anger, and was someone he even had a hard time getting along with from time to time. but, you found it relatively ease to speak to the commander, surprising and amazing most of those you worked with.

it also helped that you found the man to be quite attractive, definitely different from any of the previous partners or crushes you had during your time in america. and in doing so, you had formed a connection with him -- while not quite sure on what to call said relationship, you understood that he deeply cared for you.

and after a late night of love, you had found yourself staring off after him while on assignment -- not exactly the smartest thing to do, but you couldn’t help but admire him from afar. knowing exactly what laid just underneath the green fatigues he wore, and the certain softness he had for you.

horacio had noticed your stares, opting to ignore them as he worked after realizing that you didn’t even know you were doing it. and while it had only unnerved him for a short time, he found it to be quite endearing, though he would never say that out loud.

however, your stares had managed to strike a cord within him after some time. the burning feeling of your eyes drilling into the back of his skull was getting harder and harder to ignore, and when he had gone to put an end to your staring -- thinking he had done something to upset you, he had found he reaction to be quite the opposite.

as he looked you over for the first time that day, actually attempting to get an understanding for your stares, he realized that it was backed by a whole different emotion: lust.

evident by your teeth tugging at your bottom lip, the way your chest expanded each time he happened to glance your way, and the slightest hint of darkness creeping around the edge of your eyes.

so, when everyone had returned to the embassy -- carrillo heading off towards his office with you and javi making your way towards the ambassador's office, he devised a little plan to get you in his presence to talk about your ‘staring problem’.

the second you entered his office, closing the door tightly behind him, he spoke, “stop giving me blowjob eyes, hermosa.” the single sentence uttered without even a glance your direction as you sputtered, cheeks rushing with heat as you trying to rack your brain for the right thing to say, “i... i wasn’t giving you blowjob eyes...”

horacio chuckled softly at your attempt to cover, however, the slight wavering in your voice had given you away. not that he wasn’t already aware of the way you had been looking at him all day, “really, then why the looks all day, hmmm? what were you thinking about when you were looking at me? cause i can tell you want i think, but i want to hear it from you...” he practically purrs, enjoying the way you shift from one foot to the other, and take a deep breath to calm your nerves.

“i... i was thinking about last night. a lot about last night.” you confession, cheeks burning hot with embarrassment as your gaze drops to the floor. suddenly finding your boots more interesting than the man in front of you.

“hermosa, look at me.” immediately, your eyes snap up, locking with his as he stands from behind his desk, slowly circling around the edge until he’s standing just in front of you, eyes wide with lust, “still reminiscing about last night?”

“yes.” you answer quickly and simply, knowing he doesn’t like to be kept waiting. heart beating rapidly as he shot you a small smile, easing your worry before he scooped you up into a searing kiss, hand grabbing a hand-full of your ass and eliciting a strangled moaned from your lips.

“wait for me to finish up this paperwork tonight, then i’m taking you home.” he utter against your lips, waiting until you nod in agreement before releasing you back to work. smiling to himself as you attempt to hide your lightly swollen lips from the rest of those in the common office beyond his own.

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[iloveangstposts]

I NEED NEED NEED HORACIO CARILLO SMUT PLS 🙏

#horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo smut

[freakazoidfuc]

Curiosity Killed the Cat

Javier Peña x F! Informant Reader

Summary: Javi had gone out on a bust, he told you to wait for him in the safety of his room. You saw something shiny poking from his side table drawer and got interested.

-first time writing full-out smut, sorry if it's not that good. Some mistakes bc i didn’t edit it sorry!!

+18 smut warning

word count: 4k

You’re walking into the cafe where you were set to meet La Quica. All you have to do is get him to tell you where Pablo is going to be tomorrow, and you’re not nervous at all. You’ve done this for about a year or so, and it’s become second nature. As soon as you walk in La Quica spots you, but you’ve spotted the other sicarios he has placed around the cafe, they didn’t even hide the guns they have tucked into their waistbands. He nods you over, and you strut over not failing to notice how they all have their eyes on you. Hey, it comes with the job, you have to wear skinny jeans and tight tops, to blend in with the rest of the women in Colombia.       

“Quihubo y/n que mas?” Quica asks you how you are. “Ya sabe aqui esperando ordenes del jefe”. You tell him that you’re just waiting on orders from Pablo. You try to get to the point, not wanting to spend any minute more than you have to. He reaches to brush a strand of hair out of your face, and you try not to flinch away from his touch. “Que pasa linda? La veo nerviosa?”.

His menacing tone makes it seem like he knows you’re up to something. You just laugh it off, and you brush your fingers along his shoulder and sweetly ask him if he’s gonna tell you what you have to do. “Que va pasar Quica? Me va decir lo que tengo que hacer o que?”. Your sweeter tone makes him ease up a bit, they’re so easy it’s laughable. “Ah bueno, mas le vale. Mire mañana va llegar un delivery de Miami, Pablo quiere que usted vaya con Limon al aeropuerto a recibir El Leon, la plata se la dan cuando El Leon ya este aqui en Bogota”.

Pablo wants you to go to the airport to pick up one of his men that works for him in Miami and you aren’t going alone, you’re going with Limón. He’s a recently added worker, you’d seen him around in the market with Maritza. Poor guy doesn’t know what he got himself into. You slide Quica a paper with the address of where to have Limón pick you up. “No se tarde, ya sabe como es el jefe. Hasta despues linda”. He tips up your chin while he gets up. You give him a sweet smile as you watch him leave with the group of men that were scattered around. 

“It’s clear y/n, you can head out. We’re just round the corner”. Javier’s rich deep voice fills your ears. In the car, you find Steve, Carrillo, and Javier, they were all listening to your conversation, and what you didn’t know but learned later was that they had set up cameras in the shop and watched everything. Carrillo spoke first once you got in, “Nice work y/n, we’ll be at the location you gave him. When you hear the signal, get out as quick as possible. We don’t want you involved with what will go down”. You nod your head “gracias colonel, do you want me in a specific place after?”. As soon as your last word went through Javier spoke up. “You’ll go straight to my place, understood?”.

As hard as you tried to deny it, you couldn’t anymore. Hearing Javi talks to you in that demanding voice did dangerous things to you. You had messed around with him in the beginning but you mutually decided it was best to keep things professional. It was really hard to keep things professional with him. The way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you, and how he tried to sneak touches, it drove you crazy. Javier knew what he was doing, he loved seeing the way you’d blush when you caught him looking at you, he loved how the hairs on your arm would rise when he “accidentally” brushed his fingers along your arms. You looked up at him with a questioning look on your face but you decided not to question him. Especially not when Carrillo and Steve were here. “Yes sir”. 

You had no idea how the bust went down. As soon as you heard the signal to move, you did. You started to run till a cop car passed you and beeped. It was Trujillo, “Peña dio ordenes a llevarte al apartamento de el”.  You got in the car with him and drove in silence until you got to his apartment. “La puerta esta abierta, suerte y/n”. He let you know that Javier left the door open. “Gracias Trujillo”. 

You’re in his apartment and it’s exactly as you expected, it’s a bit messy with beer bottles scattered along his kitchen and ashtrays on every table. You walk into his room and are not surprised again when it’s the same deal. Beer, cigarettes, and a spare gun you imagine on his bedside table. His bed was messily made like he was in a rush this morning. The beautiful Colombian sun spilled through the windows into the room, making it hotter than comfortable. You felt your already tight light yellow top cling to your skin. Your skinny jeans stick to your skin like glue. It was safe to say you felt extremely uncomfortable.

You thought to take off your clothes for just a bit to cool yourself off. So you remove your high heels, peel off your jeans and unbutton your top. Looking at your watch and it being a while since you left, you thought that they’re probably gonna take a bit longer so you decide to relax a bit and lay on his bed. It felt so naughty to be in Javi’s bed just in your unbuttoned shirt, no pants, just your lacy pink bra, and matching underwear.

Your mind wandered to what Javier had done in his bed before, if he’s ever thought of you late at night while touching places you’d only wish he’d let you touch. You thought if he’s ever accidentally said your name while doing things that made your belly swirl. You shook your head, feeling your underwear getting wet. You sat up with your arms placed behind you, letting your eyes wander until they spotted something shiny poking from his drawer. Your curiosity got the best of you and you got up to see what it was. You carefully opened the drawer and saw handcuffs with the key right beside them. Before being an informant, your life was normal in Colombia. You had gone to school to learn English, you worked at a cafe and life was simple. Naturally, you had never gotten handcuffed and you had always wondered what it was like. You thought you’d do it quickly and unlock yourself before Javier got back. 

“Fuck”. It seems like you didn’t think this through. While the notion of you putting on the handcuffs was easy, you made the mistake of not taking the key out of the drawer before locking your hands together. You tried lifting your hand but you just could get them in the drawer. While attempting to get the keys you heard the door open. Double fuck, your eyes widened and you quickly scrambled to his bed and sat with your back facing the door. “Y/n?” 

His footsteps get closer to the room and you start to panic a bit, I mean what’s the worse thing he could do? Laugh at You? Or maybe he’d be mad that you even went into his room, which you can understand because you’d let curiosity get the best of you and now you’re handcuffed and sitting on his bed half naked. You were so in your mind that you hadn’t even heard Javi enter the room. As soon as he saw you he paused and confusion ran across his face. “What are you doing?” 

Your mind scrambles with what to say. “Oh just looking out your window”

Javier just hums and heads toward you. He notices your jeans and shoes on the floor. “Why are your clothes on my floor y/n”. While you couldn’t see him, you didn’t have to, you know that he had that stupid smirk on his face, that smirk that always had you clenching your legs together whenever you caught a glimpse of it. “It got hot?”. You were so nervous that it came out more as a question than a statement. You felt him close to you but you didn’t have the guts to look up at him.

Javi was already standing in front of you. Taking in the sight of you. Everything in front of him looked like one of his wet dreams. While you had no idea, Javier had been aching to touch you again. When “yes sir” came out of your mouth yesterday, it had him lose control. He went home that day with your sweet voice answering back to his orders in his mind. Javier couldn’t get you out of his head, not only because of your words but because you just looked so damn good yesterday that he truly doesn’t know how he kept himself under control. Those jeans you had on yesterday fit you so well, they did wonders for your ass and you knew it, more of the reasons why you wore them. Javi bends down in front of you, he places his calloused hands on your knees and slightly caresses them.

“Look at me bonita”.

And you did exactly that because you can’t simply defy him. He brushes the loose strands that had come in front of your face behind your ear, once your face comes into his view he smirks at you. “There’s that pretty face, so what happened here y/n?” He slightly smacked the side of your thigh. “I got bored of waiting for you Javi, and I saw the handcuffs I had never been handcuffed, obviously and I wanted to see what it felt like, but then I forgot to take out the key before and then you came and I got scared that you were gonna be mad at me”. There it was that nervous babble that you hated so much, you felt your face heat up out of embarrassment. Then you heard the beautiful chuckle, it was low and just so good, that you wanted to hear it again. He caressed your face. “I’m not mad bonita”, your eyes brows shot up in surprise. “You’re not?” 

“Of course not, I could never be mad at you” 

“Besides how could I be mad, when I’ve come home to you looking like this?” His hands start to roam your bare skin, and soft whimpers are released from your mouth. You’ve longed for him touching like this, he has no idea how much this is affecting you. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to touch you like this?”. You just shook your head, you had a slight inkling he was interested in you but that was it. “Ever since you walked in that first day, with that sundress that drove me absolutely wild” Then he started to press soft kisses on your things, “that day I wanted to snatch you up, and have you all to myself”. 

“Javier-”. You moans his name softly, the soft touches driving you crazy. He’s so close to where you want him. “Those kisses we shared didn’t fill me y/n, I still needed more. Now I find you handcuffed, half naked, and sitting all pretty on my bed? I’m going to do things to you linda, things that have been on my mind since yesterday” 

At this point, you’re breathing heavily, you just want him to touch you already. “You want that baby?”

You nod your head, not trusting your words but he’s not having it. He’s shaking his head. He places his hands around your jaw and grips your face close to his. “Usa tus palabras princesa” 

“Yes Javi, just- just do it already” 

You aren’t sure who initiated first but you felt his soft lips slot in between yours. His hand moved down to your throat and his other gripped your waist bringing you closer. He kissed like he’s been dying for this. Javier can’t keep his hands off you and you couldn’t be any happier. 

His hand grips your throat tighter which causes you to slip a moan out and he takes that chance to slip his tongue in and tangle it with yours. He groans into your mouth. With your handcuffed hands you try to touch him but you can’t. You break the kiss. “Javi, please let me out of these” you whine. His eyes light up with mischief, and he pouts. “No baby, this is your punishment” 

Your brows drew together, “my punishment?” he hummed and pushed your legs open, he pushed you’re back so now you’re laying on your back. He’s hovering over you and goes into presses kisses on your neck and below your ear on that sweet spot that drives you crazy. You’re panting like crazy just wanting him in you. “Punishment for touching Quica, for letting him touch you and call you bonita. You don’t know how much I wanted to go in there and shoot every fucker that looked at you when you walked in. Staring at your ass and thinking things they shouldn’t. I want to cut off his hand for ever laying his hands on what’s mine” Javier sounded and looked genuinely mad, You didn’t even know he could see what was going on inside. “Nadie te toca, escuchaste y/n” His jaw was clenched and his pupils were fully dilated. “Si Javier”.  

“No, Not Javier. Yes, what y/n?” 

At first, you didn’t understand but then you got it, “Yes, sir”. 

“Good girl, now let me get back to what’s mine, okay bonita?” 

He was kissing the swells of your breasts and he muttered something along the lines of “too many clothes” he ripped open your bra and placed his warm mouth on your nipple and started nipping and sucking. His hand playing with the other. You moan in pleasure. He moves his mouth to the other and his other hand starts to roam down to your underwear. He runs his finger along your clothes slit. It has you flinch at the sensation. He moves his mouth back to your lips and kisses you with so much force that you can feel his mustache scratching you and it feels so good to you. He slides your underwear to the side and slides his fingers through your lips and he breaks the kiss to groan, “so wet for me already y/n, my poor baby how long have you been like this? Don’t worry, I’m gonna make you feel so good you’ll forget about the times I wasn’t here eating you up.” Javier does just that he moves his mouth down all the way down to where you want him the most. He prepares you by kissing the inner of your thighs. “Javi please, i- I need you, just please do it already” You didn’t care if you sounded desperate, you’d beg him until he did it, but luckily you didn’t have to beg anymore because his mouth latched to your cunt, feeling his hot mouth sucking on your clit had you throwing your head back, moaning profanities and mixing in his name. He was eating you like this was the last time and you really hoped it wasn’t. His tongue going up and down, this sucking your slit then back to licking everything up. Javier was hungry for you and he wasn’t going to waste any of you. He brings his finger and starts tracing it up and down. A loud whimper escapes your lips n you feel his thick finger pressing into you, he pumps it in and out, curling it and finding your sweet spot. He increases his pace as your moans and whimpers increase. When you get louder he adds another finger, going at a pace that has clamped down on his fingers. You know that sensation. The swirl in your belly is getting too much to handle. His mouth and fingers are doing amazing things to you, you’ve never felt this good before. His groans vibrate through your cunt, making you desperately moan his name. He sucks your clit harder and you feel yourself unraveling, Javi takes the time to lap up every drop of cum, not letting any go to waste. He lifts his head and you see the glimmer of your arousal on his face making you blush, he licks his lips and places one of his arms right by your head, he brings his fingers and brings them to your lips, “I knew you were going to taste good, but princesa you taste so fucking good. Open for me baby”. You open your mouth and suck the juices off his fingers, swirling your tongue around and sucking them clean. 

“Javi” you breathed out. “Please let me touch you, I promise no one’s touching me but you, te lo prometo Javier, solo tu”. 

He lets you out of the handcuffs and once your hands are free you stand up. “What are you doing-” 

“Javi, shh let me do this” You push him onto the bed, He sits with his legs spread wide which already have you a mess. You place your hands on his knees caressing them up and down, then you move up to his chest, unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it off him. Your mouth starts kissing his chest, touching what you couldn’t before. “Don’t be a tease babe, keep this up, and ill just have to fill you with my dick and fuck you till you’re all the way up with my cum”. 

Javier had a way with his words. Hearing his dirty talk spurred something in you. You stopped the small soft touches and went for his pants. You palmed him through his jeans feeling hard he was for you, You unblocked his belt and unbuttoned his pants. Javi helped you pull his pants down. His dick sprang up and that’s when you noticed he was commando. Your hands softly grabs his dick and he groans at the way you’re touching him. “Did you think this was going to happen Javi? Hm?” 

You move your mouth to his shaft and press a gentle kiss before you wrap your mouth around his tip. That groan you longed to hear was let out from his lips. You begin to swirl your tongue around his tip, collecting the precum and tasting him. You had a feeling  Javi was big but you didn’t expect him to be this big. You brought your hand to the bottom of his dick and started to go up and down all in sync with your mouth, applying the right pressure. “Fuck baby, you’re doing so good for me”. His praise only made you go faster. He was groaning so much in pleasure you felt so happy that you were able to make him feel this good. Javier gripped a handful of your hair and made you go deeper in, “c’mon y/n, take me all the way in, I want to feel the back of your throat”  

He pushes your head all the way down, and you feel his tip touch the back of your throat, You were swallowing him. Javi let you back up and you gasped for air but you went back in with determination. Started to lick that sweet spot you knew every guy had. You felt his dick twitch and put his dick back into your mouth. You felt the hot spurts of cum in your mouth. Tasting all of him in your mouth. “That’s it, mama, swallow all of it, you did so good y/n”. You swallowed every drop of his cum. Licked every bit you could and his dick sprung out of your mouth with a pop. Javier sits up and uses his thumb to clean the side of your mouth where some cum had dripped out. He brings his thumb to his mouth and licks it off. 

You climb onto his lap, kiss the shell of his ear, and whisper “Javi, I need you in me. Please” 

“Yeah? You need me to fill you up?” 

“Yes, oh god, yes please” You clench around nothing, just at the fact that you’ll finally get to have him in you. Javi lines up his dick to your entrance. You slowly start to push yourself down on him, Only the tip has gone in and the stretch hurt, but it hurts so good your grab onto his shoulders. “Relajate preciosa” he murmurs and waits until you adjust, Javier grips your waist and pushes you down until you’ve taken all of him. 

“You feel so good Javi” you choke out. 

Right now he’s just letting you get used to him. But you start to grow impatient. You start to move a bit to create that friction you crave. A smirk appears on Javier’s face, he finally has you where he wanted you for so long. 

“Javier, muevete, I need you to move.. Porfavor”. His hands are already on your waist moving you up and bringing you down hard. His hands gripping so tight to keep you in place while he hammers into you. His hips move up to meet yours. The sound of skin smacking together spurs both of your pornographic moans. He turns you so fast you don’t even realize you’re on your back and he’s on top of you. 

“Look at you baby, you look so good under me like this” 

He is back to thrusting into you, His pace is relentless and yummy. With every thrust, he hits that sweet spot. He brings his fingers to your clit. Rubbing it in the perfect motion, going in delicious perfect moans that have you screaming his name. 

“Fuck, Javi keep going”, “You feel so fucking good Javi” 

He leans down to kiss you hard. “I’ve wanted this so long Javi” 

“Yeah? How long have you thought of me?” he thrust harder and harder. His fingers circled my clit relentlessly 

“Too long” 

You feel yourself gripping him, your belly swirling with that feeling from before. It’s like he senses it. “Let it go, baby” 

And you do just that, You cum, drenching his dick with your cum. You cum so hard you feel it drip down your thighs. “So good, You did so good for me y/n, you love being a good girl for me, yeah?” 

You’ve cummed but he doesn’t stop, he goes faster than before, the sensitivity making it too much but you let it happen. His thrust starts to get sloppy and you feel him twitch in you. “Im going to fill up your cunt so deep that it will be dripping out of you for days, reminding you who did that and who you belong to” He voice hoarse and deep. His hot cum shoots into you, and your cunt grips him. Milking all of his cum into you. He holds his dick in there. Not letting any of his drips out of you. You feel so full of him that it turns you on so much. Javiers leaned his forehead on you, his breaths getting back to normal. You feel his dick softening in you. You bring your hands up into his hair. Gently tug on the strands binging his mouth to yours. This time the kiss is different. It’s not rough and hungry like before. It’s soft and passionate. He breaks the kiss and peppers kisses all over you. You start to laugh at his playfulness. “Javi stop that tickles” 

You see him get up, and he gets a washcloth and cleans you up. Still a bit sensitive you flinch when he presses it along your slot. He gives you an apologetic smile. Then you go back to the bed and presses your body next to his, His arm around you bringing you in close. He kisses your temple and starts caressing your hair. 

“You did so good for me hermosa, I don’t know how I survived so long without you”  

#pedro pascal #horacio carrillo #javier peña #javier peña x reader #narcos #javier peña smut #javier pena x reader #javi x reader #javier peña x y/n #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #javier peña fic

[hausofmamadas]

| Our man in Mexico |

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Pairing: Andrea Nuñez x Horacio Carrillo

For @narcosfandomdiscord Summer of Smut Alphabet: July 1 - [A] Angry sex

Word count: ≈ 2.5K

TWs: smut, biting, slapping, hair pulling andrea being her bestest, most cuntiest self

“Don’t ever make the mistake of thinking I need you.” After the fall of Escobar in Colombia, everyone's favorite hot-headed, helicopter-shucking Colonel Horacio Carrillo has managed to make it out with not just his life in tact, but with a clean enough reputation to make the DOJ's shortlist of military officials to head up a new military investigation of the alleged collusion between General Jesus Guttiérez Rebollo and the Juarez cartel. He's stationed in Tijuana, Rebollo's last base of operations, where he personally and professionally crosses paths with rebel-with-many-causes journalist Andrea Nuñez, still reporting for La Voz. But when he puts a gag order on all things related to the Rebollo scandal in an effort to protect her, Andrea's fed tf up. And tells him as much. right to his face. Only one question remains: what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? Carrillo fucks around and finds out.

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“Señorita! N— no puedes entrar ahí, por favor! He’s in a meeting. I can’t— If you don’t have an appointment, I can’t let you back there!”

Andrea walked over to the door of the embassy office without a word and barged through, tearing down the hall. The secretary scrambled from behind the desk like a spooked rabbit, little kitten heels click-clacking on the tiled floor as she struggled to keep up with Andrea’s long, steadfast strides. And this, ladies, is why it pays to wear sensible footwear. The poor woman was just doing her job but her frantic puttering and cries of, “Señorita! You can’t be back here!” only served to build the rage in Andrea’s chest more.

She stopped so cold and turned around so fast, the woman’s forehead nearly slammed right into her own.

Andrea crossed her arms. “Mira, vieja. You haven’t even called security, so unless you’re going to tackle me to the ground and throw me out yourself, and—“ she glanced down at the woman’s heels, eyebrow cocked smugly, “—you could try but I don’t think you’d get far in those— I’m getting into that goddamn office one way or another.”

The woman sputtered something unintelligible. Andrea couldn’t be bothered to let her piece a proper sentence together before cutting her off with a curt, “ya eso es lo que pensaba.”

She turned back and kept on tearing down the hallway, closer and closer to the door marked, ‘Colonel Horacio Carrillo’ in block letters that were just as uppity and patronizing as he was. Or maybe it was just because it was his office, the arrogant prick.

Sure, he was a legend back in Colombia. Sure, he helped take down the biggest, baddest drug trafficker the world had ever seen. But if this asshole thought a gag order was gonna fly in the wake of Rebollo’s mess — which, oh by the way, she helped to expose — he was deader than General Jesus Gutiérrez Rebollo’s reputation. She refused to be cowed by the AFO goons who followed her to her car on late nights after work. She certainly wasn’t going to be intimidated by this Colombian haircut. He wasn’t even threatening to slash her tires. So, what was a bit of healthy confrontation between friendly colleagues? Making an appointment would’ve just spoiled the mood.

As her hand landed on the door handle, she smirked at the sound of muffled voices inside. Huh. So, he really was conducting business. In Mexico, “he’s in a meeting,” was usually code for he’s actually chain smoking at his desk, on the phone chatting away with his mistress on company time. But no, it seemed Carrillo hadn’t been dodging the press. Maybe just her calls.

For a split second and against her own will, the image of him sitting at the bar flashed in her mind. The night she met him. Well, not him, him. Not as she knew him now, no more than a stranger, dressed like a dad, but in well-tailored khakis and a grey polo that fit far too smartly for him to actually be anyone’s dad. She’d come to find out he was divorced, no kids, so a dad he certainly wasn’t which, if the rumors she’d heard about Search Bloc were true, made more sense and still wasn’t comforting in the slightest. But she didn’t know about any of that yet.

Around here, strangers in dimly lit bars were seldom safe and fewer troubled themselves to even establish a pretense of safety. But he was a different, safer kind of stranger. She didn't know how she knew but she didn't. He must’ve been anyway, since she didn’t usually make it a habit of taking strangers back to her car after some pleasant, cheap conversation and a few shots of even cheaper bourbon.

And yet, that’s where he ended up. The back seat of her stationwagon, his firm lips encased against hers, breath deliciously hot and sticky on her neck, fingers ruthlessly digging into the flesh of her hips as she ground them down onto his, car windows all smudged with insistent palm prints that said something along the lines of, ‘mmm, that’s right. Yes, just a little closer.’ A couple of months later and those stupid smudges were still there. She noticed them crossly when she’d parked outside, moments before accosting the man’s poor secretary. She'd wondered aimlessly if he’d even know what they were if he saw them. Would she want him to? Maybe that’s why she was in such a foul mood. She didn’t know.

Shaking her head, the indecent image dissolved noncommittally into thick, black ink behind her eyelids, like answers disappearing in a magic eight ball. Outlook not so good, ask again later. Oh whatever, fuck off. I don’t even have enough sense to regret the whole thing. So just fuck off.

The momentum of the door swinging open fueled her ire again, and she breathed it in, soaking it up., letting it fuel her. When the handle smacked against the wall, three heads whipped around to stare at her in shock. It looked so rehearsed, she couldn’t resist the urge to crack a sly smile. Carrillo’s nostrils flared. Yeah, that’s right. Fuck off. She strode between the two suits seated at each corner of his desk, to face him across it. He barely moved an inch, elbows propped up on the armrests of that big, obnoxious executive chair he sat in behind the desk.

Leaning forward, knuckles pressed flat on the papers strewn across like all of it was hers, she said cooly, “Sorry to interrupt, Colonel. But you’ve been dodging my calls, so thought it best to pay you a visit. Call it professional due diligence.”

He was fuming, dark eyes lit with indignation and what else was it? Maybe panic. But all that Boy-Scout-School-of-the-Americas training must’ve kicked in because he didn’t miss a beat. “Mm. Due diligence? About what, exactly?

“To ask you a simple but very important question.”

He waited.

“To ask how— after only a few months, just how is it that you think you already own the journalists in this city? I thought the point of bringing in an outsider was to avoid corruption, not perpetuate it by silencing the people’s right to free press. Or is that how you rolled back in Colombia? You and your Search Bloc.”

He knit his brows and, as if he just remembered they were there, glanced at the two men still seated, who watched them with a combination of confusion and the voyeuristic enthusiasm of a housewife watching her favorite novela.

“Gentlemen,” Carrillo cleared his throat and motioned to the door, “we’ll have to pick this up later.” His jaw hardened, eyes moving from the door to Andrea, going from resigned to livid in mere seconds. “It seems, despite her due diligence, Ms. Nuñez must not be that great a journalist because she doesn’t know how to take ‘no comment’ for an answer.”

That was a low fucking blow and he knew it. Well, what the man lacked for in hospitality, he more than made up for in emotional range. One of the men tipped his hat as he stood up and gave a sheepish shrug before heading to the door. The other nearly tripped over his chair on the way out, seemingly unable resist the temptation to observe them with wonder like a couple of zoo animals. Two fingers to her forehead, Andrea gave them a tiny salute filled to the brim with disdain.

Once the door closed, she rolled her head back around to face Carrillo, who looked like he could throttle her right there.

“If I were a man, you’d hit me right now, wouldn’t you?” she said like it was a dare. Ignoring the blaze of shock all over his face, she continued to press, still leaning over the desk. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Carrillo opened a drawer and rifled around for something. He came out with a pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, lit it, and then leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh.

“Well?”

He took an infuriatingly long drag, and exhaled the smoke in her face, so that an opaque cloud now filled the space between them. On purpose. Naturally. This wasn’t his first rodeo with angry reporters. But this was his first rodeo with her. She straightened upright, waiting for him to speak.

“Well, before I can answer that, I have a follow-up question.”

She crossed her arms, swinging one hip out to the side, “O, sí?” inviting him to continue treading on dangerous conversational ground.

Nodding, “Sí, sí,” he flashed a cynical smirk that dissolved into a glare as he looked up at her and gave a perfunctory tap of his cigarette into the ashtray on his desk. “Just who the fuck do you think you are, barging into my office like this?”

“Just who the fuck do you think you are, putting a gag order on all press inquiries relating to Rebollo’s trial?” she shot back.

He dragged long and deep from his cigarette again like it was an oxygen mask, then said dismissively, “It’s a big case. A lot of moving parts. You know the judge makes that call, not me.”

“Wow, you really must believe I am that bad at my job if you think I’m naive enough to buy that bullshit. As if you have no sway with Mexican judges who can be bought for less than a few pesos.” She laughed bitter as battery acid, “Venga ya pues. No me shingües con esas mamadas, cabrón.”

There was a beat of silence before he stood up, stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray, saying through gritted teeth, “No. I don’t think you’re bad at your job.” He rolled his eyes, grumbling, “That’s the entire problem. Cierto? Sí porque eres una cachorra con un pinche hueso entre tus dientes.”

Her eyes narrowed. What the fuck was he playing at paying her a compliment like that.

“What? What am I supposed to say? Thank you?”

A tacit desperation crept under his glare now, an equal measure of anger and pleading for her to understand.

Oh, no. That’s when she put it together. Oh, hell no. Her face fell and she dropped her arms to her sides. No. No, he didn’t. He wouldn’t dare.

“No. No me digas que t—“

His glare melted, eyes full of nothing but pleading now as he stepped around the desk to join her on the other side.

“Okay, yes I talked to the judge. But Andrea, I only sugges—“

“No.” She backed away, dropping her bag on the ground. “Don’t do that. You don’t get to say my name like you know me well enough to patronize me this way.”

“You have to underst—“

“Understand?? What do I need to understand??? Hmm? What? That I might get hurt? That my job is dangerous? That journalists in this town have a short fucking shelf life? Or oh, that you what? You care now? You’re what? Trying to protect me?”

“Look, Andrea.” She wished he’d stop saying her name. “I know you're tough. You can take care of yourself. But this is bigger than you and you're not bulletproof. The pockets this Rebollo had his hands in? They’re more dangerous than some thugs following you to work or harassing you in the street. They’ll ruin your reputation, your livelihood, take anything you have, maybe even have you killed.”

“That’s never stopped me before.”

Carrillo pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Andrea. After you’re gone, they’ll come after your colleagues, friends, family.” She could tell he was growing more defensive by the way he strained to keep his voice level. “Corruption on this scale does more than just ruffle feathers. The more you uncover, the further you dig, the easier it is to bury you and anyone you care for. And that’d be too hard to bear for anyone who might be starting t— well, maybe— who does care for you.”

Her chest burned. She was roiling with indignant fury, practically breathing fire, nostrils flared, hands balled into fists at her side. Este pinshe pendejo. They’d been working together for weeks now, and not once did it step outside the confines of professional conduct with the exception of the— well, it was just the one time. She’d assumed they were moving on because of course they were. What was one night in the backseat of her car when they were nothing to each other? Nothing. But now this, all of a sudden, out of the blue. Why? Because. Because he cared. Well, he’d neglected to fill her in on the feelings and the caring before taking it upon himself to violate a boundary, meddling in her work ostensibly on her behalf.

Oh, she was positively— she wanted— but no, she couldn’t— oh, but she fucking could though. She would if she could— she really could actually fucking punch him.

As she stood there, vibrating, ready to go nuclear, he stepped closer. “Now who’s the one who wants to hit someone?”

Barely beyond strangers, and yet, he understood her implicitly. It only made the whole thing all the more aggravating. He stepped closer again, until they were nearly chin to chin.

“Do it.”

She looked up, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“Do it,” he said again quietly, eyes virtually unreadable. “If that’s what you really want. Hit me.”

He was inscrutable. There was no more pleading. No humor. No anger either. Something else. Something baser. She thought about those smudges on her car window.

Her hand moved so quickly, he didn’t even have time to flinch. She slapped him. Hard. Hard enough to send him back a couple of steps. The blood rushed to his cheek, angry and red, as he turned back to face her with an expression of something like dazed admiration. He began to speak but before he got a word out, she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him close to bury him in a kiss so deep, the force of it nearly hurt her teeth. She inhaled the rumble that escaped from the back of his throat like it was a breath of life, before breaking away and shoving him back to sit on the desk.

Hooking his fingers in the belt loops of her jeans, he yanked her close, positioning her between his knees. She felt a tug at her hair as he pulled out her hair band. Catching his hand on its way down her shoulder, she brought it around her waist, sinking into another brutal kiss that had them both gasping for air. As one of her hands slid up the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair and the other traveled down to palm the bulge in his pants, his hips bucked against hers and she felt a sharp sting as he bit her bottom lip. On reflex, she scrunched her fingers in the hair at the base of his neck and pulled so hard, he hissed.

Oh yeah, that felt good. She’d liked how it sounded and how he looked, head back like that, chin up, throat exposed. Getting lost in those deep, dark brown eyes, she kept him pinned in that position, regarding him for a moment. She suddenly found herself thinking about those nature documentaries on the Discovery Channel, ones where the lions take down gazelles, sharp canines puncturing their throats right there. His skin tasted salty as she tongued his neck in that very spot. If she were a wild animal, he’d be bleeding out on the floor for what he’d done. Trying to save the poor damsel-in-distress reporter from her own recklessness because oh, she can’t possibly know what’s good for her. That wasn't what it was until he made it that way. Co;onel Horacio Carrillo, our man in Mexico, nothing but a mouse in her trap.

Then she said, sincere but grave, “Don’t ever make the mistake of thinking I need you. I’ll never need you.” To soothe the wounded expression on his face, she planted a soft kiss on his mouth and trailed a few more along his jaw, mumbling as her lips made their way back down to his throat, “And that’s exactly why you love this.”

═

taglist: @drabbles-mc @narcolini @ashlingnarcos @cositapreciosa @narcosfandomdiscord

#horacio carrillo x andrea nuñez #narcos fanfiction smut alphabet #nffsmut alphabet #July challenge #colonel horacio carrillo #andrea nuñez #cracked ship #carrillo x angela #narcos #narcos mexico #netflix narcos mexico #i have no reasonable explanation for this #other than ... #the prompt was angry sex #and i was like 🤔 who are the angriest characters in narcos #and these two were the first ones that popped in my brain skfdjsldkj #look imsorryforeverything #i don't even know if i made this shit make sense #but fuck it we ball #also lowkey talked myself into being hot asf for Carrillo #i seriously need to knock it off with that shit skjskkjsdk

[somedaylazysomeday]

Matter of Perspective - Part Two

Horacio Carrillo x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

Rating: Explicit, lemon, etc. Minors DNI!

Word Count: 3,800

Warnings: canon-typical mentions of drugs, bribery, canon-typical fears about safety, conversations about feelings, a heavy makeout session, some language, piv sex.

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

The cave you and Carrillo had investigated hadn’t been the only one with clear signs of activity, nor was it the only one with suspected product still inside. The other cave on the same side of the river also held a stack of suspicious crates. Theirs were hidden slightly better than the ones in your cave had been, but after you had seen the same broken stalactites and too-clean floor, you had known what to look for.

To no one’s shock, the crates had turned out to contain cocaine.

Peña made a few calls back to the previous port and found out that one of the two boats had been delayed due to a personnel problem. When you asked about that, Peña had explained that meant they hadn’t bribed the right person in the right amount. He arranged to keep them occupied for the rest of the day so the team had time to figure out how to proceed.

You had startlingly little to do with that decision. Your role here had been to come along and look for signs that all was not what it seemed. After doing exactly that, you were relegated to an observational role. 

And, since the majority of that role was observing Carrillo, you didn’t mind.

Though Peña had taken up an unofficial leadership role among the DEA agents present, there were far more Colombian Search Bloc members in the group. They answered to Carrillo and no one else, though the colonel was charitable enough to let Peña weigh in on how things should proceed.

In the end, they decided on a simple ‘wait and see’ method. Though your guess about Escobar’s cocaine transportation method had been correct, you still didn’t know how he was getting these shipments downriver without being picked up by Carrillo’s men. 

By the time the sun was beginning to set, a plan had been made. The boat you had traveled on would go downstream, looking for all the world like another transport vessel - one whose cargo was decidedly more legal. In the meantime, the search groups would camp just beyond the treeline. You would be able to observe the caves that had held the crates, but you were essentially invisible to anyone who wasn’t looking extremely closely. 

It was fortunate that you knew how to pitch a tent, you reflected. You had been tossed a tent, a sleeping bag, and an MRE, then directed to set up beyond a line scuffed into the dirt. Anything past that line would be visible from the river and the potential recipient of exploratory gunshots.

You made sure to camp as far from the line as possible that would still let you see the river glittering distantly in the orange of sunset’s glow.

When you ate your pre-packaged meal, you used your knees and the ground in front of your tent as a makeshift table. You smiled between bites, letting the conversation flow around you. It was mostly in Spanish. You didn’t understand every word, but you were delighted by everything you did know.

Soon enough, everyone settled in for the night. The forest was dark, the leaves blocking the light of the moon and the expanse of stars overhead, but it was still a welcome peace compared to the busy city. There was a guard rotation, but only one person at a time sat on the small rock outcropping beyond the treeline since no one expected pickup to happen at night. There was too much that could go wrong on a river at night.

You had settled into your tent, wondering whether it would be worth the effort to remove a layer of clothing for comfort, when you heard your name spoken in a murmur. Before you tugged the flap of the tent back, you knew who you would see: Carrillo had indeed come to continue your earlier encounter.

When he was inside the tent, it seemed dramatically smaller… though you smiled to see that he politely removed his boots rather than track dirt inside.

“We were interrupted earlier,” he reminded you, his voice unusually soft.

“We were,” you agreed, grinning as you admitted, “I’ve thought about you at least once a minute since.”

“Querida, you can’t say things like that,” Carrillo told you. He glanced down briefly. “We did not have much time to speak earlier.”

Your stomach tightened at that, but you stayed quiet.

His dark gaze was intent. “You know I am no longer married, sí?”

“Do you really think I would be here if I thought you had a wife?” you asked, but shook your head before he could answer. The man didn’t know you very well, and it was unfair to ask that. “I’ve heard about your divorce. Office gossip. You know how it is.”

Carrillo nodded, but his frown was deep. “I have not heard anyone discuss my private life.”

“Ah, I forgot that you’re king of the office gossip chain!” you crowed. “No one talks about it in front of you. Not after the way you reacted when Jessica offered her condolences.”

“She should mind her own business,” Carrillo grumbled. He had snapped at Jessica, frightening her so badly that she had burst into tears on the spot. “It was badly handled, but I was struggling at the time.”

You shrugged. “Apologize to her if you feel bad. But yes, I did know about your divorce.”

“And it was only through the office gossip?” he pressed. “Some of my men do believe you to be a spy.”

“A spy?” you repeated, caught somewhere between horrified and intrigued. “Why?”

“You watch me all the time,” he explained. “The men picked up on it. They have their own theories about who you really are and what you know. Truthfully, I thought you were a spy, too.”

“All because I watch you?”

“What other reason could you have?” he asked, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth told you that he now understood your line of reasoning. “It made sense to us. My men thought Escobar paid you to deliver information to him.”

“Did you believe that, too?” you asked, horrified by the idea of being thought a traitor to your shared cause.

“No, but I thought you may have been hired by someone in the government, instructed to keep watch and report back on my actions,” Carrillo admitted. “There was no other reason for you to take such an interest in my actions, and more than one person had asked about the pretty DEA woman who was watching me so closely.”

“Guess I wasn’t as subtle as I thought, then,” you admitted, trying not to be too embarrassed. Then a different, worse thought struck you. “Unless you found out through the office gossip chain?”

“No, they’ve said almost nothing about you other than your apparent relationship with Peña,” Carrillo assured you. “And you’ve told me that isn’t true.”

“Not in the slightest.” You gave him a curious look. “How did you figure me out, then? Not that I don’t think you’d be able to find out about it without getting help or anything. You are good at finding people. I mean, I know you haven’t found Escobar yet, but we will soon. Especially now that we’ve found his caves-”

Carrillo was a cruel man. He had watched you stammer and stutter through that entire explanation without offering more than a skeptical raise of his eyebrow. By the time you cut yourself off, your face was hot and you were thinking uncharitable thoughts about the colonel.

The man himself watched you patiently. “Are you finished?”

“I hope so,” you groaned. “Much more of that and I’d go jump into the river.”

He smiled outright at that and you were struck by how handsome he was when he was doing something other than scowling. Not that he wasn’t handsome when he was scowling…

Fortunately, any threat of an internalized rambling session was decimated when Carrillo cradled your jaw, tilting your head up at the right angle to drop a kiss on your lips. He kissed you once, twice… short, almost chaste pecks that you savored until he delved in for something deeper and far more passionate.

For a man known for his brusque behavior, Carrillo’s kisses were anything but. He seemed to savor each step before moving on to the next, absorbing the sensation of your lips against his before he urged you to part them. When you did, he mapped every part of your mouth, exploring you in a way that made you incredibly eager to see if he did the same with other parts of your body. 

If only your brain would stop itching, you could turn your attention to soaking in this experience.

“Wait,” you pled, pulling away from him even as your body screamed for you to stay. “How did you know?”

It took a moment for him to gather his thoughts, and the dazed look in his sharp eyes made you smile with pleasure and a healthy dose of pride. When he did, the answer was simply, “Peña.”

“Peña?” you repeated, then it hit you that you had been sold out and the name came out once more. This time, it was a growl. “Peña.”

Carrillo nodded. “I spoke with him when we were on the boat after the first cave. He told me to remove my head from my ass.”

Despite yourself, you smiled at that. “Well, someone had to.”

“You had already started to,” he reminded you. “I didn’t completely understand, but the ‘very recently’ comment made me think.”

Ah. Damn your sitcom-inspired internal monologue and the way you couldn’t always contain it. You winced. “I guess that would have given me away pretty quickly even without Peña butting in.”

“Give yourself credit,” Carrillo told you. “It would have taken me longer than I am proud of to realize what you meant.”

“Is it so hard to believe that someone is interested in you?” you asked. You tried to make the question teasing in nature, but the way you were cradling his face in your hand must have undermined that since Carrillo’s eyes went soft.

“Someone? No. You?” He shook his head in amazement. “Very hard to believe. You’re clever and creative. You’re good at what you do and you always manage to see what everyone else misses. Even me, and I’ve been working in this place, with these people longer than you’ve been alive.”

You scoffed openly at that, dropping your hand to push playfully at his shoulder. “You’re maybe a year or two older than me, Coronel, and that’s pushing it.”

He grabbed your hand, bringing it back to his cheek. “Horacio.”

“Horacio,” you repeated, smiling. He smiled back, and you could have sworn his face glowed with it. 

You were the one who initiated the next kiss. You respected the slow start Carrillo had favored with you, but your own patience was lacking after so much time spent wanting this man. Instead of dipping your toe in the proverbial waters, you opted for the cannonball approach. 

Carrillo’s soft noise of surprise when you landed in his lap - mouth coming down on his for a sweeping, eager kiss - only spurred you on further. In a moment, you had raised up further on your knees, getting a better angle to explore the depths of him. As you did that, your hands fumbled at his shirt. Even in casual clothes, his uniform had more closures than you were capable of dealing with while distracted, and he raised an eyebrow when you finally broke apart. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, flicking his eyes down at your hands.

“Trying to get this off,” you explained, frustration thick in your tone. A sudden realization hit and you stopped short. “That is, if you want me to. We can stop if you want-”

“Fuck, no,” he refused instantly. “As long as you want this as well. I am a patient man, querida. I can wait if that’s what you choose.”

“All due respect, Coronel,” you told him, “If we don’t do this now, there’s a good chance you’ll wake up to find me in your tent later tonight. So, your choice. Which would you prefer?”

Carrillo stayed quiet so long that you were worried you had somehow managed to offend him. Given your record with him, it seemed more than likely that you had. When the fear had worked itself into a tight ball in your stomach, you asked, “Horacio?”

“I am thinking,” he said, only then letting you see the humor building in his eyes. “You have given me a difficult choice.”

You shook your head at him, but he still pretended to be thinking. “I think I need both.”

“Let’s see how this goes,” you suggested. Carrillo laughed and the sound was like flying. Your fingers started on his shirt again, neatly angling around the way his fingers were working on your clothing at the same time. 

There were few moments in life that you would consider perfect, especially in a place as torn by violence as Colombia. There were good moments, but to find a moment so flawless that you could happily live inside of it for all time? That was rare. However, you found one of those rare moments in your tent on the banks of the Magdalena River.

It was warm and dim and close in the small cloth structure. The air was full of the rustling of clothing, the smell of Carrillo’s skin, and the crackling hit of anticipation that this was finally going to happen. 

In the fog of that perfect moment, you only remembered bits and pieces. You were kissing Carrillo more often than not and, once you had stripped each other of clothing, your bodies were intertwined just as thoroughly as your lips had been. The night was filled with kissing lips and exploring fingers and stroking tongues, driving each other to a fervor that only increased when Carrillo eased you onto your back.

Your arms were only empty for a moment before he settled on top of you, his weight solid and somehow exciting. Maybe it was because you needed something to ground you in that moment, to remind you that this was real and finally going to happen. Or maybe it was the feeling of the hard length of him against your inner thigh. Who could really say?

“Are you uncomfortable, querida?” Carrillo asked, watching the way you squirmed slightly against the slick outer layer of the sleeping bag beneath you.

“No,” you told him honestly. “But I can think of something that would make me feel even better.”

Carrillo kissed you, his hips moving slightly against your skin. His cock was leaking, and the trail he left on the delicate skin of your thigh felt incredibly cool in the warmth of the tent. Just as you were getting ready to tell him that kissing hadn’t been what you meant, he pulled away, rising on to his knees.

You missed the weight of him instantly and sat up, but he held out a hand, rummaging with the other. When you saw him tearing open a small packet, you understood.

“My, you’re wonderfully prepared, Horacio,” you teased as he finished rolling the condom over himself.

Carrillo glanced at you, wearing an expression that was almost… guilty. “I wasn’t. I haven’t bothered carrying one since before I was married. But, during our conversation earlier, Peña… he wouldn’t stop until I took it.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “He’s such an asshole.”

“Yes,” Carrillo affirmed instantly. “But he’s the reason we’re here, so I can’t be too irritated with him.”

With a hum, you sat back, pulling Carrillo in again. “Let’s make sure he never finds that out, okay?”

“Okay,” he murmured, kissing you once more. “Are you ready?”

“Extremely,” you admitted, arching slightly in hopes of brushing your aching clit against something that could offer some friction. You found his length and pressed yourself against it, your lower lips parting easily with your level of arousal.

Carrillo groaned and pressed you back down with a firm grip on your hips. “Querida…”

He didn’t say anything else, but he pressed the broad head of himself against your center and a soft whine fought its way out of your mouth. “Please, Horacio-”

Carrillo drove himself into you as if he had done it a hundred times, breaching you fully in a few fluid strokes. When his hips were flush with you, he peered down through the gloom, his dark eyes searching your expression for any sign of trouble.

You gave him none, planting your feet against the ground to lift your hips, forcing him further inside of you. When you couldn’t fight it anymore, you let your head tip back, offering a faint, breathy moan at the intensity of having him inside of you. You felt full, stretched deliciously around his cock. He wasn’t even moving and your toes were curling.

When you bucked your hips once more, offering a thrust that would have driven him deeper if there had been any more of his length left outside of you, he seemed to understand your not-so-subtle encouragements.

With a snarl that would have sent you running a week ago, he pinned your hips to the sleeping bag and started a steady, pounding rhythm. 

The feeling of his thickness pulling out and driving back in made your jaw go slack, which gave Carrillo a distinct advantage when he ducked down to seal your mouths in a fiery kiss. His tongue swept through your mouth, invading you just as thoroughly as he was doing in lower places. 

The sounds of good sex filled the tent and you could only spare a single thought toward hoping the canvas muffled the worst of it from anyone who might be walking past outside. Then that brain cell was overtaken with pleasure as Carrillo’s fingers found your breast. Any spare concentration you had was used to keep yourself from making too much noise and letting the whole camp know how you were spending your time.

When Carrillo let you breathe, he shifted the rhythm of his hips. Instead of full-speed thrusts, he moved to slower ones with more force than he had previously used. His hands squeezed your hips, and you panted a little harder at the thought that the dents made by his fingers might develop into bruises. 

You were still bucking your hips up into his, offering a counterstroke that kept the pleasure on a constant build for you - and, you hoped, him. It seemed to work, if you were to guess by the way Carrillo struggled to keep his deliberate rhythm. 

He reached down and snagged your leg just behind the knee, tugging it up and over until it was wrapped around his narrow hips. You could feel the taut cheeks of his ass working against your calf and spared a moment to bemoan the fact that you hadn’t gotten a good grope, but then the colonel changed his movements again.

Instead of pushing himself in, he had done something to direct the motion in and up in a way that was nothing short of devastating. The new motion and the altered position that came from having your leg hoisted over his hips meant that he was hitting your g-spot at a devastating angle. The contact, no matter how slight, left you wide-eyed and open-mouthed under him, your fingernails digging into his shoulders with a strength you didn’t know you had.

“H- Horacio,” you said. It was half a moan and half a warning, filled with passion and need. “I’m-”

“Come, querida,” he ordered. “I want to feel you around me.”

Everything in you drew up tight, preparing to release all of that tension in a flood of endorphins, but you didn’t reach that point alone. Carrillo, excellent man that he was, decided to give you a little push to do as he had told you, his thumb finding your clit and giving it a deliberate press and a little rub.

You jolted like you had been shot and every muscle in your body went rigid. If you had any control over yourself whatsoever, you would have tried to close your mouth, but Carrillo was left to clap a hand over your parted lips. For your part, you tightened another millimeter before exploding like a bomb, breaking apart around the hard length that was still driving into you. Carrillo’s motions only served to draw out your orgasm, the brush of his head over your g-spot sending tiny showers of sparks into the inferno of pleasure.

When you were reaching the end of your orgasm, Carrillo gasped above you, losing his careful rhythm entirely. His hips jerked and jolted against you, sending you into aftershocks that managed to prolong his orgasm the way he had done with yours. 

It felt like an infinite loop: your core would flutter around him, squeezing his length, which made him thrust sharply into you, which made you squeeze him again. It continued that way, the spasmodic motions drawing further apart until Carrillo finally gathered the strength to pull out of you and roll away.

By that point, the tent was almost stiflingly hot, filled with the smell of sex and the sound of two exhausted people trying to catch their breath. 

The silence fell, heavy with potential and meaning. Your heartbeat picked up slightly, worried about what would happen. After all, Carrillo had just gone through a divorce. Yeah, you had been nursing a crush on him for months, but he had thought you were a spy forty-eight hours ago. You needed a way to let him know you weren’t expecting this to turn into anything more than it was. 

A clever remark came to your tired brain, a way to break the tension and make things less serious. You glanced over at him, wearing a small smile, only to find that he was already watching you. There was softness in his eyes, a sweetness in his expression you had never seen him wear before.

Carrillo laced his fingers together with yours and lifted your hand to his mouth. He pressed a long, soft kiss to the back of your palm and you melted. The stupid clever comment died before it could ever be spoken. Instead, you flexed your fingers in Carrillo’s, squeezing his hand slightly. 

You didn’t want to cheapen this, didn’t want to find a way to make this moment less serious. Instead of finding an out on his behalf, you did something unusual for you: you decided to follow his lead in this. 

When you smiled wider at him, Carrillo smiled back, cradling your combined hands to his chest. Whatever he decided he was ready for, you were on-board.

---

Author's Note - Again, my knowledge of the search for Pablo Escobar is limited to what was shown in Narcos. I hope it made sense anyway! I may continue this story, but there are no guarantees.

I don't offer a taglist for NSFW fics, but you can find other works on my masterlist!

#fanfic february #fanfic february 2023 #fanficfebruary #narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos netflix #colonel horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo x you #reader insert #reader insert fic #reader insert smut #lemon #not suitable for minors #minors dni #ink's fics

[artemiseamoon]

Narcos & Narcos Mx: Smut alphabet masterlist

About this writing challenge

Fun fact, I had no plans to do any writing challenges. I hit the wall of burnout last month and finally am feeling mostly ready to be back. I'm easing my way in. I've been reading fics for this, and have some saved for later this month.

There I was, just being a reader and bam, I wrote a one shot. Now I've done a few. Here is the masterlist, you can also find all of them on my narcos & narcos mx masterlist, by name.

✨

Horacio Carrillo

Day: 7/11 ~ Prompts: K, knocked up

Secrets in the night

✨

Enedina Arellano Felix

Day: 7/12 ~ Prompts: L, Luxury, Lingerie

Desire

✨

Judy Moncada

Days: 7/13 ~ Prompts: M, make me forget about him/her/them

Like old times

✨

Javier Peña

Day: 7/10 ~ Prompts: J, Jealousy, “just shut up already”, mirror sex

A bad idea

More to come

David Barron - upcoming

We shouldn’t be doing this

#narcos #narcos mx #narcos smut alphabet #artes masterlist : narcos smut alphabet #horacio carrillo #judy moncada #enedina arellano felix #Javier Peña

[servena-writes-fic]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Narcos (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Horacio Carrillo/Javier Peña Characters: Javier Peña (Narcos), Horacio Carrillo, Steve Murphy (Narcos), Connie Murphy (Narcos) Additional Tags: Swimming Pools, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, One-Sided Attraction, Attraction, Missing Scene, Swimming, Summer Vacation, Javier Being Thirsty Summary:

What started out as a work trip to track down a narcotraficante in hiding has de facto turned into a mini vacation.

--------------------------------------------

In my defense: I was on vacation, and our hotel had a pool. Also my friend forced me to write this.

#narcos #javier peña #horacio carrillo #ao3 #my works #horacio carrillo/javier peña #one-sided attraction #no smut #maurice compte

[tropes-and-tales]

Ten Months as Yours

Colonel Horacio Carrillo x F!Reader

CW:  Angst (reader is CIA and has feelings about it; failed first marriages; talk of Catholicism); smut (oral, m! and f! receiving; PiV, unprotected); 18+ only.

Word Count:  10,951

AN:  This was from an "Arranged Marriage" prompt list. An anon asked for it, and it was supposed to incorporate dates where the couple gets to know each other. I, an idiot, didn't remember that until nearly the end, but if you kind of squint, you can see it.

AN2: Not edited. Not even a little bit.

AN3: Sigh. I dunno, folks. It's whatever.

Horacio Carrillo’s first marriage was standard Catholic fare:  the reading of the banns beforehand, then the long wedding Mass.  Heavy on the incense, crowded church, a red-faced priest droning through the Gospel.  Juliana, his blushing bride in a heavy lace veil, clutching a bouquet of lilies already wilted and brown at the edges in the Colombian heat.

Then, years later, the dissolution of that marriage.  Papers signed separately in the presence of lawyers after an ice age formed between the couple.  Then more years of Horacio being single again, but the time slipped by like water.  He was so busy with work, he hardly registered the empty house he returned to every evening.

Horacio Carrillo’s second marriage is something else entirely.

It’s not, strictly or spiritually speaking, a real marriage.  It’s a bit of maneuvering on the  part of the U.S. government, logistical choreography as part of a larger plan.  To the world at large, Horacio Carrillo is dead:  murdered by Escobar’s men in a trap.  Only a handful of people know the truth—the doctor and nurses at the American hospital who healed him under a temporary alias.  And this man, Johnson, a U.S. Marshal and handler for the U.S. Witness Protection program

Johnson is the sole witness to this so-called marriage, if one could even call it that.  It happens on the cargo plane from Bogota to Atlanta.  Johnson sits in the jump seat across from his two charges:  Horacio…and you.

Horacio doesn’t even learn your real name.  There’s no exchange of vow and certainly no incense or bouquet of lilies.  Instead of a blushing bride, there’s a silent one.  Your mouth is set in a thin, straight line as you listen to Johnson’s rundown of your new life, and every time Horacio chances a look at you, he only sees the tension in you.  Grim-set mouth, clenched jaw…and the white edge of a bandage on your temple, mostly hidden under the sweep of your hair.

Horacio wonders if you’re dead to the world too.  You aren’t DEA or CIA, at least not in the Colombian theater, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t nearby.  The U.S. agencies have their sticky fingers all over South America.

The broad strokes of the situation:  you and Horacio are newlyweds.  You met in Spain and are returning to the U.S.  Horacio is dead, but he’s been replaced by Davide, and Johnson hands over a thick packet of official documents—Spanish birth certificate, Spanish passport, U.S. green card. 

You are also dead, but you’ve been replaced by Gwen.  Another thick packet of documents detailing your fake life as an ex-pat American in Spain.

Each packet also contains a simple gold band for each of you.  Horacio turns it over and over in his hand, contemplates the little twist he gets in his gut to put a ring back on his finger after years of being divorced.

You slide yours on too, but you fuss with it the rest of the flight, twisting it around and around your finger.

“You’re going to Vermont, of all places,” Johnson tells you.  “There’s a mid-sized college there with a lot of international folk coming and going, so you’ll blend in.  The house is handled, and you’ll get a stipend every month, but we expect you to find jobs as quickly as you can.”

Johnson doesn’t even attempt to say how long it will be.  Horacio knows he has to wait out Escobar before he can return to Colombia.  You?  Who can say?

The rest of the flight is silent except for the low roar of the engines and the creak of the netting holding the cargo in place.  Once you land, you stand and follow Johnson and Horacio off of the plane to transfer to a smaller passenger plane that will take you to Vermont.

The final leg of the journey is silent too.

When you deplane in the small regional airport in Vermont, you stumble on the step down from the fuselage.  Horacio catches your arm, keeps you upright.

“Watch your step,” he says softly.

“Thank you,” you reply.

It’s the first words you exchange, and his hand on your clothed arm—that’s the first time he touches you.

-----

Horacio has never been to the United States before, but when he thinks of it, he thinks of what he’s seen in the movies:  New York City, perhaps, with the traffic and skyscrapers and Statue of Liberty.  Or Miami with its white beaches and turquoise water and neon-tinged nightlife.

Vermont is something else.

It’s green.  Everything is so green.  The rounded mountains in the distance, the old trees with huge, spreading branches.  The grass of the lawns in this college town.  Even though it is near twilight, even the shadows are green-tinged as the sun sets.

“At least we arrived in the spring,” you say.  You glance at him, explain that New England winters can be brutal.

The house is small, trim.  It’s a simple ranch but well-built.  There’s a fair amount of land, and the nearest neighbors are far enough away that there’s privacy.

Of course it’s awkward.  You don’t know each other at all, and you’re both in hiding.  Horacio is out of habit with living with another person, and he has to guess you are too.

That first night, the first moment of awkwardness:  when you arrive at the house, there’s two bedrooms, and you both hesitate in the hallway that leads to both.  You’re married on paper (kinda) but who would expect you to share a bed?  But you’re also both exhausted, and Horacio takes in the dark circles under your eyes.  The larger room has a full-sized bed, but the guest only has an uncomfortable-looking daybed.

“Take the master bedroom,” he says.  “I’ll take the guest room.”

“You sure?”  Your words, Horacio notices, are slightly accented, like you’ve been around people like him who speak English as a second language.  He wonders about your past and what landed you here with him.

“Of course.  Take the room.  We’ll talk in the morning.”

You nod, and he glances down at where you twist that gold band over and over around your slim finger.  It’s here, he’ll realize later, that he starts to feel something for you, but at the moment, it’s only sympathy.  You’re trapped in the same miserable situation as him, so sympathy is an easy emotion to access.

“I appreciate it…Davide,” you reply, and you give him a nod, then turn in for the night.  He hears the quiet click of the bedroom door as you shut it, and he turns in too.  The daybed is cramped, and he can’t stretch out completely, but he’s so bone-tired that he’s asleep the minute his head hits the pillow.

-----

The first month, April. 

It’s awkward.  It’s more awkward for Horacio; everything in the U.S. is familiar, but just different enough to make it seem like he’s dreaming.  You’re already an American, and life in an idyllic New England college town is easier for you to settle into.

Living with another person is strange.  Horacio finds that the two of you engage in a civil, stilted dance each day that first month.  You each tiptoe around the other, defer to each other in a painfully polite way.  When Horacio catches you singing along softly to the radio one night, you snap the music off and go quiet.  When you walk in on him in the bathroom once—he was only brushing his teeth, so it is hardly salacious—you apologize and refuse to meet his eyes for the rest of the week.

The two of you don’t really talk, not that first month.  You aren’t supposed to share details about your real lives with each other, so neither of you know how to converse in the weird liminal space you find yourselves.  Your conversations are limited to menial topics.  The weather, the house and yard, what you each want for dinner that night.  You trade off chores, you drift around each other, and it’s like living in purgatory with another ghost.

Sometimes, Horacio swears he can hear you crying softly through the wall that separates your room from his, but you never offer any insight into your feelings and he doesn’t ask.

-----

The second month, May.

Johnson told each of you to find work, and you land a job first:  you get a position at the college.  You ask him, a bit shy, if you can take a certain portion of the monthly stipend to buy some new clothes for your office job, and Horacio’s gut does that twist again.  Of course you need new clothes.  You left wherever with nothing, the same way he left Colombia with nothing.

“Of course,” he says.  “You don’t even need to ask.”

That makes you smile a little, and you make a weak joke about not wanting to be the sort of wife to spend frivolously.  It makes Horacio chuckle.  It breaks the uneasy tension in the house a bit, and he ends up going to the mall with you that weekend as you shop.

There’s nothing like a mall to encapsulate American culture, and Horacio tries to play it cool at the conspicuous consumption on display.  The giant building, the icy air conditioning, the cacophony of sound echoing around the marble floors and walls.  There’s so many people and only a handful of security guards.  When Horacio studies them closer, he sees that they don’t even carry guns—they only have walkie-talkies as they saunter around at a lazy pace.

His life now is a far cry from his life as the leader of the Search Bloc.  And when he glances over at the woman walking beside him, he realizes how far this second marriage is from his first.

But the thought leads to him ruminating about his first marriage and all the little ways he failed Juliana.  This situation with you isn’t a marriage, of course, but it doesn’t stop him from wanting to be better.

So once you are done shopping, he pulls you into the Sam Goody and insists that you buy an album to celebrate.  He catches you singing all the time in the house, listening to the radio, humming or singing along.  When he imagines your mysterious life before now, he imagines an apartment filled with a big stereo and shelves of albums.

“Seriously?”  It makes you smile again, and Horacio thinks you have a nice smile, though he wonders how often people ever get to see it.

“Well, it’s our stipend,” he clarifies.  “It’s not like I’m treating you, really.  I guess it’s not really a gift if it’s ours.”

Another smile, and he stands back and watches as you rifle through the stacks of vinyl records and CD’s, as you pull one out and read the list of songs, then replace it.  You finally settle on one, and the two of you check out, and Horacio pulls out his wallet and pays.

And even if it’s your shared stipend, you thank him and smile again, and it feels like something that he can’t quite name.

-----

The third month, June.

You leave the house every weekday for work.  Horacio finally has some firsthand knowledge of what Juliana must have felt when he left each day.  He had always prided himself that he was able to provide for both of them, that she never had to work. 

He had never considered how bored she must have been.

He wakes up early out of habit, but you do too.  In the soft pre-dawn light, you go out for a run every day.  Part of him remains Search Bloc; he stands at the living room window and watches for you until you return, panting, your t-shirt ringed with sweat.  He finds he can breathe easier once you’re in sight. 

While you shower and dress, Horacio makes you coffee.  The two of you sip at your coffee in companionable silence, and then you’re off.

It leaves him with a full day with little to do.

He cleans the house, but that takes no time at all because both of you are fastidious and neat anyway.  He maintains the lawn, trims back the unruly rhododendrons.  He bought a weight bench and a set of free weights from a yard sale a few weeks after you moved, and he spends some time lifting in the garage.

That takes him to noon, if he’s lucky.

His afternoons are when he thinks of Juliana the most.  Is this what her life with him was like?  Back then, he used to scoff at the claim that women needed a life outside of the home.  His mother had seemed happy to be a housewife and mother, and he had always assumed that Juliana was the same.  Except the children never came, and Juliana had a degree in fashion design from the university—yet when she broached the idea of a job or even an internship, Horacio had dissuaded her.

He had thought he was being a good husband.  Now, as he sits and drowses to “Days of Our Lives,” he wonders how he had missed the obvious.

But if he’s Juliana in this situation, you are no Horacio.  For one thing, you return home in the late afternoon—he’s never left to eat dinner alone in a too-quiet house.  For another, you immediately kick off your shoes and pad over to where he’s cooking dinner, and you fall into an easy rhythm of helping him finish it off.

Halfway through June, you get comfortable enough to start calling out, “honey, I’m home!” each time you return.

Which makes him smile, every time.

And he’s only a passable cook, but you praise every meal he puts in front of you.  You joke once, say “I should have gotten a husband a long time ago,” and that makes him smile even wider, and it is easy to fall into the fantasy that this easy domesticity is real.  The fantasy only falls apart at night, when you each retire to your separate rooms, as you do every night.

-----

The fourth month, July.

The easy domesticity cedes to something deeper and darker right at the start of the month.

Horacio has never been to the U.S. before, so he hasn’t experienced the usual Independence Day celebrations.  When he asks, you grin and tell him that a good old-fashioned U.S.-style barbecue might be nice, and that’s what the two of you plan.  You and Horacio as Davide and Gwen:  patriotic Americans.

The day starts off great.  The weather is hot and humid enough to feel like Colombia, and Horacio will admit that you look nice in your cut-off shorts and cotton tank top.  He will admit that if you were really his wife, he might never even make it to lunchtime before taking advantage of a quiet house set apart from its neighbors.

The barbecue is nice.  It’s all-American fare:  hot dogs and hamburgers, corn on the cob steamed over hot coals.  You buy an apple pie from a nearby farm stand, and you also make some trifle type dessert, and the two of you wash it all down with ice-cold beer.  By the time dusk rolls around and lightning bugs start to flicker across the lawn, Horacio is pleasantly buzzed.

The town puts on a fireworks display, and as the sky turns a velvety black, the light show starts.  Your house is in the perfect place to see it, slightly set on a ridge, and blossoms of red and white and blue sparks explode across the sky.  Horacio, tipsy, watches the first few minutes, completely mesmerized…but when he turns to say something to you, he finds you missing.

He finds you in the house.  More specifically, he finds you in the bathtub, hugging your knees to your chest, forehead pressed to knees.

“Gwen?” he says, and he feels stupid saying the obviously fake name, but he doesn’t know your real one.

You don’t answer anyway, and he steps into the bathroom.  Studies you closer.  Sees that you are shaking, and between the muffled booms of the fireworks, he can hear your panting breath.

He moves without any real thought.  He knows—or can guess, at least—at what is happening to you.  Horacio has led enough men through enough battles to recognize a panic attack when he sees one, but you aren’t one of his men and this is no battle, so he puts a gentle hand on your shoulder to alert you that he’s there.  Then he climbs into the bathtub with you.

“Scoot forward a little,” he orders softly, and you do.  He maneuvers himself behind you, then pulls you closer to him.  Your back pressed against his chest, and his arms wrapped around you, he holds you close despite the heat and humidity of the day. 

“Just breathe with me.”  He takes a deep, slow breath, feels his chest push against you.  He does it again and again, and after a long while, you start to mimic him. 

The fireworks end, and eventually you stop trembling.  Tucked this close to him, Horacio can see the edge of a thick scar disappearing under your hair, and he remembers the bandage on the plane from Bogota.

He wonders if the moment that caused that scar is linked to this moment now. 

After you calm, and after you sheepishly untangle yourself from him, he urges you to do whatever you need to.  To take a cool shower or go to bed.  That he’ll clean up.  You gaze back at him a long moment, like you’re trying to decide something, and then you nod.  You leave the bathroom and disappear into your bedroom, and he hears that quiet click of the door closing.

The rest of the month is uneasy.  The panic attack seems to have dredged up the muck in your past, the trauma of a life that has resulted in you being in Witness Protection, injured enough at some point to have a thick scar on your head.

Something about this feels like an echo from his first marriage.  Juliana went silent on him too, but for different reasons.  Your silence is driven by an inner turmoil that he can only guess at, and he feels powerless to help.

So he only does what he can.  He makes you coffee each morning before work.  He makes you dinner each night.  He asks gentle, tame questions about your work day, and when you don’t have much to say in that quarter, he tells you that day’s drama on “Days of Our Lives.”

“Stefano DiMera is back,” he tells you one night.  “And Marlena is possessed by el Diablo.”

That’s the sole smile he is able to coax from you all month.  You pick at the dinner he made, pushing it around with the tines of your fork, and repeat, “the Devil?”

Horacio nods.

“Like, Lucifer the Devil?”

“Yes.”

You smile.  “That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

He nods again, smiles back at you.  “It really is.”

-----

The fifth month, August.

Horacio finds a job with a state nursery, and when he applies, he nearly despairs at the cliché of it:  a South American immigrant becoming a landscaper. 

But it’s not landscaping at all.  It’s a quiet, peaceful job.  The summer interns have already left for the year, so Horacio is hired on to help the old-timer, Lawrence.  Lawrence has a thick Yankee accent, says little, but Horacio finds the job a revelation.  He walks the rolling grounds and checks on the saplings that will one day be planted across the state.  They’ll go into parks and line city streets, and it knocks something loose in him.  A job where he’s nurturing life that will potentially live on long after him.  The oak sapling he waters and feeds today could live hundreds of years when he’ll be long forgotten. 

With him working now, you and Horacio switch off on meals.  You teach him how to use the most American of small appliances, the slow cooker.  You make him the most American of working class meals, the one-pot dish.  He makes you the comfort food from his childhood, and together you find an egalitarian balance.

But something about July and your low mental health…it makes Horacio want to do better.  Who knows how long the two of you will end up living like this?  He wants to understand you better, and he wants you to know him, because the two of you exist as the sole inhabitants of this weird, unlikely life as Davide and Gwen.

“Let’s each say one true thing about ourselves,” he proposes over dinner one night.  He’s bone-tired from work—he spent the day mulching rows and rows of tender little Eastern Hemlocks (and he knows the difference now between them and a balsam fir and a spruce).  You look tired too, but at his suggestion, your eyes light up.  Maybe you’ve been wanting some familiarity with him too and just were waiting on him to suggest it first.

So August is this:  getting to know each other.  Dumb stuff, usually.  Favorite colors, favorite songs, favorite foods.  Most embarrassing memory.  Best memory.  Age of first kiss. 

-----

The sixth month, September.

The weather starts to turn.  The nights grow cold, and the leaves transform from all that green to a riot of reds and yellows and oranges.  Work at the nursery slows way down, and Horacio spends long hours following Lawrence’s lead, which means an hour or two of paperwork, then lunch, then quietly reading a book at his desk.

You’re busy with the new academic year, but the weekends are spent doing day trips.  You’re six months into this, and you’re both braver, more willing to travel afield.  You go into the mountains to look at the leaves from a different angle than what you see from your house.  You go to pick apples, and you spend a weekend cooking them into pies, cobblers, and apple sauce.

The dinner-time “one true thing” game ends, and it turns into natural conversation.  It’s so comfortable now.  You chat and laugh and joke, and sometimes he teases you, and it makes you duck your head to hide your pleased smile.  You like being teased, Horacio finds.  You like being the butt of gentle jokes, so he obliges you as often as he dares. 

It’s a revelation to find that he has a sense of humor after all.

Over one dinner, he mentions his first marriage, his first wife.  You ask him questions, and he answers them honestly, and then he asks if you’ve ever been married.

“No.”  You shake your head to emphasize the point. 

“Ever engaged?”

You hesitate, then nod.  “Yes.  A long time ago.”

“What happened?”

You shrug, lifting one shoulder up before dropping it back down.  “Life.  Expectations.  It’s hard to say.”  You take a sip of your water, then settle your gaze somewhere past Horacio, like you’re looking at the specter of your failed engagement.

“I was young and very career-driven,” you add.  “And not many men want that in a wife.”

“I’m sorry.”  He is, of course, and he’s doubly-sorry because he was arguably one of those men.  He kept Juliana at home, stifled her own career aspirations.  A flush of shame courses through him at the memory of his own failings.

Another shrug.  “It was for the best.”

“And now here you are, married to me,” he teases, and yes—you duck your head, but he catches the shy little grin, the curve of your cheek as you smile at the joke.

-----

The seventh month, October.

It’s the first time you’ve actually ordered him to do anything, so Horacio finds himself busy each weekend, decorating the house for Halloween.  There’s ghosts strung in the trees in the front yard.  Fake gravestones jut from the lawn like rotting teeth.  Purple and orange lights are strung around the windows and banisters of the porch, and the two of you set to carving more pumpkins than Horacio thought possible.

But it’s worth it, because your town goes all out for the holiday.  You bought him a costume weeks ago, and when he dresses after dinner, he’s surprised to find you openly checking him out.  Your gaze sweeps from the hair on the top of his head—longer than Search Bloc reg, curling at the nape of his neck—to his shoes, and you take in his vampire costume.

“You look handsome,” you tell him, and he tries not to ogle you in turn and utterly fails, because you’re dressed up like a witch but the black dress hugs your curves, and the ridiculous hat, complete with a floppy brim, does nothing to detract from how sexy you look.

Horacio finds himself sitting on the front porch with you, handing out candy to the children that come by.  And it charms him, how much you get into it, how you guess at what each child is supposed to be.  You read the kids perfectly—you’re sweet with the scared little ones, but you play up the witchiness with the older ones, crooking your fingers and cacking at them.

When there’s a lull in the crowd at one point, he catches you as you shiver, so he pulls you close to him and wraps his cloak around your shoulder.  He never touches you much, but this is blatant, and the moment feels heavy with intent.

You lean into him.  A moment later, he feels your arm wend its way around his waist, under his cloak, so he holds you closer.

The evening continues like that.  The two of you play it up more and more, comfortable with pretending.  Not you and Horacio, and not Davide and Gwen, but a vampire and a witch, and the more you cackle and scare the children, the more Horacio flashes his fake teeth and hisses at them. 

Who ever knew handing out candy in a cheap drugstore costume could be so fun?

When another lull happens, he pulls you back to him, and the motion takes you off balance a little.  You hold him back but lean away from him, searching for your equilibrium, and it bares the smooth column of your neck to him.

Horacio forgets himself.  Davide forgets himself.  The vampire he’s pretending to be dips his head, and he presses the plastic points of his fake teeth into your pulse point, and you give a squeal of surprise, but when Horacio lifts his head to study you, he sees you staring back at him, your eyes wide and dark with obvious desire.

“That’s a good way to get a hex on you,” you warn, but there’s a smile on your red lips, and you don’t release your own hold on him.  You don’t shove him away.

“I enjoy a good hex,” he replies. 

The stream of children eventually dies off.  The bowl of candy has been replenished multiple times, but you fill it one last time and set it on the porch for any stragglers. 

Inside the house, you go from room to room and check the locks on the doors, turn off the lights.  Horacio lingers near the hallway, and when you turn to make your way to your room, he stills you.  He puts his hand on your waist, lightly, and he doesn’t say anything.  The moment hangs suspended as you both stand there, silent.

What does it mean for Horacio Carrillo to take you to bed? 

He has always tried to be a good Catholic (the killing of narcos aside).  He’s never been with anyone other than Juliana, and he feels a tinge of doubt.  Guilt, too.  He’s always prided himself on his fidelity, and post-divorce, he took a perverse pride in the fact that he never took a lover.  That he still honored his vows despite the legal fact that he was no longer married.

He doesn’t mourn Juliana anymore, and he knows that something is growing between the two of you now, but what does it mean?  Would it be right to sleep with you, knowing that this is just circumstantial?  That it may end at any moment?  That if you both weren’t in WitSec, you’d have never met, and might have never liked each other if you had?

Is this thing growing between the two of you only the result of being flung together by circumstances out of your control?

All of those questions rapid-fire through his head, and you seem to see the doubt in his eyes because the moment deflates.  The energy and anticipation sour, and he sees it on your face.  Your soft smile falls, and then you nod to yourself, as if you knew it would happen like this.

Then you smile again, thank him softly for his help handing out candy.  You stretch towards him and brush the lightest of kisses against his cheek, and you step around him to go to your room.

When Horacio goes to bed, it takes him a long time to fall asleep, and he swears you must be awake too, separated only by the wall between you.

-----

The eighth month, November.

Your department at the university puts on a wine and cheese social, and spouses are encouraged to attend.

“We never really practiced our cover story,” he says as he bends over to tie his dress shoes.  “Do you remember all of it?”

“I have a eidetic memory.”

“Yeah?”  He glances up at you.  “You’re full of surprises.”

“Don’t sweat it.  It’s a bunch of tenured professors.  They love to talk about themselves and nothing else.  They are all narcissists of the worse variety.”

But you aren’t entirely correct.  The party is at the house of the department chair, and Horacio finds himself cornered by a pair of fellow lecturers.  They are older women, charming and gregarious, and they sing your praises…and his own.

“I can see why she’s kept you hidden away,” says the taller of the two.  “She said you were handsome but—”

“You make a gorgeous couple,” the shorter one cut in.  “And she’s brilliant, you know, she planned out this—”

On and on they go, cutting each other off, redirecting each other, not letting Horacio get a word in edgewise.  It’s not far off base from how you explained it would go, and when he catches your eye from across the room, you smile but mouth, “you okay?”

He nods, smiles back at you. 

The evening is halfway over when he realizes with a start that he hasn’t cased the room once. 

He hasn’t counted the exits and windows, hasn’t studied the egresses and any obstacles to them.  He hasn’t scowled at each face to try and determine what dirty secret they held, if Escobar or one of his men had compromised them or their family.  He hasn’t studied the lines of their clothing to see who might be hiding a piece.

What does it mean for Horacio Carrillo to lose his edge? 

It’s another question he ponders at night, since the minor disaster of Halloween.  He knows he hurt you by hesitating in that moment in the hallway, but it’s a subtle hurt.  He can see it in your eyes each morning, the way they study his face as if you could perhaps read his thoughts if you watch him closely enough. 

More and more, these questions plague him because there’s no easy answers.  Horacio is used to solving problems, but he’d be the first to admit that many of his solutions were just brute force.  Displays of power.  The Search Bloc has a problem?  Send in men, armed men, men with guns and night-sticks, men with flint in their souls, men with hearts cased in granite.  Send in Colonel Carrillo himself to a clandestine meeting place where a suspect is strung up.  What’s a little light torture and murder when the fate of a country hangs in the balance?

That man is dead now.  Horacio Carrillo received a state funeral, and his empty coffin lies in the mausoleum.  Davide, his replacement, spent the week wrapping tender saplings in burlap in anticipation for the coming snows—all the while considering his place in the greater world and what his legacy may be.

At the end of the evening, Horacio finds you, brings you your coat, holds it out while you shrug your way into it.  When the two of you leave, you pass the pair of lecturers who had cornered him, and their exchange is like a Greek chorus that follows him home.

“He is handsome, isn’t he?” says one.  “She’s a lucky woman.”

The other one scoffs lightly.  “He’s the lucky one.”

You must not hear them because you don’t react.  You only let him lead you to the car, and when he brushes away the light dusting of snow with the snow brush, his eyes find yours through the windshield—and you smile at him.

-----

The ninth month, December.

The university shuts down for most of the month, and Horacio is on an abbreviated schedule a the nursery. 

The two of you have so much time together.

Horacio has seen snow before, but never like this.  Vermont, so green when he arrived, is swaddled in thick layers of white like cotton batting.  It absorbs and reflects sounds in weird ways, and a hush falls over your little home.

Being Colombian, he should hate it.  He should curse the cold and the snow and the quiet, but it does something to his soul.  It soothes him in a way he never would have guessed.  True, the cold is difficult at first, but you take him to the mall one weekend and load him up with sweaters and thick woolen socks, and he’s better after that.

Everything is so calm.  Peaceful.  Horacio has never slept so well in his life, bundled under layers of blankets, even on the uncomfortable daybed.  He sleeps, he doesn’t dream, and he wakes up naturally, in slow measure, to a soft light creeping across his bedroom floor.

Being on break, you still wake up early.  Earlier than him, some days, and when Horacio wakes to the scent of brewing coffee and something delicious baking in the oven, he wishes sometimes that this was the afterlife.  He wants to freeze the moment in time and never let it slip past him.  He wants nothing more, in this moment.

He’s always half-asleep those mornings, but the smell of food draws him out.  One morning, he pads out to the kitchen in his thick socks and startles you when he grumbles “good morning.”  You shriek, then swear, then lightly try to swat him with the spatula in your hands, but he’s still half-asleep, still incredulous that this is his life at the moment, and he takes the spatula from you and pulls you into a big bear hug.

“What’s this for?” you ask.  Your words are muffled against his chest, but after a beat, you wrap your arms around his midsection and hug him back.

“Just because,” he replies.

You spend your days doing puzzles, reading, listening to music.  You watch “Days of Our Lives” with him and you both laugh at the bad cosmetics and even worse acting on the demonic possession storyline.

Your evenings are spent cooking dinner together.  You make the trip into town every few days, and you rent movies and watch them too.  You watch everything together—old Hollywood classics, campy horror, meandering romances.  The two of you sit on the couch side by side, and it takes all of a day before you’re tucked in against his side, his arm firm around your shoulders.

Sometimes he glances down at you and sees your face in profile lit by the flickering light of the television.  Sometimes he can make out the edge of your scar, but he doesn’t linger there.  Instead he takes in the whole of your face—the curve of your cheek, the sweep of your lashes as you blink.  When something funny happens on the screen, you smile, and it makes Horacio’s heart stutter in his chest to see it.

What does it mean for Horacio Carrillo to fall in love?

Another question to ponder.  Another riddle to solve.  He’s losing sight of the man he was.  Maybe that man is completely lost already.  The thought doesn’t unnerve him; he thinks he likes the man he is here.  He likes the man he is with you, the job that coaxes life into being instead of snuffing it out.  He likes wearing cable-knit sweaters and thick socks and eating the banana bread you bake on mornings you don’t have to work. 

He likes sitting on the couch with you and watching a rental VHS of “Beetlejuice.”  He likes the feel of your body pressed against his, and he likes looking down to see you smile.

That’s the night he dares ask for more.

After the movie, you do your usual pre-bedtime sweep of the house—locks, lights—then brush your teeth and go to your room.  The usual quiet click of your door closing.  Horacio, as usual, goes to his room, peels back the layers of blankets, prepares to tuck himself into the cramped bed….then doesn’t.

Instead, he returns to the hallway.  He taps a finger on your door, a soft staccato, and he hears you call out, “Davide?”

“Yes.”

You tell him to come in, and you’re sitting up in bed.  Your eyebrows are furrowed together. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He shakes his head.  How can he begin to explain it?  He’s fluent in English, Spanish, and Portuguese, and his Italian is passable, yet not a single language he knows can capture the maelstrom of emotions roiling through him.  He loves you, he wants you.  He’s afraid you don’t feel the same for him.  He’s afraid you do feel the same for him.  Is this just situational or are you truly the woman he was meant for all along?  Has he gone mad?  Is this some tame mental breakdown, the result of coming close to death and then finding himself, improbably, in Vermont with a woman who also was near death? 

From your “one true thing” game, he knows you’re a polyglot too—English and Spanish and Russian—but that shake of his head to your question seems to transcend the need for language.  You seem to read it exactly, the turmoil in him, and you climb out of bed slowly, make your way over to where he stands by the door.

You reach down and take his hands in yours, and the touch bolsters him.  Reassures him.  He’s Horacio and Davide both, and you’re both Gwen and yourself, and he doesn’t need to parse the two.  He can be both with you.  You’re both complicated people with complicated pasts, but none of it matters right now because the world is swathed in layers of snow, and the two of you are the only two who exist in it.

Neither of you say much else for the rest of the night.  When you turn your head to peer up at him, Horacio tilts his head to kiss you, and it’s like a bolt of lightning when he does.  Maybe he fell in love with you by small moments, but this is the moment that seals it forever:  this first kiss, his mouth on yours, writes your name—your real name, even if he doesn’t know it—on his heart like a line of fire.

You each lead the other back to bed; you tug him, he pushes you, and you fall gracelessly back on the rumpled covers, but each kiss, each searching touch peels back another layer of reserve.  Horacio slides his hand under your shirt and cups the softness of your breasts, pinches lightly at your hardened buds.  You slip your hand under the waistband of his flannel pajamas and grasp his growing erection, stroke it into full hardness as he groans into your mouth.

There’s no art to it.  No seduction.  You’re both starving for each other, ravenous, and you both kiss the other as you each strip out of your layers.  He kisses down your neck, nips at your pulse point like he did on Halloween.  He licks against the hollow at the base of your throat, draws the sweetest goddamned moans out of you, then returns to kiss you, to lick against the inside of your mouth so he can feel the sounds you’re making too.

If he’d known how vocal you were in bed, he would have summoned his courage months ago.

Your mouth is on him too.  It’s another line of fire, each press of your lips on his bare skin.  He finds himself on his back and you astride him.  He reaches up to touch your bared breasts, but you don’t even notice because you lean down, focused only on him.  Your mouth on his neck, along his stubbled jaw.  You kiss his collarbones, his chest.  You bite lightly against his nipples, your teeth making him huff at the sensation, and then your warm tongue laving him.  Further down, a trail of kisses across his belly, which is less firm than it was in his Search Bloc days but you make a pleased noise as your mouth places wet, lingering kisses there.

Then even lower, and this is uncharted territory.  Love-making with Juliana was only ever for the purpose of making children, and while Horacio had convinced her a time or two to go down on her in the interest of foreplay, he never has received head in his life.  Juliana had called it dirty, and he had left it at that.

He doesn’t even register it until he feels your hand grasp him at the root of his cock, then feels the smallest, most kittenish little lick of your tongue against his leaking tip.

“Dios,” he groans out, and then he feels the rest:  your tongue tracing a pattern along the length of him, then a teasing rhythm where you work him into your mouth.  First just the tip.  You lavish him with attention there, suckling against the most sensitive part of him, lapping up the pre-cum that leaks from him.  Then more and more and more; you work him into your warm, wet mouth, and he feels your breath tickling against his groin, feels you breathing carefully through your nose as you take him as far as you can, and then you swallow against him, you hum against him, and it’s nothing like he’s ever felt before.  You press your tongue against the underside of him and you hollow your cheeks, and when your warm palm reaches up to lightly fondle his balls, Horacio’s orgasm breaks around him like a tidal wave.  His hips judder once, twice, and he thinks he warns you, but you don’t move.  You only hold yourself there, and when he comes, you swallow every drop of him, and he wishes he could explain this feeling to Juliana:  that it doesn’t feel dirty at all.  It feels like a sacrament.  That it feels like love.

It's only fair that he shows you his love for you in turn.

Once he recovers, he flips you onto your back and repays you in kind.  He kisses his way down your naked body, makes a note of all the spots that you moan at.  Make a note too of all the scars that speak to a life a lot like his was in Colombia.  He kisses your scars, presses his lips to each raised ridge as if he can take away any lingering pain.

Then he settles between your legs.  There’s no shyness he can detect; you spread your thighs eagerly for him.  You allow him to put a pillow under your hips to tilt your pelvis into a more agreeable angle.

He’s not especially skilled at this.  The handful of times with Juliana had been a race against the clock—a sprint to coax her to orgasm before she gripped his hair and made him stop.  There’s no clock now, so he takes his time.  He settles your legs on his shoulders and he bends his head to your gorgeous pussy, and he takes his time.

He licks against your folds, then reaches down to part them with his fingers.  Licks a slow, tortuous route from the firm bud of your clit to your entrance.  Over and over and over until you squirm underneath him—then he slides a finger into your clenching heat, then another, then a third, and he feels how your pussy twitches against the intrusion, how you grab against his fingers like you’re trying to pull him deeper into you. 

He fingers you in a lazy rhythm, and he circles his tongue against your clit.  That does something for you; you whine out a curse, and a moment later your hand is on his head, your fingers tugging against his hair, so he purses his lips, suckles against your clit, and that turns your whine into a wail.

He wishes he could tell Juliana this too, that this isn’t dirty either.  When you come, he feels a flush of pride at drawing pleasure from your body—your thighs tight against his head, your pussy clamped down on his fingers, and the slick cum that pulses from you, that coats his tongue and lips in the taste of you.

He’s hard again, but he wouldn’t press his luck.  This is more than he ever dared hope for.  He’d be happy to curl up with you now, to fall asleep beside you, but when he lifts his head from where he’s perched between your thighs, he sees you gazing back at him.

“Please,” is all you say, and he knows what you’re asking for because he wants it to.

If there’s an argument about this being two people pushed together because of circumstances beyond their control, there’s also an argument about the two of you fitting together so well.  Because you do.  Your body seems like it was made for his; you fit together like two jagged puzzles pieces.  Horacio settles over you, lowers his body onto yours, and it’s like magic:  his cock bumps against your inner thigh, but he moves half an inch and he finds your wet heat, and then he’s pushing into you, feeling your feverish flesh part and mold to the shape of him, and then your legs are around his waist, holding him to you as he bottoms out inside you.

He stills for a long moment.  He’s unable to move.  It’s not because he’s afraid he’ll come too soon but because he’s afraid he might cry.  Horacio Carrillo is not a man who cries (maybe Davide is), but gazing down at your face, seeing the stunned love written in your expression, he nearly cries at how lucky he feels.  How blessed.  That shootout in the Medellín alley should have killed him, yet here he is.

Eventually, you give him the faintest of nods, and he starts to move.  He’s gentle at first.  He warms you up to the feel of him, and him to you.  You lay one hand on the side of his face, cupping his cheek as he thrusts into you, but the other hand settles over his heart.

He could love you like this forever.  He coaxes a second, then a third orgasm from you, and he watches your face during each one—the way your eyes go wide, then close tight, the way your mouth takes a hitching breath then goes slack as you breathe through it.  The look on your face as it ebbs away, your eyes shiny with tears, and happy little smile curving your lips.

“I want you to come,” you whisper to him.  You must feel the tension in him, and you bear down on his pistoning cock to urge him along.

“Where?” he pants out. 

“Inside me.  Please.  Come inside me.”

He knows you’re safe.  He’s lived with you for nine months now, and he’s run enough errands with you to know that you have that little plastic compact you pick up from the pharmacy once a month.  He sees you swallow the same pill each morning with your vitamin.  But still—he’s a man with his history, so he doesn’t register your contraceptive use in this moment.  The thought comes to him that if he comes inside you, he may make you pregnant, and Horacio is surprised by how quickly the thought urges his orgasm forward.

“You sure?”  At your words, he’s amped up his thrusting, driving forward in deep, strong strokes until he swears he can feel the crown of his cock nudging against the end of you, and the thought takes hold:  you round with his child, the two of you in this bedroom with a child in the guest room converted into a nursery.  At this moment, it’s the tamest of breeding kinks, but in the morning, he’ll realize it’s just more of this perfect life extrapolated.  You not as his pretend-wife but as his real wife.  A child as tangible proof that this isn’t just an incongruous moment in time.

“Yes.  Please.”  You lick your lips, blink up at him.  “I-I want to feel you coming inside me.”

It’s only fair that he obliges you.  You ask so nicely, so he does:  he thrusts three, four times more, then feels his pleasure snap and spark up his spine as he fills you.

Then he collapses on top of you, and a moment later, he feels your fingers combing through his hair, lightly running over his back.

“You can sleep here, if you want.”  You say it shyly, like you think this might just be a physical release for him, so he lifts his head to kiss you and reply that he wants that very much.

Horacio never sleeps in that cramped daybed again.

-----

The tenth month, January.

What does it mean to Horacio Carrillo for the lines between real and pretend to blur?

It means that through Christmas and into the new year, you live as husband and wife.  You live as newlyweds.  You make love in every room in the house, and you spent lazy days tangled up together.  It means you draw straws to see who has to drive into town for provisions, and it’s all a joke anyway because you always go together.  It means your world collapses down into the most basic of human needs:  feeding and fucking. 

It means that between love-making, the two of you share more about your real lives.  Horacio learns about your family life.  He learns that you’re CIA, and you’ve been stationed in Panama post-Noriega.  He learns that it was an explosion, a car bomb outside of your headquarters, that left you with that scar on your head.

You learn about the Search Bloc and Escobar.  You learn about his childhood as the son of a great military leader, and how that legacy shaped his own life and career.

But what does it mean when that line blurs?

It means that when Johnson returns to your lives, everything ends abruptly. 

“Everything is all clear,” he tells you when he turns up one Saturday in the middle of January.  He sips at the cup of coffee you made him, and if he notices the stunned silence of both of you, he doesn’t remark on it. 

“Escobar was gunned down early today.  It hasn’t hit the wire yet.”  Johnson glances at you.  “And the group that bombed your HQ has been cleared out too.  You’ve been safe for a few months, but we didn’t want to upset the situation here.”

“So now what?” you ask, and Horacio feels sick to his stomach as Johnson explains that your old lives are waiting for you and that it’s time to go.

-----

The end comes that day, but not the way Horacio thought it would.

You gesture to Johnson after he gives the rundown on the logistics, and the two of you go outside.  Horacio watches from the kitchen window as you cross your arms against the cold.  You talk, Johnson listens.  Then Johnson talks, you listen.  Back and forth, and by the end Johnson shakes his head, shakes your hand, and returns inside.

“Okay, so change of plans,” he says, and he rubs his hands together briskly to bring the warmth back to them.  “It’s just you and me now.  Go pack and say your goodbyes, and I’ll be back in an hour.”

He leaves, and Horacio watches him pull out of the driveway, and when he turns back to the interior of the house, he sees you standing there.  Crying openly, tears cutting tracks down your face.

“I can’t go back,” you explain, your voice thick with tears.  “I won’t.”

Then you break down into sobs, and it’s second nature to stride over to you, to pull you into his arms.  He tries to soothe you—rubs your back, holds you to him—as you choke out the words.  That you have had a crisis of conscience.  That you wonder if your work in the CIA did more harm than good.  That you think it’s the former, and how you want to spend the balance of your life not doing more harm than good.  That you want to live in a quiet town that is green in the summer and swaddled in white in the winter.  You want to teach, you want to come home to a house with….and you catch yourself at the last minute.  You don’t say it, but Horacio can guess it.

You want to come home to a house with him in it.  You want to come home to him.

“I love my life here,” you amend hastily, but you push away from him, aware he’s leaving and that your life won’t be exactly the same either way.  You mumble something about not wanting to say goodbye, about wishing him the best, and then you disappear down the hallway.  He hears the click of the door and your crying, and it doesn’t abate while he packs. 

When Johnson returns, Horacio taps on the bedroom door, but you don’t answer and he doesn’t push it.  He’s sleepwalking through the moment, numb, so he leaves.  He doesn’t say goodbye.  He only climbs into Johnson’s rental car, and each mile that Johnson puts between you and Horacio only makes the numbness grow.

“Women, huh?” Johnson says as they near the airport.  “That’s why I said they should never take field work.  They don’t have the stomach for it, in the end.”

Horacio grunts a non-reply, but he thinks Johnson is off the mark.  It’s not that you don’t have the stomach for it.  It’s that you don’t have the heart.

-----

February.

He goes from Vermont to Miami, this time around.

Horacio is given a hotel room, and he’s given the orders to just chill for a bit.  Johnson has extricated him from his fake life as Davide, but his old life as Colonel Horacio Carrillo isn’t quite ready for him yet.

There are mountains of paperwork to bring a man back from the dead.  There’s talk of giving him a cushy role in Madrid.  There’s talk of commendations, medals, a comfortable pension to retire on.  He’s done a lot for his country of Colombia, and Colombia wants to reward him.

He sleepwalks through this liminal space.  The not-Davide, not-Horacio time.  He wanders the streets around the hotel and picks at the food he orders in restaurants, and each time he hears a woman speak, he looks up expecting to see you. 

I don’t even know her real name, he thinks. 

Gwen, his one-time pretend-wife.  Gwen, who had a panic attack on her country’s birthday.  Gwen, who questioned the harm she may have caused to another country, another people.  Gwen, who only wants the chance to do a little good now, or at least to do no more bad.  It wasn’t Gwen at all, but he has no other name to use, so he runs through all the lovely little moments he had with Gwen.

Watching for you to return from your daily jogs.  Walking through the falling leaves of autumn with you.  Making you coffee, pressing the steaming mug into your hands each morning.  Handing out candy to the children at Halloween, tucking you under his cloak at the autumn chill.  Watching movies with you as the snow fell outside, then curling up in bed with you, slotting his body against yours, giving you pleasure and taking pleasure from you in equal measure.  Threading his fingers through yours as he arched over you, his eyes falling on the glinting light in the gold band in your ring finger, it’s twin on his own.

What does it mean for Horacio Carrillo to finally make a choice?

Of course he’s made choices before.  Every day, he made a million choices, large and small.  But the big stuff, the giant stuff, the life-shaping stuff—did he have much choice?  His father’s military career pretty much guaranteed his own career in the Search Bloc.  His family’s status pretty much guaranteed he’d marry a Catholic girl from a family of similar standing.  And when Juliana chose to leave him, he really had no choice then, either.

Same with his pretend life of ten months.  He had no choice in being paired with you, no choice in ending up in New England, little choice in working as a man who tended trees.

He imagines you in your shared home, alone.  Johnson explained on the plane that you’d be able to buy the place, that WitSec only rents homes across the U.S.  He explained that this has happened more than once, and that it’s actually not too difficult to let a witness slide into their pretend-life permanently.

The choice comes down to the most mundane thought.  Horacio stands in his hotel room in Miami and wonders, who will make her coffee in the morning if I’m not there?

*****

Winter always loses its charm by the time February rolls around.  The fleecy white snow turns into grey slush, and everything is cold and soggy and depressing.

Davide leaving doesn’t help at all.

You knew it would end eventually.  You didn’t have much insight into his situation, but you knew that the cartel targeting you would be easy enough to neutralize.  They were only there because of the power vacuum left behind by Noriega, and they were poorly organized.

You just thought when it ended, you’d have more time.  Which is one of your fatal flaws, always thinking you’ll have more time.  Your father died from a heart attack when you were in high school, and your mother died from a car crash when you were in college.  You, more than anyone, should realize that time was never a guarantee, yet you always think you have a surfeit of it.

It's not your proudest moment, those final minutes with Davide.  Not falling apart in a wash of tears, and not fleeing to your room.  You should have committed to one extreme or the other.  You should have either calmly explained your decision and bade him farewell…or you should have given in to the emotion of the moment and spilled everything.

Why do you never learn your lesson?  You never had a chance to tell your parents that you loved them before they died.  Why didn’t you tell Davide you loved him before he left to return to whoever he was before?

You know you could find him.  You’d caught his lightly accented English and guessed at South America.  Colombia, if he was hiding from Escobar.  He told you about the Search Bloc.  You knew some people in that theater.  You could find him and tell him that you loved him, but would it do more harm than good?  Doesn’t he have the right to return to his previous life without any baggage from this one?

February, then:  grey, cold.  You go to work.  You teach your classes and hold office hours.  Political science can create real monsters, so you gently try to steer your students towards the path of diplomacy and not war.  Maybe this is how you make amends, if such a thing is even possible.

You go home each evening and pull together a sandwich for dinner.  Sometimes you get take-out, and you eat over the sink.  Sometimes you watch T.V. and sometimes you read, but you always sleep alone with Davide’s pillow clutched to your chest, the lingering scent of him fading away within days.

-----

Then March.  The snow starts to melt a bit, and under some of the trees in your backyard you start to see the little purple and white jewels of budding crocuses.

You resume your runs in the mornings.  The campus shakes off its doldrums too and the students seem livelier.

You made the right choice to stay.  You go to the bank with your real name and get a mortgage.  You buy the house under your real name, and you go to the university human resources and hand over the paperwork Johnston gave you, and it’s weird at first, explaining why you’re not really Gwen, but it shocks you how quickly people adapt to using your real name.

-----

March is still fresh when there’s a knock at your door one Saturday morning.

Your first guess is that it’s a delivery.  Johnson promised to ship all of your stuff from your apartment in Panama City.  Not that you have anything valuable, but it would be nice to have your record collection back.  You don’t want to have to rebuild that from scratch.

You’re already out of practice from your prior life.  You don’t bother to check who it is, don’t look out the window before you open the door, and so it’s a shock to see Davide standing there, his fist lifted like he’s about to knock again.

He drops his hand and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.  You are speechless too, but you don’t need words to because as he drops and unfurls his hand by his side, you see the way the gold ring on his finger catches the morning light. 

He’s still wearing his wedding ring, you think, and your body moves towards his, you leap into his arms and he’s there to catch you.  You breathe out his name, but he chuckles, pushes you gently away from him.

“No, cariño,” he replies, shakes his head.  “Not Davide.”

“Well, no.  I mean—”

“I’m Horacio,” he interrupts.  You reply with your own name, and he repeats it, almost to himself.

“Everything else was me,” he adds.  “Everything but the name.  What we had…”  He trails off, fixes you with that dark-eyed stare of his. 

“Everything else was me too.”  All of the bare facts of your fake life as Gwen hold little weight to that nebulous everything else:  every joke and shared laugh, your Fourth of July panic attack.  The feel of his hand on your waist when you went apple picking.  The way his hair curled after a shower, and how you loved to run your fingers through it when he fell asleep beside you.  All of it.  Every stupid little moment that most other people would have already forgotten. 

Horacio holds up his hand to show you the ring you’ve already noticed.  “I never took it off.  It didn’t even occur to me to.”

You hold up your own hand.  “Me neither.”

He looks away, squints his eyes as he looks off into the distance, but you swear you can see tears there.  He clears his throat, but his voice comes out rougher than usual.

“I’d like to see if I’m as good a man as Davide was,” he says.  “I’d like that chance, but only if you…”  Another cough as he clears he throat, then continues.  “Only if you’ll have me.”

You reach out and take his hand in yours.  You touch the warm metal on his finger, then the thought comes to you.  You slide the ring off, and you feel Horacio watching you.  On the plane, you each put your rings on yourselves, but that wasn’t how it was supposed to go, was it?

Now, nearly a year later, you take his wedding ring off.  For a long beat, you study it—it’s a simple thing, nothing elaborate.  WitSec wasn’t going to waste money on an expensive ring for a fake marriage, and it already has a shallow scratch in it, likely from his job at the nursery.

Then you lift your head and gaze at him, and without breaking eye contact, you slide the ring back on his finger.  The smile that spreads across his face when you do is enough of a promise as any vows recited in a church, and he repeats the motion with your own ring—takes it off, then slides it back on with intention.

And then, because there’s no priest there to give the order, Horacio bends down and kisses you for the first time as himself, and the first time as yourself, and perhaps you learn your lesson about time after all because the moment you part, you whisper, “I love you” to him.

And perhaps he needed to learn the same lesson because he sighs, pulls you closer to him, and whispers “I love you too.”

#colonel horacio carrillo x reader #colonel horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo imagine #horacio carrillo #colonel carrillo #colonel carrillo imagine #colonel carrillo x reader #narcos #tropes and tales

[narcosfandomdiscord]

narcos fandom smut alphabet - finished!

you know what goes really well with summer sunshine and narcos tv rewatches? SMUTTY FIC!

(they put that bisexual lighting on Isabella for a reason, after all!)

this was our first month of prompts over at @narcosfandomdiscord! for every letter of the alphabet, we had two smutty prompts that fanfic writers used for inspiration. 🥰 our group ambition was to create at least one fic per letter—26 new narcos smut fics during the month of July—and we totally smashed it, in large part thanks to prolific work from @salt-is-a-terrible-currency. happy reading!

if you prefer reading on ao3, check out our collection. all fics tagged as #nffalphabet on tumblr. and it's just that simple 🥰

if you have any questions, you can message us on tumblr or join our narcos fandom discord here!

🍰 Prompt List & Fic Masterlist 🍰

July 1 — A — angry sex, anal

Right For Once by @drabbles-mc — Steve Murphy x f!Reader, angry sex, 2.3k

Infuriating by @salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, angry sex, 1.5k

Our Man In Mexico by @hausofmamadas — Horacio Carrillo x Andrea Nuñez, angry sex, 2.5k

July 2 — B — blood, bound & begging

Final Warning by @purplesong1028 — Amado x Pacho, bound & begging, 490

Please (with your finger) by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, bound & begging, 1.2k

blood on vacation by @ashlingnarcos — David Barrón x f!Reader, blood, 1.8k

July 3 — C — cuffs, choking

If I go too far by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, choking, 737

mentirosos by @narcolini — Kitty Paez x gn!Reader, cuffs, 1.1k

July 4 — D — domesticity, “don’t make a sound or they’ll hear us.”

Taking Care by drabbles-mc — Diego Ramirez (Narcos OC) x F!Reader, domesticity, 2.1k

Lipstick's smudged by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, domesticity and “don’t make a sound or they’ll hear us", 447

A Few Moments by @purplesong1028 — Miguel Félix/Pacho Herrera, “don’t make a sound or they’ll hear us", 482

July 5 — E — edging, eldritch

The first time I felt a ghost by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, eldritch, 716

July 6 — F — fight or fuck?, friends with benefits

No relationship talk by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, friends with benefits, 422

Unbroken Rules by drabbles-mc — Horacio Carrillo x f!Reader, friends with benefits, 2.9k

July 7 — G — gag/gagging, gun play

Paper-thin walls by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader, gag/gagging, 361

Whatever He Wants by purplesong1028 — Amado Carrillo Fuentes x Miguel Félix, gun play, 416

July 8 — H — honor bondage, hatesex

Dress blues by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader x Gurney Halleck, honor bondage, 1.8k

THE DISTANCE BETWEEN US by hausofmamadas — Enedina Arellano x David Barrón, honor bondage, 2k

July 9 — I — infidelity, in public

Never meet your heroes by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, in public, 955

Don't Mention It by drabbles-mc — Javier Peña x f!Reader, infidelity and in public, 2.7k

No Strong Suit by purplesong1028 — Miguel Félix x Pacho Herrera, infidelity, 439

July 10 — J — jealousy, "just shut up already"

Unprofessional by drabbles-mc — Walt Breslin x f!Reader, jealousy, 4.3k

A bad idea by @artemiseamoon — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, jealousy, 2.3k

The ring by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, jealousy, 1.1k

July 11 — K — knotting, knocked up

Which time? by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, knocked up, 418

Secrets in the night by artemiseamoon — Horacio Carrillo x Original Female Character, knocked up, 3.5k

Someday When It's Over by drabbles-mc — Horacio Carrillo x Original Female Character, knocked up, 2.8k

July 12 — L — luxury, lingerie

Eres guapa by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, lingerie, 544

Desire by artemiseamoon — Enedina Arellano x Original Female Character, lingerie and luxury, 3.9k

Round-trip Ticket by drabbles-mc — Steve Murphy x Original Female Character, lingerie, 7.7k

July 13 — M — mirrors, "make me forget (all about him/her/it/them)"

Another brick in the wall by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, make me forget, 812

Favors Owed by drabbles-mc — Maria Elvira x gn!Reader, make me forget, 2.7k

Like Old Times by artemiseamoon — Judy Moncada x Original Female Character, mirrors, 1.4k

July 14 — N — nipple play, "no one does it like you"

No One Like You by drabbles-mc — Javier Peña x f!Reader, no one does it like you, 2k

Sore by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, nipple play, 580

July 15 — O — on all fours, one night stand

Cascade by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader, one night stand, 580

July 16 — P — praise kink, pulling hair

Dress blues, pt 2 by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader x Gurney Halleck, praise kink, 404

July 17 — Q — quiet (or trying to be), quickie

Sweet, sharp, addictive by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, quiet (or trying to be) and quickie, 464

July 18 — R — role reversal, ruined

Bad Guy Treatment by drabbles-mc — Steve Murphy x f!Reader, role reversal, 3.8k

What is she to him by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, ruined, 444

July 19 — S — submit, "say my name"

Stoke the flames by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader, submit, 387

July 20 — T — trapped together, tied up

On company time by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader, trapped together, 574

July 21 — U — upper hand, underwater

The Weight of It All by drabbles-mc — Walt Breslin x Sal Orozco, underwater, 2k

he keeps his rules. you keep him. by ashlingnarcos — Horacio Carrillo x gn!Reader, upper hand, 1.1k

Polkadots by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, underwater, 359

July 22 — V — virginity (loss or roleplay), video

Off the Backburner by drabbles-mc — Steve Murphy x f!Reader, virginity, 4.1k

In this moment of pretend by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, virginity roleplay, 435

July 23 — W — "we probably shouldn't do this", worship

Stay A Little Longer by drabbles-mc — Horacio Carrillo x f!Reader, "we probably shouldn't do this", 1.5k

Lunch break daydream by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader, "we probably shouldn't do this", 497

July 24 — X — exhibitionism, exes having sex

It's complicated by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Helena, exes having sex, 971

Not Yours Anymore by drabbles-mc — Steve Murphy x Original Female Character, exes having sex, 3.2k

no witness by ashlingnarcos — Walt Breslin x f!Reader, exes having sex, 2.4k

July 25 — Y — yearning, "you look good like this"

Superman (4) by @garbinge — Javier Peña x f!Reader, "you look good like this", 5k

Lost Time by drabbles-mc — Horacio Carrillo x f!Reader, yearning, 2.9k

If he closes his eyes by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, yearning, 442

July 26 — Z — zipper, zeal

Things Like That by drabbles-mc — Danilo Garza x f!Reader, zipper, 2k

Zealot by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader and Nathan "Cable" Summers from Deadpool x f!Reader, zeal, 4k

(note: we hit the link limit on this post so from now on, links will be to fics + to authors on their first appearance.)

#narcos mexico #narcos #narcos imagine #narcos fanfiction #nffalphabet

[drabbles-mc]

Someday When It's Over

Horacio Carrillo x OFC

For Day 11 of @narcosfandomdiscord's July Smut Challenge: knock up

Warnings: 18+, smut, language, hurt/comfort, light angst, talks of pregnancy

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: Me? Digging out an old OC that I used once and never planned to write more for and giving her the whole gamut of human emotion and experience? It's more likely than you think! real talk though i love these two now i will be staring at the wall thinking about them Special thank you to Ashling for giving me a slew of great brainstorming ideas that led me to this. I owe you my life 😌

Narcos Taglist: @garbinge @thesandbeneathmytoes @winchestershiresauce @sizzlingcloudmentality @panagiasikelia @616wilsons @hauntedforsst @mirabee @buckybarneshairpullingkink @boomclapxox @nessamc @southotheborder @supersanelyromantic @padbrookcottage @mysun-n-stars @raincoffeeandfandoms @justreblogginfics @ashlingnarcos @proceduralpassion @artemiseamoon @narcolini @hausofmamadas @cositapreciosa (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

When Carrillo got home and found all of the lights in the house off already, he knew that something wasn't right. Even on the nights when Lina went to bed before he got home, she always left the light on that was just inside the door, a little extra guidance for when he arrived and she wasn’t there to greet him.

He easily maneuvered his way through the pitch-black. He’d memorized the layout of his house a long time ago. Sure, it changed a little bit when Lina moved in and brought her whole life with her, but she didn’t change it so much that it was unrecognizable. He still didn’t have to turn the lights on.

By the time he reached their bedroom, his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He could make out the shape of her on the bed, sheets pulled up over her. She was lying on her side, facing away from the bedroom door. He stepped into the room, shutting the bedroom door behind him even though it was just the two of them in the house. If she was awake and heard it click shut, she didn’t say anything, didn’t move.

Carrillo stripped down out of his fatigues, leaving them draped over his dresser. His footsteps were almost silent on the hardwood floor as he quietly stepped over to the bed. Sliding under the covers on his side of the bed, he slowly made his way closer to the center of the mattress. She still hadn’t moved, and that was how he knew she was still awake. She could sleep through plenty, but not through him getting in and out of bed in the middle of the night. It would always wake her up, cause her to roll and turn so that she was facing him. She’d always grumble at him in a sleepy haze, words that she wouldn’t remember in the morning after she fell back to sleep.

Slowly reaching out, he carefully rested his hand on her hip, thumb tracing lightly over the thin fabric of the bedsheet that was draped over her. Before he tried to pull her back to him, or move in closer to her, he gave her a moment to react, to say something.

Then he heard the shift in her breathing, the way she tried to stifle the unsteadiness of it. A frown pulled at his lips as he gave her hip a reassuring squeeze. “Qué pasó?” he finally said, the words sounding so loud in the room even though he’d whispered them.

Lina sniffled, followed by a deep breath that still shook as she took it in. She didn’t turn to face him, fingers curling tighter into the bedsheet, the only barrier keeping her nails from breaking the skin of her palm. Her voice was hoarse as she spoke, devoid of the warm, smooth tone she always had. “Nada.”

Carrillo brought his hand up to her shoulder instead. He didn’t try to pull her, turn her to get her to face him. He just rested his hand there, skin to skin. He kept his voice quiet as he said, “Lina, querida, talk to me.”

“I’m sorry,” her voice cracked as she said it.

He ran his hand up and down her arm. “For what?”

“What if I,” she sniffled, wiping at the tears on her face, “what if I can’t do this?”

Bringing his arm underneath the covers, he slipped it around her waist, finally pulling himself closer to her. “Do what?”

“What if, after everything,” she tried to take a deep breath but couldn’t quite manage it, “what if I can’t…” her voice trailed off, but Carrillo felt the way that her hand grazed over his, the way that her hand rested lightly on her stomach.

He felt the ache starting to spread through his chest as he realized what she was saying. He pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder before hooking his chin over it. “You can,” he told her gently.

“Is it even fair?”

“Fair?” he repeated back, confused.

“With everything that’s been going on, you know, I don’t…I don’t think it’d be fair. To them.” She paused for a beat. “To us.”

Carrillo took a deep breath as he felt the weight of what she was saying. Wrapping his arms tighter around her, he tried to reassure her. “It won’t be like this forever.”

She leaned into it for a few moments, the feeling of his strong arms wrapping her up and keeping her pulled close against his chest. She closed her eyes, tried to focus just on the sensation of it, the warmth radiating off of him and seeping into her through the thin silk of her nightgown. She could feel each breath that he took and she tried to match it.

“Feels a little endless some days though, doesn’t it?”

He kissed her shoulder again, not wanting to give her the honest answer to that question. It wasn’t anything that she didn’t already know. She watched him, day in and day out, trying to put a stop to everything that was unraveling around them. If there was anyone who understood the way it all felt futile, never-ending, it was him. He had learned how to navigate that, how to push through it. What he wasn’t used to, was hearing her sound that way. He thought he’d seen every color on her, but hopeless was a new one.

He wasn’t good at lying to her. Never had been, something about her brutal honesty, the unwavering softness that always lingered beneath it. It didn’t feel right to try and tell her anything besides the truth. “Some days,” he said, nodding just slightly. “Others?”

“Others…” she trailed off, not sure how she wanted to finish the sentence. After a few moments, she shifted, turning around so that his arms were still around her but now she was facing him, her nose brushing against his as she got comfortable again. “Others I think about,” she reached and rested her palm against his cheek, “what it will be like when it’s finally done.”

“And?” he asked, acutely aware of the way her fingertips felt against his face. “What will it be like, hm?” He ran his hand up and down her back. “Qué piensas?”

A smile was trying to pull at the edges of her mouth, but it wasn’t quite successful. “Horacio.”

“Dime. Quiero saber.” He kissed her on the lips, light and fleeting. “What do you think it will be like?”

“It’ll be quiet,” she said after a few moments. “Good quiet. Easy.” She traced her thumb against his cheekbone. “You’ll be home.” The pad of her finger trailed below his eye, just below the dark circles that seemed permanent there now. “You’ll sleep.”

Carrillo chuckled quietly at that. “I don’t know about that.”

There was a hint of a lift to the edges of her mouth. “Maybe not, hm?”

“What else?” he asked, relief already settling over him as he watched her mood slowly start to shift.

“What else?” she parroted back.

He nodded, forehead grazing hers as he did. “When it’s over, what else? What,” he pulled her a little closer, fingers spreading across her back, “do you want when it’s over?”

She finally smiled, small and soft, but it was honest. She knew exactly where he was going with it. “I know, Horacio,” she said, sliding her hand down so that it was resting against his chest, heartbeat thrumming against her palm.

“Still?” he asked, just to be sure.

She nodded. “Still.”

He kissed her again. “It won’t always be like this. I promise you, one day it will all be over, the mess, the violence. And until then,” another kiss, “I’ll be here, protecting you, and her.”

She let out a quiet laugh at that. Not the sentiment, but the prediction of it all. “Her?”

“Sí.”

She shook her head. “We haven’t even gotten started, Horacio, and you’re already sure she’s going to be a girl?”

He laughed too, low and quiet but still warm. “Si dios quiera.”

She looped her arms around him, bringing her hands to the back of his neck. He felt her run her fingers through his hair, nails raking lightly through the short locks at the nape of his neck. “I love you,” she said, pulling him in for a kiss. When she pulled her lips off his she could see the way he was about to say something, and she beat him to the punch, “And I’m sorry.”

He shook his head at her as he took a deep breath in. “Don’t be sorry. Lo entiendo.”

Her entire body relaxed at that, relief flooding over her. It felt a little insane at times, trying to hold onto the idea of what life could be like later when it was what it was in that moment. Most days she handled it just fine, but other days, when the news played from the television just a little too loud, when the gunshots echoed just a little too close, it got heavy. There was no shame in feeling the weight of it, the conflict of wanting to hope and plan and pray but unsure of how much to do any of it. It felt good to hear someone else understand it, better still that it was the man whose legs were tangled up with hers.

Her face was close enough to his that when she spoke, their lips brushed. “Thank you.”

He kissed her, letting his lips linger for a moment before saying, “I love you.”

She smiled against his lips, knowing he’d been waiting patiently to say it. She kissed him again, not pulling away this time. Carrillo’s lips moved in tandem with hers, one hand staying on the small of her back, keeping her pulled close even though she had no intention of pulling away. The other slid down over her hip and onto her thigh. He grabbed her gently, just enough to pull her leg and hook it over him. Anything just to have her a little closer.

She felt the way that his fingers grazed over her legs, the hem of her nightgown sliding up in the process. Her hand cradled the back of his head as she slowly started to kiss him with a little more intensity. Each time he brought his lips back to hers, she felt a little more hopeful, a little more certain. He had always been a never-ending supply of fire, and she loved him for it in moments like that. Down the road the winds would shift, the way they always did, and she’d remind him how to use that same fire to stay warm, to keep safe, that it was good for more than just burning the world down to start over again. But for now, in that moment as his tongue skimmed the inside of her lip, Lina felt like a fresh start wouldn’t be the worst thing.

Keeping her close, Carrillo quickly rolled them so that she was lying on her back underneath him. She let out a short gasp at the sudden shift, and he could feel her breath against his neck. He caressed the side of her face with one hand, the other pressing into the pillow beside her head to keep him propped up, allow him to be able to look at her the best he could in the darkness of their bedroom. Even if it was too dark to see the details, it was a sight he’d committed to memory by now—the way the long dark waves of her hair cascaded over the pillowcase beneath her, the way that she always had that soft look in her eyes even when the thoughts in her head were anything but.

She loosely hooked her legs around his waist, using them to give herself just enough leverage to push him into a kiss. His hand grazed up her thigh as he kissed her, feeling the way that their switch in position had caused her nightgown to slide up, the lift of her legs making it fall above her hips. He trailed his hand up, fingers carefully tracing over the waistband of her panties.

His lips drifted down to her neck, leaving a trail of kisses along the column of her throat. He hooked his fingers over the waistband of her underwear, tugging them down until she had to unhook her legs from around him in order for him to pull them off the rest of the way.

He moved slowly, his hand coming back up her leg. Despite the rough feeling of his palm, his touch was extremely soft, careful. His fingers crept until the hit the juncture of where her thigh met her hip, and he could feel the tension building in her body, the slight shifting to try and get something more. He kissed the spot where her neck met her shoulder as he lightly grazed his fingertips along her slit, feeling how wet she already was.

When he slid his fingers into her, it was hard for him to think about anything else except the way that she sighed out his name. He felt the way that her body relaxed at the same time that she tried to pull him closer. He kept his rhythm as he pressed kisses against her exposed collarbone, against her chest even though it was still covered by her nightgown. She leaned into his touch every time, always willing to take more if he was willing to give it.

He felt her hands as they rested on his waist for a moment. She waited for him to bring his lips back up to hers before starting to push the waistband of his underwear down past his hips. He didn’t try to stop her, kicking them off the rest of the way once she’d slid them down enough.

He moaned into her mouth as he pushed into her, and she swallowed the sound readily as she kissed him. He raked his fingers along the side of her head until her tangled them into her hair, pulling her into a heated kiss. Intense, but not rough—a fine line he’d learned to walk in the time that he’d been with her.

Lina looped her arms underneath his, fingers splaying across his the expanse of his back. Despite the fact that they were as close as two people could possibly hope to be, she still tried to pull him closer. Carrillo let it wash over him, the fact that no matter what happened, what each day held, they would always try to hold each other closer.

He heard the shift in her breathing as she got closer and closer to the edge, the way each inhale would make it halfway down her throat in a gasp. As his hips moved to keep connecting with hers, he knew that he wasn’t far behind. She cupped the side of his face, the tips of her fingers just grazing the side of his neck as she kissed him, pulling air from him like it was the only way she could breathe as she unraveled beneath him. He matched her energy, forehead pressed firmly against hers as he thrust into her a new more times until he spilled inside of her, hips pinned to hips.

Carrillo kept himself carefully braced over her, enough to stay close, but not leaning so heavily into her that it would hurt. His eyes drifted shut as he focused on the sensation of her gently brushing her fingertips along his cheeks, grazing along his jawline. He felt the rise and fall of her chest as she did so, drastic in contrast to the soft way she was touching him.

“Lina?” he said, voice hardly a whisper as he pressed a featherlight kiss to her lips.

“Mm?”

He rested his forehead against hers. “Te amo.”

She smiled, bringing her hands to his shoulders. “Te amo.”

They carefully shifted back into their former position, each of them lying on their sides facing each other. Carrillo’s hand was still slipped up underneath her nightgown, resting comfortably on her hip while she had one hand against his chest, one hand against the side of his neck.

Lina could feel her eyes starting to grow heavy, a different, much better kind of exhaustion starting to settle over her. Carrillo kissed her forehead, and then her cheek before saying, “It won’t be quiet, you know.”

Her eyes were still closed as she said, “Qué?”

“Even when it’s over, it won’t be quiet. Good, yes, but not quiet.” He pressed a brief kiss to her lips. “Not when it’s all of us here.”

He could feel the way her lips curled into a smile as she rested her face in the space below his shoulder. Something about his certainty when it was coupled with hopefulness made everything else seem to fade away. “I’d give up quiet for that.”

#nffalphabet #narcos netflix fanfiction #narcos #narcos netflix #narcos fanfiction #horacio carrillo smut #horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x oc #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[twistnet]

gifts [ horacio carrillo ]

⋯ SUMMARY ; horacio comes home with some gifts, solely with the intent of trying them out on you

⋯ WARNINGS ; female!reader, rusty smut [ sex toys -- bullet vibrator, consensual play, oral sex [ f ], edging, vaginal fingering ] + mature language

⋯ NOTE ; this content is strictly for those 18+ ; any minors // ageless // blank blogs interacting with this post // masterlist will be blocked

you took a deep breath, calming your nerves as you stepped up onto the porch leading into the small building horacio called home. he had asked for you to come over once all your paperwork at the embassy had been completed. and when questioned on the occasion, he simply stated he had a surprise for you.

the way the corner of his lips upturned in the slightest of smiles had you nervous about what he was planning, and you had tried to rack your brain for any thing you could have possibly missed, as no one’s birthday or anniversary took place this week to cause any surprise.

however, you trusted horacio completely, and while you knew there were some occasions in the field where he took risks that made you want to hit him upside the head, he always had a good reason for doing so.

you knocked lightly on the wooden frame, signaling your arrival to him. and within minutes, the door opened just enough of you to enter the home. horacio stood back as you shed your coat and toed off your shoes, before kissing you softly in greeting, “how was work?” he questioned, forehead resting against your own. you sighed, shrugging your shoulders before answering, “same shit, just different day.”

this comment earned a chuckle from the usually stoic search bloc commander, with his usual facade slowly dropping into one of relaxation the longer you stood in the doorway of his home. you, in turn, offered him a small smile before asking, “so, what was this surprise you had for me?”

his brows raise in recognition, offering you the same smile in return as he wraps an arm around your shoulders and begins guiding you back towards the bedroom, “you’ve made mention of it before, just wanted to make sure i go the right thing before we got started.” he practically purrs in a whisper, smiling widely when he feels the affects of his voice shoot down your spine.

inside the bedroom, he gestures to the dark box tied neatly with a contrasting ribbon in the center of the mattress. you step away from him for a moment, pulling the box towards you to inspect it closer, until he utters for you to open it. fingers tug the ribbon loose, discarding it to the side as you lift the lid off.

confusion washing over you for a short second until your cheeks heat in realization of what exactly is in the box, “you...” you voice trails off, not quite sure if you would be able to formulate words at this point.

sitting in the box, was a silver bullet vibrator -- something you now realize had made a passing comment about months ago during a light pillow talk before forgetting about it the next morning. horacio hums from his position against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest as he attempts to read your expression to get an idea on how you feel, “you said this was something you had missed when moving to colombia, and so i got you one. a little hard to get, mind you, but all the same.”

“you... got this for me?” you question, looking up at him with a shocked, and almost embarrassed expression -- still trying to comprehend that your lover had gotten you a sex toy for use, even though he seemed like the type of man who would have been greatly against using them on his partner. but he always managed to surprise you.

“yes... do you not like it?” now, it was his turn to become flustered. his face flushing lightly under his tanned skin before his eyes dropped to the floor. finding particular interest in the cracked tiles of his bedroom floor. in an instant, you were back on your feet, and gently cupping his chin to bring his gaze back to yours. offering him a sweet smile in return, “you just took me by surprise... didn’t think you had heard me when i mentioned it awhile ago.”

“i wanted to do something nice for you, and figured it could be something we could try together. only if you are comfortable with it.” he corrects, leaving the final decision up to you. you nod, smiling up at him as your arms wrap around his neck, “i want to...”

horacio seals your confirmation with a kiss, before hands are gently guiding you back towards the bed. his hand roam along your front, shooting you a quick wink as his fingers find the edge of your t-shirt and slowly begin lifting it up and over your head. the same go for your jeans, as deft fingers pop the button with ease before following with the zipper. dragging the fabric down the length of your legs. leaving you in just your undergarments, exposed to the warm colombian air.

horacio takes his time, eyeing you hawkishly as his fingers caress the tops of your panties, smirking when your hips jerk up and into his touch, before he’s dropping to his knees. shoulder his large frame between your thighs before pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh.

as his eyes lock with yours, fingers dip below the band of your underwear, pulling them to the side and exposing your dripping cunt to him, “may bonito...” he coos softly, before his tongue flicks against your clit and you shutter at the sensation. horacio chuckles softly, his breath fanning across your entrance before he’s dragging his tongue through your folds, pulling a whimpering moan from your lips as he mutters against you.

lips close around your clit, your spine arches and a large hand presses against your hip bone to keep you in place. in turn, your hands shoot down to grasp at the soft tuffs of hair, eliciting a growl from the commander when you tug at the strands. the sound warming your body and cheeks as a familiar heat begins to spread over you.

for the time, he savors you, taking his time to taste and feeling you for all you are, driving you crazy as his tongue prods at your entrance, arms dragging you closer to push his tongue into you. his nose nudges against your clit with each flick of his tongue along your walls. hips jerking up to meet his strokes, grinding your pussy against his lips as he groans, sending vibrations straight to your core.

until he suddenly pulls away, leaving you gasping after him and slightly angered by his actions. and just as you’re about to voice your opinion, the little bullet is pulled from it’s box, “you still want to do this, hermosa?” he questions one last time, before smiling as you give him your answer and he switches the bullet on.

you watch closely as he pressing the vibrator against your clit, jumping at the coolness of the metal and the intense vibrations already stemming from the toy. you moan wantonly, head dropping back against the mattress as he rubs the toy around your clit, enjoying the little spasms your hips and legs make as he circles the bundle of nerves.

then, a finger dips into your dripping cunt, fucking you open gently with the added play of the vibrator sitting at you clit. you cry out, core tensing tightly at the combined assault and your impending orgasm fastly approaching with each circle and press against your sweet spots.

lips press against your inner thigh once more, eyes almost slipping closed as horacio soothes you through the motions, “come when you’re ready... don’t wait for me...” he utters kindly, knowing he was putting you through an intense display of love. you can only nod tightly in response, barely able to contain yourself as you tumble over the edge with your orgasm violently rocking over your body.

horacio quickly switches off the vibrator, gently coaxing you through your orgasm with his fingers until your pathetically pushing them away. another kiss is pressed to your thigh before he stands to his full height, smiling down at you as his thumb brushes against your cheek, “you did so good, hermosa. did so good for me.” he praises your softly, smile widening as you blink up at him with a smile of your own.

blog navigation ⇢ [ narcos masterlist ]

#narcos #narcos x reader #narcos imagine #horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo imagine #horacio carrillo smut #female!reader #twistnet #twistnet works 2022 #twistnet's 5k milestone

[cheesybadgers]

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 23)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 12,675

Summary: It’s been more than a year since Madrid and even longer since the chaos of Colombia. As they settle into a new life in Laredo, their past no longer holding them back, Javier’s career change helps him reconnect with his roots whilst Horacio’s plans for the future of the farm and ranch start to take shape.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Smut (including leather/cowboy kink and power dynamics), grief, parental loss, religious themes and symbolism, discussions of period-typical prejudices/violence/politics/legislation, smoking, drinking, swearing.

Notes: Well, here we are at the final full chapter 👀 No one is more shocked than me that I've made it here tbh 😂 For so long, it felt like finishing this fic was an abstract concept, but somehow, I persevered!

I don't really know what else to say right now, other than, an epilogue will (all being well) be posted on Friday 1st March...exactly 3 years after I posted chapter 1. Don't ask me how 3 years have passed, because my brain cannot compute lol.

The epilogue will be much, much shorter than this chapter, but I think it rounds their story off nicely and I can't wait to share ❤️

Thank you once again to anyone still reading, or anyone who may read this at some point in the future. As always, comments/flailings/key smashes etc. are greatly appreciated 😊

I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested (and there's plenty to choose from for this one…in fact, I had to split my trivia post into two as I ran out of space, oops lol).

Chapter 23: Desde La Frontera

As the faded blue truck pulled up in the front yard, the moon sat full and high, casting a pale glow over everything beneath it. A key turned in the lock of the sleeping cottage, the silver hue from above illuminating a convenient pathway, negating the need to switch on a light.

Javier shrugged off his boots and jacket in the kitchen with a weary sigh and deposited his keys in a dish on the table. The hand-painted ceramic bowl had been sent with love from Madrid as a housewarming gift, along with framed artwork of the city they left behind that hung above their bed, a bottle of olive oil, a small jar of saffron, and some homemade turrón.

It wasn’t easy saying goodbye to Señora Romero, the café or their apartment. For all of the unanswered questions they arrived in Spain with, it became their safe haven. Although they were under strict instructions not to leave it too long before visiting again, and who were they to turn down good company and an endless supply of hot, fresh churros?

The rustic limestone cottage had less square footage than the farmhouse next door but was over two stories rather than one. A decked porch ran along the perimeter with wooden chairs and plants at the front, facing a complex of outbuildings and stables. A swing seat big enough for two resided at the back, looking out onto a medium-sized garden with a chicken coop and the rolling farm fields and river bank lying beyond.

The front door opened into a hallway where boots, coats and hats were tidily stored – at Horacio’s insistence – which led to a spacious kitchen/dining area and an adjoining utility room with a door to the garden on the other side. A second hallway branched off the kitchen towards a lounge with a centrepiece stone fireplace and a staircase up to two bedrooms – a master and a smaller spare – and a bathroom.

Whilst the interior still needed some work, fresh coats of paint – off-white for most of the rooms with splashes of eggshell green in the kitchen – and the exposed ceiling beams restored with an oak oil stain gave the place a new lease of life.

The wall clock opposite the kitchen window ticked past 3:00am. Fuck, no wonder Javier felt so beat. He manoeuvred his way upstairs, slow and careful, to avoid the creakiest boards. They may have stripped and waxed the floors, but that apparently didn’t cure the squeaking of the well-worn wood underfoot.

He must have succeeded on this occasion, as it wasn’t until he got to the top that he was met with Luna’s wagging tail. He whispered a greeting to her and rubbed behind her ears until she returned to her sleeping spot beside Sol and Leo, who hadn’t even stirred. Sometimes, the trio would bed down for the night here. Other times, it was just Luna. Rarely, it was none of them now that they had two new rivals for Chucho’s affections next door.

Kira was a six-month-old Great Pyrenees, her thick coat a solid white with pale tan patches. Fuego, a male copper red and white Border Collie, was a couple of months older and already chomping at the bit to get amongst the cattle. Although they both still had to undergo a lot of training before they would be put to use on the ranch, Javier and Horacio got the distinct impression Chucho enjoyed being kept on his toes again.

Javier finally reached his destination but gave himself an extra few seconds to take in the view.

Horacio was nestled beneath their sheets on his stomach, his torso rising and falling in a calming rhythm that Javier was convinced could have lulled him to sleep if he wasn’t standing up.

He undressed, throwing every item of clothing straight into a rattan hamper in the corner of the room, keenly aware he needed to shower but too tired to do anything about it now.

Instead, he perched on the edge of the bed, basking in Horacio’s long eyelashes, rough stubble and unrulier-than-usual hair that was tantalisingly close to becoming a head of curls if he didn’t get it cut soon. Not that Javier was complaining.

He tried to be restrained and let Horacio sleep, but he was only human.

A faint groggy sound came from Horacio’s throat as delicate lips met his forehead, his lashes flickering until they couldn’t resist any longer.

Javier hushed as he gently crawled on the bed, draping himself over Horacio and kissing the nape of his neck. “Sorry it’s so fucking late. Just go back to sleep.”

“You’re making that difficult right now.” Horacio arched his back in response to the warm breath tickling his bare skin as Javier’s mouth worked between muscular shoulder blades.

“Shouldn’t be so irresistible.”

“Sorry about that.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No. I’m not.” Horacio twisted around far enough for Javier to slide off his back and onto the mattress, allowing them to properly embrace. And so Horacio could put his own mouth to use.

That was as far as it was going for the night, though. Horacio had an early start in the morning, and Javier didn’t want to fall asleep before they could finish.

“Did it all go okay?” Horacio asked once they had got comfortable.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, there was a delay with the paperwork, as usual. But once we were on the road, it was fine. Heavy traffic around San Antonio, but I almost had the I-35 to myself on the way home.”

“And the family?”

“Exhausted and drained, obviously. Fuck knows when their hearing will be. But at least they’re together again and safe for now.”

Javier wasn't only clueless about the date of the hearing, he couldn’t predict the outcome of it either. That wasn’t his remit. By the time the Torres Fuentes family were in front of an immigration judge, he would have helped countless more families and individuals like them. Their circumstances weren’t always the same, but their options were just as limited.

Not all days – or nights – were like this one. Sometimes, Javier would be on translation duties on the frontline of the border, triaging and directing people towards help, whether it be medical attention, food, water, toiletries, a change of clothes, a shower, or a bed for the night. Or, more than likely, access to a lawyer. His and the fleet of other aid workers for charities, not-for-profits and NGOs would be some of the first non-threatening faces new arrivals would see once the INS was finished with them, and that wasn’t a responsibility he took lightly.

Other times, he would deliver bond money to detention centres in exchange for someone's freedom, help people fill in forms and paperwork, or run community outreach sessions, reminding people of their rights. He had even hosted several families at the guesthouses for a night or two until safe transportation could be arranged for travel onward to relatives or sponsors elsewhere in the States. Flights were usually not an option for most due to a lack of papers, so the preferred method was long car journeys split between drivers like Javier. No two days were ever quite the same because no two stories were ever the same. There were commonalities, but subtle nuances and complications came with the territory of human lives.

“You did everything you could to help them.”

“I know. Just makes you realise how fucking…fragile it all is. And how fucking lucky we are.”

There was no denying luck – and money, of course – played a role in Horacio securing a visa and the Holy Grail of a green card for being an investor in the States. But Javier had also utilised an old contact at the US Embassy in Bogotá to expedite Horacio’s application. Her name was Colleen, and she had, with great reluctance, helped him secure visas for several informants in the past.

The silence over the line when Javier had uttered Horacio’s name was long, loud and awkward. But just like with his informants, she didn’t ask any questions and did him one last favour on the proviso she never heard from him again.

“We are. And I’ll never forget that.” Horacio’s palm connected with Javier’s cheek, flecks of moonlight highlighting the dark circles under his eyes. “You look exhausted, too.”

A soft chuckle filtered through the shadows. “Thanks. Sorry for waking you, though. I know you’ve gotta be up early.”

“Yeah, which is why I’m glad you did wake me. Once I’ve done the usual rounds, I’ll probably be in meetings most of the day. So, I won’t see you until late.”

“Better make the most of you now, then.”

Lingering kisses followed, but they knew it was fruitless to fight the fatigue.

“How’s everything going with the business plan?” Javier asked once he had accepted defeat.

“So far, so good. I want to go through everything with your father again before everyone arrives. Just to make sure he’s happy with it all.”

“I’ve, er, got it on pretty good authority he is.”

Horacio rolled his eyes. “I know. But it’s his money invested in this place as much as ours. And it’s not like I’m the expert.”

“Not yet. And he trusts you. They all do. You’re no longer a new face around here, remember.”

“I know. But I’m still learning the ropes, and I’m not the one in charge anymore.”

“You sure about that?”

There was a suggestive edge beneath the drowsiness in Javier’s voice. If Horacio looked hard enough through the darkness, he would have seen a quirked brow thrown his way.

“Well, I still have my moments.”

Javier mumbled a lazy hum of agreement. “I’ll say. But don’t worry about tomorrow, okay? You’ll be fine. Trust me.” He managed one last kiss for good measure, even though his eyelids were getting heavier by the second.

A muffled “I do” was pressed into the shell of Javier’s ear as he flipped his body around, his back cushioned against Horacio’s chest. Calloused fingertips weathered by hard labour nowadays rather than a trigger found their home resting on the curve of Javier’s stomach, eliciting a meditative sigh from both as they huddled down.

It didn’t matter that one of them would be up soon with the dawn chorus while the other might be called away past the midnight hour. Because they knew how lucky they were, not only after all they had been through but compared to so many who crossed the border to start a new life. And it was impossible to take that for granted.

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For all that had changed, wall-to-wall meetings and stacks of paperwork were two guaranteed constants to remain. No matter the career path Horacio chose, he was apparently destined never to escape their clutches.

The morning and most of the afternoon – with a short break for lunch – had been spent poring over business plans, maps and spreadsheets with Chucho, his accountant, Miguel, and the ranch and farm managers, Marco and Félix.

Horacio was still adjusting to being the least qualified person in the room again. But the fact that he was even privy to such meetings in the first place was a privilege not customarily afforded to ranch hands without much experience under their belts. It was hard to gauge what others thought about his…unique position here. But he was also an investor whose name, along with Javier’s, was on the title deeds of the farm. Even if people didn’t know about them, it stood to reason that he would be consulted about any development proposals.

Between his money and the safety net of his connections – whatever some may have speculated the precise nature of those were – to a well-respected ranching family, Horacio, so far, hadn’t had too many problems. Not even when shadowing or attending training courses off-site, and he was surrounded by heavy Texan drawls and the type of man who had the propensity to make his feelings clear with his fists – or a gun – if he found out a fellow rancher shared a house and bed with another man.

But the odd off-hand comment had made Horacio wonder if they knew more about his past employment than he realised. In which case, perhaps in their eyes, getting on the wrong side of the former head of Search Bloc wasn’t a wise move.

Regardless, this was what he had signed up for. And for all his investments and networking, there were no cutting corners in ranch and business management, beef production, animal science and equine studies. The Peñas were far from the only family business in the industry, and most had grown up a lot more hands-on than Javier. Horacio could never have leapfrogged over them even if he had wanted to.

By late afternoon, the meetings were done for the day – although there would be plenty more to come – leaving Horacio and Chucho to check on the pregnant heifers. The calves weren’t due until early April, another month away and just in time for Horacio’s birthday. But it was all hands on deck between now and then to ensure it went as smoothly as possible. Their main job today had been to weigh the expectant mothers, who, thankfully, all turned out to be healthy and on the right track.

Broken shards of light bounced off the ranch’s steel fences and gates as Horacio and Chucho sat on the farmhouse porch enjoying a well-earned break, the sun’s heat beginning to show glimpses of what it was capable of during the summer months. Bluebonnets blanketed the fallow fields, and the saccharine scent of yucca blossom travelled on the early spring breeze.

Chucho stirred a freshly made pot of tea and filled two cups to the brim, sliding one across a wooden table towards Horacio, who accepted with a nod of thanks.

“So, do you think it went okay today?” Horacio asked after a quenching sip of tea.

“Better than I expected, to be honest. Félix worked for Ciro and Malena for many years. I wasn’t sure he’d take to new ownership. Or if he’d even want to stay. But he seems to be on board with the idea of expansion.”

“What about the rest of the workers Ciro and Malena employed?”

“A few moved on or retired. But most don’t care who’s in charge as long as they're getting paid.”

“And what about here? Have many left or cut ties since…” Horacio trailed off, hoping he had done enough for Chucho to follow his train of thought without saying it out loud.

“Not many, no, Mijo. And only the ones I’m glad to see the back of.”

“Not many?” Horacio scoffed into his cup, sending ripples across the surface of his drink. “So, still some, then.”

“As I said…only those I don’t want the ranch to be associated with anyway. It's no loss if they can’t keep their noses out of my family’s business.”

The thing was, Horacio and Javier had everything to lose if the wrong person found out. One phone call was all it would take for the police to be banging down their cottage door. After all, that had happened to plenty of others like them in Texas. It had happened to plenty of bars and restaurants that ended up either raided or burned to the ground, the owners and patrons harassed, arrested, beaten to a bloody pulp, or worse. But Horacio couldn’t bring himself to say any of this to Chucho, so he took extra time swallowing his tea instead.

“From what I’ve heard, the majority see you’re a hard worker. You’re willing to learn the ropes. But you’re not afraid to get stuck in or take the lead if needed. You’re professional with the contractors. And you’re trusted to do a good job. That’s worth a lot around here – a lot more than gossipers. I may not know what it’s like for you both...but I do know not everyone’s like them.”

A smile reflexively spread across Horacio’s lips. “My Mamá said similar back in Manizales.”

Chucho mirrored Horacio’s expression. “She sounds like a wise woman.”

“She is.”

“And proud of you. As I’m sure your father would be. Starting over again is never easy, but what you and Javi have done here…I'm proud, too.”

“Thank you. Me too, to be honest.” Horacio let out a brief huff. “When Javier told me what he wanted to do, it was like the final piece slotted in place. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner.” He shook his head this time at how blindingly obvious it was once Javier said it out loud. “But I think he needed to leave to be able to come back again.”

Chucho hummed into his tea. “That’s the thing about the past: you can’t outrun it. And once you let it walk alongside you, I think your path becomes clearer.”

For the second time that afternoon, Horacio could scarcely believe his Mamá and Chucho hadn’t met yet. But he was looking forward to the day that would change.

“A few years ago, I never thought this could be my life. Or that I wanted it to be. But now, even though it’s not easy work, and the hours are long, and I’m starting from the bottom of the ladder again, everything just feels…” He broke off, searching for the right word.

“Simple?” Chucho supplied.

“Yes. Simple.”

After Horacio finished his tea and saddled up Coco ready to help move the herds into the barns before nightfall, he didn’t mind that his legs were stiff from all the sitting in chairs he had done today. Or that the last thing he felt like doing was wrangling contrary cattle.

He didn’t mind that it would be more of the same at the break of dawn tomorrow and a long road ahead of grafting and proving himself. He didn’t mind that he wouldn’t catch up with Javier until they shared a late dinner once Javier had driven back from Austin. He didn’t mind if complete strangers couldn’t stomach what they got up to behind closed doors as long as they were left alone to live in peace.

He didn’t mind any of it because they were exactly where they were supposed to be.

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No matter what profession he worked in, it was rare for Javier to take a weekend off. He’d accepted a long time ago he wasn’t the 9-5 type, and leaving it all at the door once he clocked off had never been an option. But a new batch of aid workers and volunteers had arrived in the last few weeks. And once Luz, his boss, got wind of an upcoming birthday in the team, she insisted Javier finally use up some vacation time.

Luz Díaz was someone Javier could call a friend as well as his boss these days, especially in light of their parallel circumstances. While Luz was an aid worker on the border, she lived with Carla Moreno, the daughter of a dairy farmer several miles to the south. However, unlike Chucho and Elena, their parents, whilst not hostile, preferred to brush their daughters' relationship under the carpet wherever possible.

When Luz accompanied Javier to the guesthouses with a new family one afternoon, she had first crossed paths with Horacio. Until then, Javier had played his cards close to his chest, never knowing whether it was safe to trust anyone. But it hadn’t taken Luz long to put two and two together – or for her to realise she could share her secret in return.

Birthdays had held no real significance for Javier since childhood. But his Pops was determined to invite him and Horacio to the farmhouse for dinner that evening. In the meantime, once Javier had escaped work by mid-afternoon, he headed home to freshen up and grab a drink. It may have been late October, but the Texan heat was a stubborn son of a bitch, and was still hitting the mid-90s several times a week.

A neatly written note was pinned to the fridge that read In corn barn, so Javier took a UTV and headed across the farm. It was quieter now the harvest was over, and the cattle from the ranch had grazed on any leftovers. The herds were back next door, allowing bales of corn stalks to be gathered up and stored ready for use as bedding for the livestock on chillier winter nights.

The latest calves had thrived since April and only had two months left before they would be weaned off their mothers. Usually, several were sold at auction, but they had kept hold of them this time due to the extra space. Now the harvest was out of the way, the next step was to clear the lower fields and build a new gate linking the ranch with the farm.

When Javier arrived at the barn, Horacio was unloading the last batch of bales off the trailer.

Horacio paused for a second when Javier came into view, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Where did you get that?”

“It was on the passenger seat.” Javier gestured to the parked UTV. “Does it suit me?” He tipped the brim of a Stetson to match the one Horacio was already wearing.

Given the similarities between their outfits, anyone would have been forgiven for thinking Javier was an employee. They both wore belted dark blue jeans – Horacio’s more mud-splattered – brown boots and plaid shirts with rolled-up sleeves – Horacio’s brown and white and Javier’s green and red. The most noticeable difference was Horacio wore a white bandana around his neck whilst Javier’s shirt collar was wide open, his neck on full display.

Horacio silently lifted the side of the trailer back up and locked it now that it was empty. He shrugged the protective gloves off his hands one by one and flung them into the cab of his truck.

He followed Javier into the barn and closed the door, but his attention was on the wall opposite. A long row of hooks was hung across it, where various pieces of equipment were kept, including overalls, brushes, and a wide range of horse tack.

On the last hook was a coiled lariat, which Horacio picked up and stood facing Javier several feet away. He threaded the rope through the Honda knot until he held a loose loop in his right hand, his hungry gaze fixed on Javier as his wrist built momentum over his head in measured circles.

Before Javier could react, the tip of the rope found its target, tightening around his waist, his feet involuntarily taking him forward as Horacio reeled him in. Even when they were chest to chest and breathing hard, Horacio didn’t let up his grip on the rope.

“You know it does,” Horacio eventually rasped at the shell of Javier's ear.

Javier shivered at the timbre of Horacio’s voice, the earthy scent of the land combining with the heady musk of sweat, remnants of mud and dust still visible on his face and arms. “Someone’s been practising.”

“Well, it is a special occasion.” Horacio tugged on the rope, pressing their bodies together until his lips found Javier’s neck, stubble scratching along his jawline, finally brushing over his mouth.

Javier took the bait, responding with a full kiss, distracting Horacio enough to drop the rope. Then it was all bets off as his hands journeyed over Horacio’s back, first dipping southwards, palming his ass through his back pockets, then northwards to remove the bandana and roam under his shirt. But something made Javier pause mid-way.

He looked at Horacio for an explanation but was met only with a coy smile.

“Happy Birthday.”

Javier’s brow quirked suggestively of its own accord. “I thought we weren’t doing presents.”

“I can take it back if you’d prefer.”

“Don’t you fucking dare. Now, shut up and drive us home.”

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No sooner were they back at their cottage than Horacio straddled Javier’s lap on the couch, teeth nipping as they grabbed handfuls of fabric or skin.

When Javier made to unbutton Horacio’s shirt, Horacio stilled his attempts. “Not yet.”

Instead, his mouth ghosted over Javier’s as his fingers slid down to his belt, unbuckling it unhurriedly and deliberately.

Their laboured breaths filled the silence, the rich scent of earth and woodsmoke heavy on their senses.

“Touch yourself,” Horacio finally said, his order clear, voice steady.

It was all Javier could do not to come on the spot. But he managed to exhale through his nose, his lips pursed as he wrestled back a semblance of control.

He let his right hand slide down to his zipper, which he knew Horacio had left closed on purpose. He gradually unfastened it, his palm disappearing out of sight.

A hitched breath and tensed thighs let Horacio know Javier had made contact even before Javier’s wrist began to twitch.

For several strokes, Horacio merely observed, drinking in every detail of Javier’s face, each jaw movement and shuddered breath, their eyes locked together as Javier took himself in hand.

Horacio couldn't hide that he was more than a little affected by the show beneath him, so he upped the ante, his fingers seeking out the buttons of his shirt, popping the top one first, then the second, third and fourth.

He stopped there, giving Javier another sneak peek of the surprise he had planned for more months than he cared to admit. He could see Javier had noticed the tantalising glimpses of brown leather drawn tightly against bare skin and could feel Javier’s motions speed up.

The remaining buttons followed, allowing the shirt to fall over the broad expanse of Horacio’s shoulders until it hit the floor.

“Fuck.” Javier’s hips spasmed, slamming against Horacio’s crotch in the process and triggering a chain reaction of panting. “Shit, Horacio. Where did you – how –”

Javier was cut off by a finger at his mouth and a soft hushing sound.

Horacio pressed a digit to Javier’s lips until it was engulfed by wet warmth. “Keep going.”

As Javier’s tongue swirled and his cheeks hollowed, he set back to work, building up friction along the shaft and over the head. It was like a switch flicked in Horacio during moments like this when he was all smoky rasps and concise commands. It was the closest Javier had ever got to experiencing Colonel Carrillo first-hand, and nothing was as intoxicating.

When Javier was being regarded and instructed so intensely, he had no choice but to submit. Anything to please the force of nature who made him come harder than he ever had done in his life. And so, he kept going, fist clenched around his cock, edging himself with each edict echoing in his ears.

Running across Horacio’s chest below his pectoral muscles was a leather strap linked to another one on either shoulder that crisscrossed over his back, his biceps restrained by matching cuffs. The leather was a worn cognac brown with intricate stitching, decorative studs and buckles like the vintage cowboy belts the harness appeared to be made from.

“You like it?”

Javier’s free hand hypnotically reached up to Horacio’s torso, fingers tracing each detail of the leather in between cupping Horacio’s pecs and tweaking his nipples.

“Beautiful,” was the only word he could muster. It was by far the best birthday present Javier had ever had. Although, if he didn’t know any better, he would have assumed Horacio was trying to make this his last one.

Horacio was conflicted between watching and needing more, so he compromised by subtly rocking against Javier’s inner thigh whilst continuing his role as a voyeur. Knowing his voice alone could get Javier off was a power trip Horacio never grew tired of, even after all these years. In fact, since his career change, it had become more arousing because being in charge was a novelty now.

He brought two fingers to Javier’s lips again, which were taken greedily without the need to be told.

“Good, that’s it, and another.”

All three digits rested on Javier’s tongue as Horacio probed back and forth with increasing vigour, leaving no doubt what he had in mind as a string of saliva connected from mouth to fingers when he finally withdrew.

Horacio transferred his glossy hand straight to his chest and across his nipples, flicking the pad of his thumb over each bud just the way Javier liked to lick them.

When Horacio looked back up, Javier was tugging in a frenzy, his breathing ragged and fraying at the seams, dangerously close to it all being over.

Horacio reached out to stop Javier’s wrist, leaning closer until his lips brushed against his ear. “Not before I’ve ridden you.”

Javier immediately extracted his hand from his jeans with a huff of frustration, resenting Horacio almost as much as wanting to be fucked. Every man had his limits, and his were rapidly being reached.

With both hands free, he alternated between hot, smooth skin, the textured leather and cool metal. He slid his fingers beneath the harness, imagining all the positions he could manoeuvre Horacio around.

His hands travelled down to Horacio’s ass, pulling him further into his lap as their mouths crashed together at long last. From glutes to thighs, Javier embraced each one until he met resistance under the denim of Horacio’s jeans.

Javier ran his fingers over it a few times. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Javier growled as he lunged for Horacio’s belt and zipper, both men making light work of removing his jeans.

Whilst Horacio stood up, he took the opportunity to undress Javier and reach over to the drawer beneath the nearby coffee table. He rummaged around until he retrieved what he was looking for and stashed it on the sofa.

There was no holding back now as nails raked over hot skin and tongues connected, rough and harsh, their cocks jutting between their stomachs. Javier’s hands glided over and under the leather straps, descending beyond until his palms massaged Horacio’s cheeks apart, wider with each circular motion, his knuckles teasing up and down the cleft.

The tremor that ran through Horacio was enough to cause Javier’s arm to stretch across the sofa until he located the bottle of lube, expertly flipping the cap open and pouring liberally.

He alternated between his middle finger and thumb in a corkscrew motion, letting Horacio stretch around him, Horacio’s forehead dropping to Javier’s shoulder, teeth grazing flesh as he held their cocks in his fist.

It wasn’t long before Horacio lowered himself, steadily taking inch by inch. He initially held still, experimenting with nudges up and down as he braced his arms on the back of the couch.

A winded noise escaped Javier’s throat as Horacio sunk deeper with more force this time, gyrating his hips until he found a rhythm.

Javier was torn between the mass of muscle and leather at his fingertips but settled for clinging to the front of the harness, pulling Horacio further onto his cock.

A strained grunt left Horacio’s throat, prompting him to re-adjust so his feet were planted flat on the sofa cushions, the change in angle plunging him to new depths. He paused, giving them a chance to catch their breaths. And then, without further warning, Horacio squatted down.

The echo of his ass hitting Javier’s thighs was enough to make Horacio do it again. And again, over and over, the slap of skin on skin louder each time.

One of Javier’s hands scrambled aimlessly around for an anchor, eventually finding the couch’s arm where Horacio’s Stetson had landed earlier in the proceedings.

Javier snatched hold of the brim and brought it towards them, depositing it on Horacio’s head. “Keep it on.”

Horacio was powerless to refuse when it made Javier’s cock twitch and pulsate, massaging Horacio’s prostate as he bounced at just the right angle, his own length sliding up and down the plains of Javier’s chest and abdomen.

Now the hat was in place, Javier's hands sailed over Horacio’s thighs, pausing as he made contact with the leather band around his right thigh. He couldn’t believe Horacio had not only remembered their dirty talk the morning after Trujillo’s wedding but that he had brought Javier’s fantasy to life. And it was better than even his wildest dreams could have imagined.

A part of him wanted to remove the garter just so he could re-attach it. But he was mesmerised by the way the leather stretched around Horacio’s thigh as his pelvis pulsed back and forth, up and down, and round and round.

His fingers gravitated south, landing where the two men joined together. “Fuck,” Javier choked out, rubbing in circles around the wet rim, feeling the thrumming heat of his own cock, and wishing he had a better visual of them moving as one.

“Lie on the floor.” In complete contrast, Horacio’s cadence was calm and in control, like he was directing his horse.

Javier did as he was told, his body cushioned by a thick grey, black, and ivory Zapotec rug.

Without hesitation, Horacio sat atop Javier’s thighs with his back to him, presenting the perfect view as though he had read Javier’s mind. As he re-seated himself, he reached behind, spreading his cheeks wider as he sunk lower.

A strangled whimper was drawn from Javier’s chest as he raised his head for a closer look once Horacio started to move. He ignored the strain in his neck and replaced Horacio’s hands with his own, each palm cupping and squeezing, pushing forward, fingernails clawing, urging his rider to go faster.

In response, Horacio deepened the roll of his hips and balanced his hands on the rug beneath them.

They had picked it out on a trip to San Antonio the previous year, one of their first joint purchases for the cottage. And now they were finally christening it, surrounded by an array of décor and furnishings they had chosen together since. For their own home, an unthinkable notion in the not-so-distant past. Yet here they were against all odds.

Javier grasped the latest addition to their household, pulling Horacio by the harness in all directions as though he was the jinete (horseman) steering the reins rather than the steed being mounted bareback. But Horacio was the one wearing a Stetson. The one in the saddle daily, strengthening and toning his muscles even more than they already were, and Javier could already feel the difference.

He let go of the harness, his fingertips skimming Horacio’s voluptuous upper arms, rump and thighs, caressing the tight leather cuffs, pressing the sharp chill of the buckles against fiery skin until a shockwave rippled through Horacio and straight to Javier’s cock.

As Javier’s hips involuntarily bucked, their rhythm faltering in a chorus of moans, Horacio was beginning to regret not utilising a belt or one of the lariats from the barn as restraints on Javier’s wrists. But he changed his mind when he felt a crisp slap across the ass like a quirt used with overzealous force. But unlike the horses – with whom he was always gentle  – Horacio had no objection to the sting left behind.

In fact, it only spurred Horacio on, his ass lifting higher with each strike, building momentum, one hand stimulating his own cock in tandem.

Javier could feel rather than see Horacio jerking off, and his pelvis began to automatically plough upwards again, trying and failing to keep in time when he was this far gone.

“Horacio,” Javier breathed out, his tone pleading, desperate and wrecked.

“Tell me what you need.” Horacio wasn’t going to make it as easy this time. If Javier wanted something, he would have to use his words.

“I need you on all fours.”

And so Horacio dismounted, willing and waiting to give Javier everything he asked for, a complete 180 in a matter of minutes.

Javier wasted no time and fell in place behind Horacio, lining himself up and propelling forwards with a rough thud, nails digging into hipbones hard enough to leave marks.

As Horacio took himself in hand once more, Javier slowed to bask in a bird's eye view of his cock disappearing and reappearing, his thumbs spreading Horacio wider to get a better look at where they became one. It would have been easy to take it for granted by this stage, but he never did, not when they had been forced apart by circumstance and geography so many times before.

Whilst Javier was distracted, Horacio threw back his hips, causing a hiss of pleasure that inspired him to do it again and again, his ass pounding against Javier’s groin.

Javier drove forward in retaliation, pulling Horacio towards him with a firm jerk on the harness, a dual wave of groans unleashing each time Javier manhandled him, the thick leather straps taut against Horacio’s clammy skin, hopefully leaving imprints from the force.

Javier yanked hard enough to raise Horacio up on his knees, cementing them back to chest, teeth, mouth and moustache going to town as Horacio craned his neck to meet the onslaught.

“Do you know how fucking good you look like this? How…fucking…beautiful?” Javier’s declaration was broken up with each thrust as he resumed movement.

“It’s all for you,” Horacio purred between lip bites. “Your own cowboy to play with.”

With a muttered “Fuck,” Javier pushed Horacio back down on all fours, toppling his Stetson to the floor, one hand gripping at the harness, the other at the nape of Horacio’s neck, his fingers fondling the gold chain that complemented the silver one at his own breast.

His hips hammered forward, no holds barred, as an all too familiar pressure built and threatened to consume him any second now. He glanced down, transfixed by his own fluid motions, entranced by how well Horacio held his cock, how Javier had tamed a once wild bronco who would have thrown off any other rider a long time ago. But not him, never him, so maybe he was more of a vaquero than he thought.

A combination of the visuals, the leather against his skin, and the tight heat squeezing and releasing around him took its toll. Javier let out a wounded gasp as though all the air had been knocked out of his lungs, his muscles tensing from head to toe as he watched his cock spasm and fill Horacio up.

As liquid warmth painted Horacio's walls, his wrist jolted and shook, sending him over the edge. He felt an extra weight on his back, the harsh scrape of teeth and words of encouragement at his ear as a hand took over from his own. Just the right pace and force, just how he liked it, just enough to make him coat Javier’s fingers, vision blurred, back arched.

They didn’t move as the room came back into focus, letting their lungs and heart rates return to baseline. Before Horacio could collapse to the floor, Javier slowly pulled out, smearing glistening fingers around Horacio’s fluttering hole, mixing it in with his own release. His tongue swirled and lapped from behind, making Horacio tremble on his knees until they buckled, and he could take no more. 

------------------------------------------------------

The spark of a lighter and deep exhales of smoke were the only sounds to be heard for several minutes as they lay recovering in bed, the hard floor downstairs proving too much for their aching limbs, even with the rug for protection.

“So, are you gonna tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“Oh, come on. You know fucking well what.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“Does it matter?”

“Well…no. I’m just curious, that’s all.”

“Surprised you haven’t guessed. In fact, I kinda thought it was you dropping a hint.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It was one of your old magazines that gave me the instructions on how to make it. And it’s not hard to get access to leather around here. The saddlers the ranch uses are well-stocked in almost everything. They don’t need to know what it’s being used for.”

Whatever Javier had been expecting to hear, it wasn’t that. When moving into the cottage, he had cleared out his old bedroom. Hidden in the depths of his wardrobe, beneath several layers of clothes, was a pile of magazines he never had the heart to throw away or burn, one of which was a Cowboy and Rodeo Special of Drummer.

Javier blew out a low chuckle as he passed their cigarette across the bed. “I wish I had been dropping a hint. Although…looks like you did fine without my influence. Always the dark horse.”

"Hey, they're your magazines, not mine."

"You read them. Cover to cover by the sounds of it."

"Just making up for lost time when I was younger."

"At least someone's getting use out of them. So, you ready for your first rodeo, now? Based on this afternoon, I'd put in a good word."

"Very funny."

Although, whilst Javier was, of course, joking, there were plenty of men like Horacio who did compete across Texas – without hiding who they were as well. He imagined Horacio would rather die in a stampede of raging bulls than partake in such a competition. But nonetheless, it was an appealing fantasy for Javier to indulge in from time to time.

His fingers traced patterns over Horacio’s thigh where the leather garter remained even after the harness and cuffs had come off, the leftover scent of sweat and semen on their skin fusing with the tobacco in the air. He had taken great pleasure and care in removing those; however, when it came to the garter, Javier placed a ring of kisses where the leather sat but left it in position.

“You liked it, then?”

Javier gave Horacio an incredulous look as though the answer spoke for itself. But there was a hint of uncertainty behind the question, and it was only fair to provide reassurance. “I loved it. A lot. I don’t really do birthdays, but you’ve certainly made this one memorable. So, thank you.”

"My pleasure," Horacio murmured mid-kiss. "And it definitely beats my birthday."

"That wouldn't be hard."

The first few hours of Horacio's birthday were spent helping deliver calves and bedding down close by the expectant mothers every night for the following two weeks. He barely saw Javier other than at meal times, and it took multiple showers to wash the pungent barn aroma out of his hair.

“Hadn’t we better shower soon?” Horacio said with reluctance once they pulled apart. “Don’t wanna keep your father waiting.”

Javier leaned over to look at the clock on the bedside table. “Yeah, we should. I’m starving now we’ve worked up an appetite.”

“Do you want to do the honours?” Horacio gestured towards his thigh.

“Keep it on.”

Horacio could tell from the wicked glint in Javier's eye he wasn’t joking. “You do know I have to work with your father? And look him in the eye.”

“Oh, come on, he won’t even notice. Not everyone checks you out as much as me, y’know. Especially not my Pops. And…” Javier sat up and swung his leg across Horacio’s thigh until he was straddling him. “It is still my birthday, remember.”

Despite such brazen tactics, Horacio met Javier’s mouth again, groaning gently as Javier’s teeth pulled on his bottom lip. “Fine. As long as you can keep your hands to yourself through dinner.”

“I’ll try my best.”

He could make no such guarantees after dinner, though.

------------------------------------------------------

It took another week for the temperature to cool by several degrees, just in time for the residents of Laredo to visit neighbouring pumpkin patches, carve out Jack-o’-lanterns and go Trick-or-Treating.

By the time Javier had finished work and picked up some groceries, Chucho was busy in the lounge blanketing a table with a white lace cloth before arranging two extra tiers on top decorated with papel picado. Nearby trays were full of items ready and waiting to be placed on the ofrenda, including a Talavera pitcher of water, pan de muerto, a plate of salt, fresh marigolds, Calaveras, and a familiar wooden box.

Chucho looked up at Javier, who stood in the doorway with a cardboard box. “Ah, Javi, good timing. Pass those here.”

Javier held out a batch of fresh buñuelos delivered straight from Desde La Frontera. “Need a hand?”

Chucho looked at Javier with pleasant surprise. “Please, Mijo.”

Between them, they transferred everything from the trays to the table, Chucho directing where each item needed to be placed.

When it came to the wooden box, Chucho sat on the sofa to open it.

Javier watched silently from a few feet away, an ache forming in his chest when he saw the photos spread out on the furniture. But he pushed past it and sat in the adjacent armchair.

He looked closer at the pictures and reached into the pocket of his leather jacket. “This needs to go on it too,” he said.

Chucho glanced up to see Javier clutching Mariana’s poetry book.

“Of course. She can tell us how much she liked Madrid. Which reminds me…”

Chucho stood up and disappeared into his bedroom before reappearing with a card in his hand. “I always keep it by my bed, but it belongs on here.”

Chucho was holding an old prayer card of La Virgen de Guadalupe. “Abuela Rosa gave it to your Mamá for her quinceañera, along with these. ” Chucho lifted a string of rosary beads from the wooden box. “I think she cherished the card as a reminder of our ancestors. Even though your Abuela disapproved, your Mamá had her own ideas about Guadalupe.” He couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head with fondness.

“How do you mean?”

“Back in the '60s, Guadalupe became the mascot for the farmers’ union protests – the ones your Mamá marched on. She liked to think of her as someone who helped those in need. Do you remember her reading stories about the Aztecs? And Guadalupe, La Malinche and La Llorona?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

Javier blinked, keeping his eyes closed for a fraction longer than was customary. The memory was fuzzy around the edges, but he could feel the warmth of his mother lying beside him on his bed, a book between them as she read aloud tales of their ancestors. Once he started getting drowsy, she would sing to him or stroke his hair and kiss him goodnight, the comforting sound of her favourite telenovelas drifting through his bedroom door as he fell into a deep sleep.

When he was even smaller and couldn’t sleep after his older cousins convinced him La Llorona had been spotted in Laredo the previous night, his Mamá soothed him with the advice she had been given by her mother to always pray a Hail Mary and an Our Father whenever near water before making a sign of the cross for protection.

However, Javier also remembered during the first few months after she was gone, he would have nightmares about La Llorona. Except in those dreams, his Mamá had taken on the appearance of the wailing spirit, and her ghost roamed along the banks of the Rio Grande, screaming for him. But no matter how hard he tried to get closer to her, she would move out of reach until he woke up screaming.

“There have been so many versions of those stories since the days of the Aztecs, who knew Guadalupe as Coatlalopeuh, Tonantzin, or Coatlicue. La Llorona as Cihuacoatl. And La Malinche as Malinalli or Malintzin, or La Chingada. Some of those stories say they are all one and the same. And that the conquistadors made Guadalupe the Madonna above the others. Your Mamá saw Guadalupe as a symbol of hope, a mediator between the Aztec and Catholic religions, uniting all the different parts of us and our roots. The light and the dark, the old world and the new, the conquered and the conqueror, the obedient and the rebellious, the eagle and the snake, the Mexican and the American.”

“Never thought of it like that when I was younger. But it’s beautiful.”

“It is.” Chucho stood up and placed the prayer card on the altar.

“D’you think it’s possible, though? To unite it all, I mean.”

“I think we have to try as much as we can. And learn to make peace with it when we can’t. But I know it’s not easy.”

“Mexico didn’t seem far enough to run when I took the DEA job, even though it was never home. So, Colombia it was.” Javier couldn’t help but laugh at his own confused logic in hindsight. “But when we were in Manizales, I kept thinking about all the stories you told me about our family history – in the US and Mexico. And it just…hit me I was needed right here on the border. So, thank you, Pops.”

“For what?”

“For reminding me of my roots.”

“Your Mamá helped out a lot here, but she always wanted to do more. And she would have done a whole lot more if she’d had the chance. She’d have fought for yours and Horacio’s rights too, I’m sure of it. I had a feeling you’d take after her one day.”

“Better late than never, right?”

“Right. She’d be so proud of you and your work, Mijo. And so am I.”

A customary exchange of nods filled the silence that had become a trademark between father and son over the years when words seemed inadequate.

Chucho cleared his throat and turned to make one final check everything was in its rightful place on the ofrenda. “I think we’re about ready if you want to get Horacio.”

Javier headed next door with his Pops’ words – and his Mamá’s – echoing in his head. He thought about all the tangled threads that had run through him his whole life like the river he grew up on the bank of. It was ironic he could walk across bridges from Laredo into Mexico and back again, a confluence of his heritage. Yet there was always a gap that wouldn’t close. A gap those who insisted on his name meaning shame with a n rather than rock with a ñ wouldn’t let him close. All of the contradictions and dualities he had tried to reconcile, assuming in the past that he was expected to pick one or the other but never feeling qualified enough, resigning himself to an eternal conflict he could never win.

He thought about the people who crossed the invisible line in the earth every day, the one that instantly changed their identity and status whether they liked it or not, dividing and flattening their humanity into stereotypes and insults. The one that caused mothers separated from their children to cry like La Llorona and be condemned for finding themselves in desperate circumstances through no fault of their own. The one that led to Operations Hold the Line and Gatekeeper building walls and deploying an army of la migra, as Border Patrol were often called, to keep people out.

Maybe it was Javier’s recalcitrance, but the more the US government tried to put up borders – despite not thinking twice about violating those belonging to other countries – the more at ease he felt without them. After all, Texas had been part of Mexico in the past, as well as its own republic, and he had spent more than enough of his life trapped by self-imposed borders and walls already.

To be in a place like Laredo was to live on the margin of two countries and cultures, not one or the other. He was Mexican American, a Tejano. He had shared his heart and bed with women and men. Horacio was a closely guarded secret and a naked truth; they lived in the shadows and in the light. He was making a difference, yet it was a drop in the ocean of an ever-expanding problem. He regretted so much of what went down in Colombia, but not that he went in the first place, not only because of Horacio but because it brought him full circle. It brought him peace. It brought him home.

------------------------------------------------------

As the clock struck midnight and welcomed in Día de los Difuntos, the ofrenda was aglow with candlelight, and the fresh scent of copal filled the farmhouse.

Horacio stood over the altar, his gaze fixed on the image of him in his Papá’s jacket, his father’s usually stern expression relaxed and…proud. He had never really allowed himself to think of that word before. But as the veladoras flickered and swayed across the photograph his Mamá had insisted he kept, he could no longer ignore it.

Beneath the photo lay the golden pendants, temporarily removed from Horacio's neck for the festivities, a glass of his Papá’s favourite rum to match the one in his hand, and a plate of tamales.

“Not bad for a Colombian.”

“I guess I had a good teacher.”

“After dealing with a son determined not to follow in my footsteps, it makes a change to find someone more willing.”

Horacio’s eyes landed back on the photograph of him and his Pops before shifting to one of Mariana in her element at a Chicano civil rights march with a toddling Javier by her side, a bittersweet smile taking hold of his lips. “Funny how it works out.”

“True. But as long as it does, that's the main thing. Even if it’s not what you expected.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

“What are we toasting?” Javier asked as he came in from the kitchen with two glasses of his Mamá’s mezcal of choice, passing one over to Chucho.

Chucho gave a nod of thanks and raised his glass. “To endings and beginnings. And reunions.”

The next couple of hours were spent telling stories, reminiscing, remembering. Welcoming the past into the present, letting it know there was still a future.

------------------------------------------------------

Chucho retreated to bed first, leaving Javier and Horacio to finish their drinks by the fire, which had burned down to its last mesquite log.

After placing their empty glasses in the kitchen, Javier stopped by the ofrenda on his way back to the sofa. His eye caught the selection of sugar skulls on display, each delicate design bearing the name of a departed loved one. Although, there were, in fact, two each for Mariana and Eduardo.

Javier traced his finger across the one which read Mariana Rosa Reyes Estrada, a pair of arms gathering tightly around his waist simultaneously.

“I never knew her with this name. She left Estrada behind in Mexico. Before she married, she was Mariana Reyes. Then she took Pops’ name ‘cos that’s the gringo way. And to make all the paperwork easier, I was just a Peña, too. But Pops likes to welcome her home with her Mexican and American names. In case she gets lost, he always says.” Javier released an affectionate chuckle at the expense of his Pops’ superstitions.

“He told me when he asked for my father’s full name.” Horacio smiled into Javier’s shoulder as he reached towards the skull that read Eduardo Horacio Carrillo Acosta.

He repeated the same motion across the shared part of his and his Papá's name. “The CNP prefer you choose one name when you enlist. So, of course, we all followed suit – Mamá included. And she left Sierra behind when she changed her papers.”

“Seems like we all have to leave parts of ourselves behind one way or another.”

“True. But if we’re lucky, we find them again somewhere down the line.”

Javier hummed in agreement as a trail of kisses soothed at his neck.

“When was the last time you did this, by the way?” Horacio asked as he traced idle patterns over Javier’s stomach.

“Día de Muertos? Fuck…I can’t even remember. When I was in Colombia, I always came home for Christmas – but not before. Pops never made a big deal out of it, but I could tell he was disappointed.”

“I’m sure he understood. And at least you’re here now.”

“I know. I think I just needed to do it in my own time.”

“Same here. So, thank you. To you and your father.”

“For what?”

“Letting me be a part of it. I think it’s something I’ve needed to do for years.”

“Horacio, of course you’re a part of it. You’re a part of the family.” Javier’s fingers found Horacio’s, lacing them together with ease above the belt of his jeans. “Tú eres mi familia.” (You’re my family)

“Y tú eres mía.” (And you’re mine)

“I was thinking about tomorrow…well, technically, later today. I, er, wondered if you wanted to watch the parade downtown. Then maybe head over to the cemetery with Pops. It's fine if it’s too much. I get it. I just thought maybe –”

“It’s okay.” Horacio cut him off, turning him around until they were face-to-face then forehead-to-forehead. “I’d love to.”

As the last embers of mesquite turned to ash, they knelt in front of the soft glow of the ofrenda, fingers connecting with their silver cross encased between their palms. A final attempt to welcome home those who had shaped so much of their children's lives, even in their absence, and sometimes in the most unexpected ways.

------------------------------------------------------

Echoes of drumbeats filled downtown Laredo by late afternoon, accompanied by a rainbow of papel picado along every street and a sea of Catrinas and Catrins. Children and adults alike wore masks or calavera face paint and marigolds in their hair, the intricate details of their costumes no doubt requiring months of preparation.

Food and drink stalls had seemingly popped up overnight, selling everything from pan de muerto, pozole and tamales to alegría, gorditas, marranitos and champurrado. It was impossible not to get swept from stand to stand, and fears of Javier and Horacio being scrutinised by anyone they happened to bump into were soon allayed. The hustle and bustle of the festivities made them anonymous yet at one with the city, as they were all here for the same reason.

Floats, dancers and puppets passed through the main roads, a spectacle Javier hadn’t witnessed in years. As a teen, the last thing he felt like doing was celebrating when it came to his Mamá’s passing. She wasn’t supposed to have gone so soon. But nowadays, he could appreciate the care and respect involved in honouring the dead. He could look back on the precious memories and not feel the need to push them away. He could accept the duality of grief and love, not as contradictions but as two sides of the same coin.

As they followed the procession at the end of the parade, making their way towards the cemetery to meet Chucho, Javier caught Horacio’s eye with a silent question. One that Horacio answered with a firm nod, reassurance that they were still on the same page.

So much had changed since Horacio was last here for Día de Muertos, not least of all the fact Javier was with him this time and had since met his family. And Escobar was dead, of course. His Papá was no longer a choking force around his neck but a warm presence that sat more comfortably on his chest. Not weightless, but manageable now.

Although darkness had fallen by the time they arrived at the cemetery, a sea of candles and lanterns lit the gravesides like an endless night sky, each one guiding the way home, even if just for one day. The celebrations from earlier continued, some families singing, drinking and eating. Others prayed or sat with blankets and hot drinks, telling stories and keeping memories alive.

Chucho had been busy when it was still light, clearing out dried flower stems and polishing Mariana’s headstone. Now, fresh marigolds were arranged around the candles, their strong fragrance carrying across the cemetery.

They were greeted with pats on the back and a glass of mezcal. A lowkey toast and short prayers were all they had planned, preferring to save the rest for the privacy of home.

“I just wanted to say thank you. To both of you for coming.”

“Any time, Pops. I’d forgotten how beautiful this place looks all lit up.”

“It reminds me of Día de las Velitas back in Colombia. People light candles and lanterns at cemeteries like this. Not that I could bring myself to join them after Papá.”

“There’s still time.” Javier held Horacio’s gaze through the flickering half-light, making the most of the only gesture he could give in public.

“I know.”

“It’s quieter here usually. A nice place to think. And she’s always been a good listener. So, if you ever need some breathing space, I’m sure she’d be all ears.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Horacio mirrored Chucho’s soft smile before laying down a tasteful wreath of marigolds he’d bought from one of the street vendors on their way here.

Javier watched with a growing warmth in his chest as his past, present and future collided once again. A first meeting of sorts, even if it wasn’t how it should have been. Even if it was built on memories and traditions, on prayers and stories, it was still real.

------------------------------------------------------

Slivers of silver reflected off the dark waters beyond the farm’s boundaries, the stars above shimmering like distant fireflies. Southern Texan Decembers were mild, but there was a chill to the air after sundown, especially by the river bank. However, it was nothing a blanket or two couldn’t fix.

Horacio was propped against a mesquite tree with Javier sitting between his legs, one blanket beneath them and the other draped over them. Coco stood watch nearby, her reins looped around a branch as she chomped on her favourite treat of apple slices – a reward for tonight’s extra work.

They shared a flask of Manizales’ finest coffee between Horacio lightly massaging Javier’s scalp and temples. It had been a hectic few days, from Chucho roping them into Las Posadas preparations to the farm being short-staffed in the past week due to seasonal colds and flu and the border seeing a higher influx of crossings in the build-up to the holidays.

Apart from a Christmas dinner or two, they weren’t expecting to take much time off over the festive period, but tonight was all about them. They had miraculously managed to escape work on time before driving to Desde La Frontera for a meal that was starting to become an anniversary tradition.

Javier played with Horacio’s hands, pressing kisses into his knuckles and pausing over his left wrist. “You like it, then?”

“Very much.”

“I know it’s not quite a garter or harness, but…” Javier trailed off, his shoulders and abdomen shaking in tandem.

“The strap’s the same colour, though.” One of Horacio’s hands snaked along Javier’s form, tickling at the waistband of his jeans enough to make him squirm.

“Oh really? Hadn’t noticed.”

“Liar.”

“Maybe. But it does suit you.”

Of course, Javier was banged to rights. He had spent considerable time picking out the watch, knowing Horacio preferred something digital – for pinpoint accuracy – and practical. Horacio had never got around to replacing his old one that was stopped by the ambush, so it was a long overdue replacement.

But if it also happened to be a gentle reminder of certain escapades every time he looked down at it, well...that was an added bonus. As was the thought of Horacio wearing Javier’s gift buckled around his wrist every day, the strap tight enough to leave a mark on his sun-kissed skin.

“Likewise with your present.”

“I dunno about that. I think you wear it better.”

“You’re the homegrown Texan boy, not me.”

“You’re the fucking cowboy, not me.”

Horacio’s fingers on his right hand took a firmer hold of Javier’s hair, coaxing him to turn around and abandon the flask he had just brought to his lips. “Technically…you own part of the ranch and farm. So, it’s about time you had a Stetson.”

Their lips met over Javier’s shoulder, still warm and tingling from the coffee.

“Fair point.” Javier picked up the flask again and downed whatever was left before it went cold. “We got any more of this, by the way?”

“Not ‘til next week. I told Alejandra to bring as much as she can fit in her luggage.”

“Well, there’ll be plenty of suitcases to choose from.”

“I know. I’m not sure your father knows what he’s let himself in for.”

“Oh, don’t worry, he knows from when my cousins and I were kids. And he gets to play host, so he’ll be in his element.”

“He’s already given me a list of groceries to pick up on the way back from the livestock auction in Hondo.”

“When’s that again?”

“The day before my family arrives. Not ideal timing, but couldn’t really say no to more experience.”

“You still shadowing Gus Montoya?”

“Yeah, he’s been in the trade since he was 16, and he’s one of the best in the business now. I thought I should be involved before we start buying the new Santa Gertrudis and Longhorns for this place next year.”

“The paddocks are gonna be in these lower fields here, right?” Javier gestured towards a recently cleared stretch of land with the newly installed gate separating it from the ranch next door.

“Yes. It’ll be easier to move everything back and forth without disturbing the other fields. Then, once the new herd’s settled in, we can expand the stables, get in some more Morgans and Quarter Horses. Maybe diversify the cover crops for next winter.”

“Sounds good.” An unseen smile had spread across Javier’s face, the novelty of listening to Horacio talk ranch business not having worn off yet. All those years he tuned out whenever his Pops did the same, yet he never tired of hearing Horacio’s plans.

“It keeps me out of trouble.”

“Shame.”

“That’s not until next year, though…” Horacio trailed off, his lips devouring Javier’s neck, nibbling until Javier wriggled in his hold.

“Well, we better make the most of this before your family arrives.”

Horacio hummed in agreement, his mouth still buried in Javier’s shoulder. “Especially as there’s a quick turnaround before New Year’s.”

“True. I take it Felipe and Juana are still okay to come?”

“I forgot to tell you – I spoke to him earlier. Juana’s feeling much better now the morning sickness has passed. And with Cali gone and FARC taking up more and more CNP resources in the jungle, it’s mostly turf wars between the smaller gangs in Medellín. So, Martínez authorised his leave, and they’re flying out on the 30th.”

“Glad to hear it. It’s all good on the Miami front as well. They arrive the same day, late afternoon, once Connie’s finished her shift and Steve’s picked Olivia up from his parents’ house.”

“Okay, good. So, everything’s sorted then.”

“Not quite…I still need to clean out the guesthouses. Don’t think our old one’s been done since the Navarro Vega family left.”

“At least it’s still getting used since we moved out.”

“Yeah, well, I guess someone always needs it. Especially with IIRIRA coming into force. So many more fucking deportations. So many people taking bigger risks ‘cos they've got no choice.” Javier exhaled harshly through his nose.

He ran his fingers over his moustache and chin, pressing his thumb into his jaw and resting his face in his hand. “It’s starting to feel like the old days again.”

“But it’s not, Javier. You’re on the other side of it all this time.”

“It’s not just the border, though, is it?”

“What isn’t?”

“Legislation that could have us arrested for fucking in the privacy of our own home.”

“We’ve always been careful.”

“We thought we were careful back in Colombia, Horacio. And look where that got us.”

Javier didn’t think about those days much anymore if he could help it. Neither man did, except on specific dates or bad days if they were unlucky. But it was hard to shake the sense of paranoia in light of what the laws of his own state had to say about his sex life. It wasn’t far-fetched to imagine someone like Mia Domínguez spying on them through a long lens, waiting to catch them out.

“True. There’ll always be a risk. But people like us have always existed under the radar. And we’ve been here over a year now, remember. Anyone who’s got a problem with us has already made their feelings perfectly clear. The rest either don’t know or don't give a fuck. Our story doesn’t have to end like the one you showed me in The New Yorker.”

“I know.”

Javier had been in two minds about whether to share it. But Horacio insisted he was the one to be read to for a change, preferring to hear the evocative imagery of the wild American landscape from the mouth of a Texan. The parallels were undoubtedly there between the glossy magazine pages and elements of their lives – but luckily, not all of it rang true for them.

“For a start, they were sheepherders from Wyoming,” Javier added with a tone of defiance.

“Exactly. Completely different.”

“Yep.” Javier exhaled loudly, his mind already returning to his previous stubborn thought. "But it’s the same government smoke and mirrors shit all over again. The same fucking hypocrisy. If it's not chasing people down the river or letting them die in the desert, it’s drug shipments they made easier to transport here in the first place. Or you’ve got couples like us crossing over looking for safety, only to run into fucking sodomy laws. It’s never gonna stop.”

It was the same sleight of hand tactics Javier had seen before. Legislation made thousands of miles away would claim to solve a problem whilst exacerbating it on the frontline. Whether it was drugs or human beings, they proved time and time again that they couldn’t be contained by a border or a statute book. Whether it was Border Patrol or the DEA, choppers would fly over the river at night, fruitlessly chasing traffickers despite the extra budget. If the usual border crossings were out of bounds, people would risk more remote or treacherous spots to try their luck.

It wasn’t unheard of for them to emerge from clusters of trees like the one they were sitting in now, drenched and shaking from the cold and dehydration. Or for Javier to be ready and waiting with towels, a change of clothes, a hot shower, or food and drink. Some would present themselves willingly to the authorities, others would disappear, never to be seen or heard from again. If anyone ever asked, Javier had seen and knew nothing.

“And neither are you. Look at all the people you’ve helped already. You might not be able to save everyone, but you’re making the difference you always wanted to make.”

Horacio coaxed Javier to face him again, cupping his jaw and rubbing a thumb over his stubbled cheek. “Estoy orgulloso de ti.” (I’m proud of you)

Javier closed his eyes, basking in Horacio’s touch and closing the gap between them. “Y yo de ti.” (And I of you)

Easy kisses followed – the kind that were grounding and familiar, safe and timeless.

They rode back to the cottage with only the moon and stars guiding the way. Horacio clasped Coco’s reins whilst Javier held onto his waist from behind, making the most of the idyllic evening spent alone. Because even here, they knew it couldn’t always be like this. But despite all that life would throw at them in the years to come, they would be there for each other, to grow and change, to sail in the same direction, even if not always in the same boat. To make peace with the past, to live in the present, and to look to the future on their own terms.

------------------------------------------------------

Burnt oranges and yellows filled the stone fireplace, the crackling of charred mesquite wood accompanying the dulcet tones of Elvis on the turntable. A fresh pine tree stood in the corner opposite a set of bookshelves, its white lights and a row of candles on the mantlepiece casting a soft glow across the lounge.

By next year, they would have to re-think the room's layout as the shelves were almost out of space. They had transferred all of their old books, records and tapes when they moved in – two poetry books in particular taking pride of place – which now sat alongside newly purchased or gifted titles from the likes of Fernando Vallejo, E.M. Forster, John Rechy, Gloria E. Anzaldúa, Alejo Durán, Linda Ronstadt, K.D. Lang, Vicente Fernández, Walt Whitman, Pedro Almodóvar and Gregg Araki. And no doubt there would be further additions to their collection on Christmas Day.

Luna was the sole canine guest tonight, her bond with Horacio somehow stronger again since Kira’s and Fuego’s arrival. Sol and Leo had grown increasingly fond of their new playmates in the last few months, so it was often the three of them in the cottage nowadays. Horacio hadn’t discussed it with Chucho, but he hoped she would stay with them permanently – and see out her retirement years – once the new cattle were in place.

She lay in her favourite chair, fast asleep with her head on the armrest and oblivious to their return home beyond a drowsy wag of the tail, before resuming her dreams.

“You had a good day, then?” Javier asked from the comfort of Horacio’s shoulder, their arms wrapped around each other as they gently swayed to the music.

Horacio let out a contented hum of approval, burying himself against Javier’s shirt, breathing all of him in. “It was perfect.”

“It was.”

“Although…I think there’s one thing missing.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“Your present.”

Javier’s chest shook, and something that sounded remarkably like “You fucker” was sworn against the crook of Horacio’s neck, followed by a sharp nip of the teeth.

“It’s only fair.” Horacio tried to keep an authoritative edge to his tone. But it was far from convincing when he ended up laughing as much as Javier.

“Actually…it’s only fair if you wear your hat too.” Another neck bite, accompanied this time by a trail of kisses along the open collar of Horacio’s red plaid shirt, shoving the bandana aside for easier access. “Deal?”

Horacio’s back arched involuntarily, the rumble threatening to escape from his throat tempered into an elongated sigh instead. Not much of a win, but he’d take it. “Deal.”

And so Javier fetched the Stetsons from the coat hook in the hallway whilst Horacio switched records once Elvis had finished.

Javier lowered Horacio’s hat into place, encouraging Horacio to do the same with his.

“Satisfied?” Javier asked once they resumed their embrace, the cumbia beats of Lucho Bermúdez now replacing Elvis.

Horacio’s fingers slid from Javier’s waist to the belt loops of his jeans, pulling him forward until their lips met and the brims of their hats jutted together. “I am now…cowboy.”

They let another vinyl play before undressing, every movement sensual and considered as they removed boots and unbuckled belts between slow, thorough kisses. With hats relegated to the couch for now, Javier untied the silk bandana from Horacio’s neck, teasing smooth fabric along the nape and tossing it to the floor, revealing faded tan lines from the unforgiving summer months. Buttons from their plaid shirts were next, followed by jeans and underwear, chestnut lost in charcoal as they stood bare in each other’s arms but for the silver and gold pendants.

Neither felt the need to give into temptation, not yet, at least. Instead, they put on another record and danced, hand in hand, skin against skin, soul against soul. Because they were never in a rush anymore; now they had all the time in the world. Now they were home.

#Narcos fic #Narcos #Javier Peña #Horacio Carrillo #Carrillo #Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo #Pedro Pascal #Maurice Compte #Narcos fanfic #Narcos fanfiction #Narcos fan fic #My Fan Fic #My Narcos Fic

[mariamariquinha]

Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Thirteen (Part 2)

Summary: The void.

Word count: 7.6k

Warnings: Bad words, violence, ~ daddy issues ~, smut, unprotected p in v sex, slight mentions of political conditions from the period, trauma, nightmares, people drinking alcohol, feelings and angst 🤷‍♀️

Author’s Note: I will admit that I am VERY lazy about editing long chapters, so I will always point out that there may be some spelling mistakes. Trust me, sometimes it’s tiring to think in Portuguese and write in English.

This had a very firm direction even before writing, so after a long time, I announce that this is our penultimate chapter. I'm very tired, as you already know, and multi-chapter stories take longer and require more energy, which I've been lacking in recent months.

Either way, it's been an amazing journey! I will be very sad to close, but happy to know that I did something that means something to me. See you in the last chapter!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

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Hell, his cigarettes were always stronger. A combination of tough tobacco and intense nicotine, more natural but probably more dangerous. The box was nearly full, you noticed as you fished one out. Either he had recently bought it or he was being more resilient with his addiction - either of those things seemed unlikely. Feeling it now, as you inhaled the nicotine and hid a cough of surprise at the intense taste, you almost had the impression that being addicted to it seemed a lot harder than it looked.

You had sat on the back steps, but you made a point of leaving the door closed as it was before. The night was muggy, a little cruel if you were wearing more than a cotton t-shirt; it gave you an overwhelming feeling, as if you were sensing everything around you. You noticed that the garden had a particularly feminine feel to it — something that felt like Juliana, perhaps a very vivid reflection of what her presence in the house was like. Flowers, water fonts, the stone that certainly had a cool name that was used on the steps you were sitting on. You could feel comfort in the soles of your feet if you moved a little. 

The weeds and chips in the beds looked more like Carrillo. You wouldn’t think he cared so much about making the place feel like a house, let alone whether to make the garden look like a garden.

“Why are you here?” 

You didn’t have a proper answer. Given his manners, you could smoke in the room, could think about whatever kept you up that night by his window or in the comfort of his bed. Instead, you got there, far away, fingers brushing your jaw unconsciously and smoking a cigarette that wasn’t yours. Without something to say, you shrugged, not eyeing him but knowing he could find ways to get the answer somehow. 

It was a pleasant surprise to see him walk down those steps, casually pull up a wooden chair that was there and sit down to face you. That made you smile discreetly. 

“It’s awful, just so you know,” You gestured with the cigarette in your hand, contradicting yourself the next second while you took another hit.

“It’s not the best option for those who want to quit.”

“I just picked the wrong time for this. Or the wrong career.” 

Carrillo didn't respond, but you could see him make that information something to mull over. You held his analytical gaze for a while; when it got intense enough, you took another drag and turned your face to the side.

“I didn't get them all,” The comment came after a long moment of silence, when you noticed that he didn’t make any effort to have one for him. 

“Mm-hm,” He answered easily. “I figured you'd stop at the first one.”

“Yeah, well, this shit it’s fucked. You should review your preferences.”

“On cigarettes?” 

“That too.” 

This time he reacted, but in such an unusual way that it didn't seem like him. Horacio was drowsy, slow, as if the outside world had taken a break for that moment. Rested, by the saying. And when he decided to lean forward, reaching out a hand to pull the cigarette clamped between your fingers, you let him, watching the way he just took the time to put it in his own mouth before subtly grabbing your previously occupied hand. The same one that was still sore from the impact of the fall, but not so bad that it made you flinch from the touch. With the orange cigarette light illuminating his face, Carrillo carefully detailed the wounds, his thumb trailing lightly over your knuckles. 

“Who told you?” The question slipped out of your mouth smoothly, but you felt anxious asking it. When he just frowned at you, you clarified. “About my… fall.”

He took his time taking the cig away, then took more time blowing the smoke away before saying something. 

“Peña.”

Of course. 

You tilted your head while you entertained yourself with the hold he had on your hand. Raising your eyes after a good moment, you saw him watching you. 

You looked at each other for a moment. His fingers twitched in the grasp he had on your skin and whatever breeze that would come to brush you two wouldn’t make a single scratch at that moment. He looked so soft, so… open, like a vision of whatever type of man he was, a person you’d been meeting piece by piece. The warm eyes, the peaceful sincerity and the calm touches. God, he was so beautiful. 

“Te extraño en mi cama.” I miss you in my bed. There wasn’t a teasing tone with the way he talked, but you could feel his intentions dripping from his voice. 

Instead of giving him a proper answer, you chose — again — to keep any thought to yourself. With a slow hand, you grabbed the cigarette again, inhaling a little and releasing the smoke into the air without taking your eyes off him.

“¿Entonces viniste a buscarme?” So you came to get me?

Eyeing him from above, you could see the small smirk playing on his lips at the comment. You reflected the reaction, taking another drag before returning the cigarette. On this one, he pulled the touch away from your hand and directed it to the bare skin of your leg. Again, you didn’t make the effort to move or say something. Carrillo leaned in carefully, placing a single kiss on the inside of your left knee, then another on the right one. His body was angled enough that you could admire the curve of his broad back, the way the muscles stretched the fabric of his shirt.

“¿Qué estás haciendo?” What are you doing? You asked, a little breathless from the gentle kisses and touches, shivering like an untouched woman. 

“Te quiero cerca de mi,” I want you close to me, He said against your skin, hand massaging your thighs. “¿Harías esto por mí?” Would you do this for me?

“Por supuesto, Horacio. No estaba huyendo.” Of course, Horacio. I wasn't running away.

“Yo sé que no. No irías muy lejos vestida así.” I know you weren’t. You wouldn't go far dressed like that. Carrillo straightened his stance, smiling playfully at you and letting a small ‘oof’ when you kicked him lightly on the leg. 

You two got back to a comfortable silence, the tip of his fingers brushing your knees while you kept staring at the distance. The cigarette was still burning, making that strong smell of tobacco flow through the air calmly. It was peaceful, the way you sat there, silently, in each other's orbit. For a moment, you wanted to ask if he just lost sleep or if you had woken him up; maybe he wanted to ask something like that too. In the end, no one said anything, even though something should be done soon and you should move on from there. 

“Quite dramatic, don’t you think?” You were the first one breaking the silence, still not eyeing him with a wave of embarrassment hitting you. “We’re almost there to get that motherfucker and I’m here whining because of my father.”

“You’re not whining.”

“You know what I mean.”

He knew and, from the inside, you also knew he agreed with your opinions. There was a lot going on, a war to win, people dying, but still your personal problems darkened your vision from the real problem. It made you understand why Carrillo was so averse to DEA or CIA - so many people looking at their own ass and not seeing the whole figure, the important part. Even then, you appreciated the effort, the way he just shook his head a little, took a drag, averted the topic. 

You two contemplated the night in silence, puffing smoke and eventually brushing each other’s shins or legs or fingers. It was so easy to get used to the calm of that moment, to remember it as something eternal. You didn't want to think about the end of that because thinking about the end of that would, perhaps, be thinking about the end of what you had with Horacio there, at that moment. A mission that had to be accomplished, with the usual consequences. This was such a cruel melancholy, one that you only glimpsed as simple touches on your fingertips but that made your heart sink.

“Que pasa, mi amor?” What is it, my love? Carrillo asked, probably noticing the way you showed your sadness in your eyes, staring back at him. 

“Nn-nn,” You shook your head. “I’m fine. Maybe I just wanna go to bed now.”

“We can do that.”

He didn't press, nor did he hesitate to put out his cigarette so the two of you could go back inside. When they did, Horacio locked the door but didn't let you go very far - he subtly held your hand, bringing you closer and kissing your bruised knuckles. Then, without taking his eyes off yours, he placed a sighing kiss on your forehead, in the middle of your eyebrows, on the bridge of your nose and, finally, on your lips.

“I don't think I ever told you how beautiful you are.”

“Horacio…”

“What? Don’t you believe me?” 

“I’m already here, that’s all. You already have me, you don’t need to-” You knew exactly why you waved off his compliment, why you felt so unsure of how to react to it, and maybe he did too, because Carrillo wasn’t dumb. “Thank you. Sorry.”

You also didn’t know why your eyes welled with tears - either way, you suppressed the urge to cry, looking at him from under your lashes with shyness. With a discreet hand, you held his chest, then the side of his neck, tilting your head to the side and almost failing in keeping a neutral expression while observing his face. If you could, you would tell him that you were used to losing, that it wasn’t the first time your mind started to prepare you for another fall, another break. That Horacio, that this, wouldn’t be forever, that maybe you were just a storm in a life that could be calm. 

Horacio deserved suitable days. Days where he could have kids, a wife to call his, sunday lunches with family and calm nights with a partner. You always doubted yourself so much, always put yourself in the harsh ways of life to just feel something, that suddenly you felt self conscious of the fact that you weren’t what he probably was looking for, that he wouldn’t change you or what happened or how messy the world was. You didn’t want it to end because it was good. Imprudent, maybe, and quite dangerous, but good. So good. 

“What will become of us after this, Horacio? What do you expect of me?” 

He blinked, frowning in a stern way. 

“Is that what made you lose sleep?” 

You nodded. The confirmation just made him sigh, shaking his head lightly and showing clear signs of frustration. 

“He was never right about you. He doesn't… He doesn't deserve you, what he said doesn't belong to you,” Carrillo contained a harsh tone, jaw clenching. “I don’t expect anything, not from you, not from us, nothing but the assurance that you’re here now. That’s what I need.”

---------------------------------

It was different that time, you knew it was. Not like the first time, in the pure and mutual attraction, nor the second, in the decompression of the adversities that surrounded the two of you. It was different because, if Carrillo was crazy enough to ask you to marry him or propose an escape or make you stay there forever, you would say yes. Yes, Yes, Yes. Yes, take me away, yes, make me yours, yes, be the father of the children I never wanted to have but would have if you asked me. Yes, I would do anything for you. 

But he didn't ask any of that. He hardly asked, in fact, because between ordering or teasing, as he always did with you, Horacio decided to give you things, fill you with dark truths in the way he kissed you and made love to you that night. 

There was caution, care. He calmly undressed you, kissed you from heel to lip, caressed you through your physical wounds and those of your mind, holding you tight while he heard you moan and sigh. Sex for you was always a coincidence, an exaggerated consummation that was nothing more than pure biology. With him, that night, it was the end of a long and unnecessary waiting time that would always lead to the same result: the two of you together, skin to skin, without delay.

It was ridiculously cliché, looking into his eyes as you rode him slowly, as you enjoyed every moment with sweaty, panting faces, and knowing that the devotion of pleasure was the first and most genuine positive emotion you felt for each other. That there was no love at first sight, nor at second, nor at third, but a feeling that was based on the truth that, sometimes, the patches of difficult lives so full of ashes were enough for the right person. Ashes that became embers and fire again, with comfortable flames that warmed and did not burn. Not anymore, at least.

When it was all over, with both of you exhausted, tired and overwhelmed by the end, Horacio opened his first truly light smile, without intentions, just a happy one. He passed his hand over your forehead, looked at you without fear.

“Te amo.” 

I love you. 

---------------------------------

In the morning, despite having little sleep, you indulged more than you did at night in the shower. It was much less romantic, but equally intense, with skin-to-skin noises, loud moans, nail marks and very naughty looks. He took you from behind, one possessive hand on your neck and the other arm wrapped around your torso to balance his firm thrusts, while you grabbed his hips to keep him going. 

One of your best mornings, indeed. 

“I have a meeting before lunch. Then we have some alignments about the capture,” He said, all professional again, handing you a cup of coffee. You took it, smiling at the gesture while eyeing the correspondence from the day before that was stuck on your purse. 

“The capture. Big word,” The teasing didn’t go unnoticed by him, but the term caused a small cloud of tension to hang in the air. 

A letter from your mother. She said she loved you, asked for what the fuck was that magazines in your apartment and a date she had with the guy from the Blockbuster she mentioned two letters before. No details, thank God. 

“What do you think?” 

“About what?”

A call-up from Messina. Nothing important. That report she asked was probably on her desk by now. 

“About this word.”

You stopped between an FBI report and another envelope. When you looked up, you saw him standing in front of you, leaning on the counter where you were sitting and sipping your own coffee. This made you consider a response, even if you already knew what you were going to say. With a sigh, you placed the envelopes back on the top of your bag and also took a sip of coffee, shrugging your shoulders.

“Last time he ran away.” 

“Is that what you meant?”

“... No,” You shook your head lightly. “We know what will happen. Do you want me to say it?” 

“You could try.”

But you didn’t. He knew, you knew, that was what mattered. Like ripping away a band-aid, or taking the life out of a queen bee - resolution, antidote, job done. You turned your face away from him, eyeing the letters splayed out there, and shook your head again. 

“I don't want to put you into the operation. When the day comes, I mean.”

“I know,” A sip - a bitter one. “It’s okay.”

“Is it?”

“My name will already be in the history books, Carrillo. The DEA agent who fell from the rooftops the most in Medellín,” Even if it meant to be a teasing, Horacio didn’t smile, which made you roll your eyes. “I did the job, we all did. Whoever pulls the trigger, I’m happy. Satisfied.”

He didn’t respond to that, nor did he bring up the subject again, and you knew he understood what your passive words meant. You could be hiding something, maybe, but you weren't sure what it was. Your father may have been incapable of keeping words that promised good things, but he had uncanny abilities to carry out his threats well. He wouldn't touch Carrillo, he needed him, the aggression and the wounded pride that still coursed through the guy's veins. It would be one, two of the group. It would be someone. 

You left the house giving him a long kiss, one that was returned with a certain innocence - which was an odd word to associate with him, anyway. Either way, you were determined to make the future farewell, the inevitable one, a little less full of secrets. You would say what really happened. You would do that, yes, different from what an unloving father would do after destroying his own family.

---------------------------------

“¿Qué pasó, hijo? Pareces distraído.” What happened, son? You seem distracted.

Jorge blinked a few times, looking back at the dishes in his hands and the foam, which was more sliding around his fists than actually cleaning anything in the sink. When he realized that he was, in fact, wandering in thought, he cleared his throat and tried to scrub the plate harder. He had done it before, but repeated the process unconsciously. 

“Sólo estoy cansado, mamá. Fue un día largo en el hospital.” I'm just tired, mom. It was a long day at the hospital.

He hadn't said it in the letter - he didn't feel the strength or courage to do so. He didn't know how his mother would react. Georgina was a truly strong, competent woman, but Jorge's need to take a peek into the past was always something she ignored or just pretended didn't exist. If she imagined anything from her son's erratic behavior, the way he had become more agitated since the DEA had gotten its hands on the hunt for Escobar, she didn't comment. Another quality of hers, perhaps coming from experience, was knowing when to be quiet. 

“No sé si voy a venir a cenar esta noche,” I don't know if I'm going to come to dinner tonight, Jorge said in a low, almost embarrassed tone, because he knew how much she didn’t like the idea. When he felt her coming closer, touching his shoulder calmly, he thought it was over and then, right there, all the secrecy would be over. 

“¿De guardia en el hospital?” On duty at the hospital?

“Mm-hm.” He nodded, still watching the dishes, afraid of what he would find if his eyes landed on Georgina. She hummed, patting his back, then turning away. 

“Ten cuidado en el camino. Por lo que parece, se están yendo.” Be careful on the way. From the looks of it, they’re leaving.

His hands clenched tightly at the mention of 'them', as did his eyes. Jorge always hated his sentimental side because it constantly failed him when necessary - since he was little, he would cry because he was away from his mother for a long time (who didn't give up brothel work even after having him) or he would get angry when another patient died due to lack of medicine in the hospital or he would even feel incredibly guilty when he saw the money that always came with men who were not from the government. That last part, he actually learned to overcome. If he was really determined like his grandmother always prophesied, he would never send that letter. You didn't owe him anything, you might not even have known he existed or, worse, followed not only in your father's footsteps in your career but in life.

Jorge left his mother's house afraid of being rejected again because it had been three days. Three days and nothing.

He wouldn't have another chance.

---------------------------------

That was the thing about being an almost lone woman on the front line: there was a subconscious idea that male colleagues had your back. Well, in general it was the other way around, and you wouldn't have been able to visualize any kind of support from anyone when you arrived, but perhaps your work might have earned you some respect - enough for people to look at you when you spoke and give value to what came out of your mouth. Maybe, if you had a little more stomach, you'd even ask Judy Moncada if she also earned respect through suffocation. Probably yes. Javier frowned a lot when her name came up (which was rare to see), so you could say that this would be an interesting point of identification.

It was the same Peña who mentioned that day he bumped into your father. He didn't specify a time, a specific moment, so it wasn't possible to know if it was before or after the episode in the office, just that it happened. You noticed that he kept looking at you with some suspicion, searching for an opening that would remove his doubt, but when you just said 'mm' and continued looking at the papers, the subject was dropped. There, you realized that it would be much easier to be punctual with your answers if he asked about Carrillo, but you knew he would hate to know too many details about it.

And oh yes, the 'protection'. You were never alone in a room with your father. When he prostrated himself more aggressively, sometimes Carrillo intervened with a firmer voice or Javier or Steve placed themselves, albeit discreetly, in front of you to shield yourself from that reaction. You always noticed, but never commented on it.

“He said that?”

The decision to tell Javier about what happened came in handy for a few basic reasons: he could be on the line (your father would always prefer a good, obedient boy next door like Steve), he knew how to keep secrets, and more than anything, there was a quiet trust that Carrillo wouldn't know about it from him. The two knew each other a little better, they had more identification, so Peña would understand why that conversation was taking place on the discreet terrace of your building between puffs of cigarettes. 

“I just want to let you know. You know, in case something happens in the next few days.” 

Javi frowned, nodding along but contemplating the information. You observed his side profile for a moment before turning your eyes to the night sky. 

“Do you think it would be you?” When he asked that, you noticed that the question didn’t come with eye contact. His eyes were on the concrete, right where he tapped the ashes of his cig. 

“I can’t be sure…” You sighed. “We're already in the final stretch, I'm sure of it. It wouldn't make any difference to let us go now. Still…”

Nothing came from your mouth. Javi pressed with raised eyebrows. 

“CIA has its methods,” That was all you said and it could mean a lot of dramatic stuff, but at best he would just take some relevant parts from reports or even put on some obstacles in the near future. He would, indeed - he could. 

“And don't you think your relationship with Carrillo is hurting your career?” 

You two shared a glance, a long one. Javier didn’t seem to regret what he said, nor reticent; it was a question he wanted to do, so he did. And you considered it calmly, rolling the cigarette between your fingers without taking your eyes off him. 

“What do you think?”

“... No,” He said, shaking his head. “It's harmless. At least from here. You?”

“It would be a bigger problem if it were you,” The teasing made him scoff. 

“You wouldn't risk falling in love with me, at least. I wasn't going to let you do it.”

“Oh no?”

“Nn-nn.”

“Thank God, then.”

“Yeah, you should really be grateful. I still don't understand how you managed to get into his pants.” 

“It's not that hard.”

“Mm.”

“You jealous or somethin’?” You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think you’re his type at all, but-”

“Shut up,” He groaned, almost not being able to hide his playful grin while kicking your leg lightly. It turned into shared laughs soon, so you knew it would be another thing to remember. 

A small silence lingered there, serene and soft. When he spoke again, it came in a low tone, tranquilized. 

“If it's me-”

“Mm?”

“They're going to assign me to Cali. Well, I hope so.”

“You want that?”

“I don’t know what I would do, ‘s all. This… You know what I did here. It's a consequence that I would like to at least remedy, at least to sleep better at night.” 

You observed him without a word to say, noticing that the privilege of having a slight reliable source of comfort for certain feelings was mutual. Well, you wished you could’ve noticed that earlier - it would’ve made a difference. 

“Maybe I’ll need some support up there.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Do you have plans after this?”

For a moment, for a slight small moment, you wanted to give him a definitive answer; that you would be on the field, that LA still has some hard work to do, that you wanted to stay. If you knew this, you would tell him for sure, because it was Javi and Javi was… 

“Fuck, are you two that serious?” 

You puffed more smoke in the air, one brow raised. 

“I like him.”

Javier didn't respond, but there was a slightly bitter aura on his face, as if he had fallen into an unwanted situation. Well, it was. Just as it was undesirable to leave the US to hunt down a narco, or see innocent dead bodies every day, or start something like that with Carrillo at that point in things. Would there ever be an ideal time? 

From the way Peña shared a glance with you, turning his eyes back to the street below you two, there was just one rational and coherent answer. Damn it all, you thought, because being irrational and incoherent seemed to work so fine with everything. 

---------------------------------

You couldn't be very moved when Javier was sent away. You were furious, yes, because you could see in your father's eyes that day that it had been your defeat. No, it was a fact, you couldn't react in front of so many people, not even when you hugged him hidden in the parking lot. 

“I’m sorry, Javi. I’m sorry.” You said, gripping the fabric of his jacket and keeping your eyes squeezed shut. 

“It’s not your fault,” He said as calmly and coldly as he could, hands splayed on your back. “I caused this to myself.”

That sentence haunted you for a while, at least long enough. When Carrillo came to see you later, when you lay in bed together, no one mentioned what happened, even though it was a fact that no one there slept well (again). 

“Pronto,” He said. “Pronto atraparemos a ese hijo de puta.” Soon. We'll soon catch this son of a bitch.

And you didn't know if Carrillo was talking about Escobar, your father or whatever the ghost was that surrounded it all.

---------------------------------

A breath you didn't know you were holding left your throat when you heard Trujillo come back on the radio saying that Escobar was dead. Your two hands were gripping the supports of the leather chair, your nails digging into the upholstery, your shoulders raised to your ears; you were alone in the room, locked and static. In the background, you could hear Steve, hear Carrillo and the men. There was a dead body, a definitive body, and it 'almost' made you cry.

You noticed a presence soon after and, when you looked up from the equipment, you saw your father. He had his arms crossed, his body leaning against the doorframe. You exchanged a withering look, full of many meaningless things.

“We-”

“No.”

For the first time, he didn’t answer, didn’t press. You blinked a few times, got even more closer to the desk and turned your eyes back to the radio. 

“There will be no confirmation of CIA involvement.”

“Is that the most you can get?”

“I have nothing to apologize for.”

You nodded, expression unreadable, face never leaving the equipment. 

“Apologizing is apologizing. I never painted you as a guy with a lot of metaphors and I don't think you would have the mental capacity to do that now.” 

He didn’t say anything again. Not a word. When you looked at the door after a few minutes, he was gone - nothing but the empty corridor in your eyesight. 

When it was all over, all done (when it finally looked like the end of the line), you didn’t feel all the emotions and joy and relief you always thought you would. There was a restraint, from the way people celebrated from the way you held yourself against the decision to run to Carrillo as soon as they all came back. You looked at the smiles and laughs from afar, observed the proud way Horacio was acting from finally (finally) making it to the final. To kill, to take that bug hurting his ego, his country and his integrity for so long. It all mattered to him and for that you could celebrate. 

For some reason, even so, whatever weight you still carried on your shoulders, you flexed your hands so as not to touch Carrillo and carried his body slowly even though your heart screamed for you to run, to jump into his arms and give a relieved sigh, being able to say it was over. You walked closer, patted his bicep, gave one of the most genuine smiles you had, mouthed ‘we did it’ - his eyes were full of a deserved relief, like a good tiredness. Yeah, you wished you could keep that moment in a box, open it when necessary, keep it to memory. He was, really, a beautiful man. 

And if you got away from the commotion and saw your father from afar, watching the scene like a hawk, making you lose your smile, it had nothing to do with the sudden sour mood that surrounded your head even during such a big event. 

---------------------------------

“Peña called.”

“Mm?”

Carrillo hummed, the sound reverberating on his chest where you were laying on. The midnight breeze was cooler, mixed with your naked bodies fresh from the shower and the thin layer of the sheets, but you two weren’t shivering. 

You brushed your palm on his pecks, nuzzling closer to his neck. 

“Said he hoped we celebrated a lot.”

“We did, right?” The teasing on your tone made him chuckle, head turning to the side to peck your forehead. 

“I think he should be a part of it somehow,” It didn’t sound like a confession, but more like a statement. Yes, he should, but he wasn’t. An empty space was there, one that nobody would be able to fix. 

“... Yeah,” You said slowly, eyeing the window. 

“Is that why you looked so lost earlier today?” He asked. 

It was true that you didn't want to ruin the moment with what was going on in your head, much less bring another type of bureaucracy to the ones he would face with Escobar's death, but you always thought you could be one step ahead of Carrillo when it came to hiding your true emotions. He had an almost religious ability to read people.

“No,” You shook your head. “But I would rather not talk about it.”

And he didn’t. Horacio went all quiet and kept tracing patterns on your shoulder and arm, all the while giving long and steady breaths, as if entering in a state of relaxation that you’d never seen before. Another thing to keep close to your heart, the way you could feel the slump of his shoulders, his soft heartbeat, the delicate touch of the tip of his fingers - things that he didn’t allow himself to be, a version of himself that flowed in the air, an almost domestic man. 

Domestic, yes, so you adjusted your body to be even more closer, touching his skin and kissing what you could reach, what could still be surrounding you. It scared you a little, the fact that if he decided to be done like before, to create some distance between you two, you would be almost sick, sad, unsure of what to do with your hands and mind. Well, the offer would be up. You could still be closer for a little more, work with Peña if he ever got the chance to work on the Cali, to be some hours away from this thing you started to truly appreciate with Carrillo. 

But again, hell, again, you wondered if that would always be like this. Could you two only be together in a context of war, of conflict? Wasn't there a version of that closeness that could be solidified in the silence and peace of a stable relationship? How unfair would that be, stopping the world for a moment and being able to sleep with someone you love without a gun under your pillow or the uncertainty of even being alive at the end of the day?

You felt selfish. Horacio could’ve died at the hands of the narcos, he always had an almost obsessive ambition to have that man in his hands, defeated and destroyed. It was enough that he was there, with you, and not in some tomb with honorable mentions made for Juliana, and not for you, because you were nothing more than two colleagues to people. You even felt self conscious. There would be less uncertainty if Juliana was there instead of you because she stopped her life so that Horacio could climb his own, achieve things, be the provider.

You remembered the night right after he was shot.

“I came to see you the day you got shot,” It slipped out of your mouth, breaking the silence in a sharp way even if your voice was small. 

“You did?” He asked, confused by the sudden change of subject but willing to engage. “Why didn't I know this before?”

“... I saw Juliana in your house.” 

Another silence followed your comment, this time more rigid. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, focusing your eyes on the skin of his belly, but that comfort lasted so little when he squirmed, almost forcing you to move away enough to look at his face. With a gulp, you did, body supported by one of your elbows to see his concerned face. 

“It bothered you,” Horacio said. 

“No, it’s just… You two were married, Horacio, for fucks sake… And it was obvious that she would come by to see how you’re doing. I didn’t want to interrupt. Not to mention that we weren’t as we are now.”

He stared at you, still frowning. After a while, when he noticed that you weren't going to say anything else, he relaxed his face a little, looking at the window and collecting his own thoughts.

“I tried to rekindle our relationship. Deep down, I thought I needed stability in life, something that made sense and that I didn't need to worry about, so the divorce was a frustration,” A sigh. “But that was before Escobar, before all that. I realized it would be better this way when we went to Madrid. She returned to be with her family, but we signed the divorce with the certainty that it was the right thing to do.”

You listened to his words with attention. 

“When I got shot, I didn't think about anything. There was no film of my life or missed chances and opportunities. If I died right then, my only regret would be that I didn't finish my work,” He turned to you then, measuring your face with care. “When Juliana showed up, the only thing she told me was that I shouldn't be miserable enough to only have this mission in my head. That I should progress, live. No one would wait for me forever at the finish line and it would be a horrible feeling to swim for so long only to die alone on the beach.” 

That was like a punch in the stomach, a force of words of things that only squeezed your heart. The fear and insecurity of being alone, of all that ending, you returning to LA and having all these feelings, added to the guilt of not valuing what your mother, for example, offered. This loneliness at the end of the day, of modified dreams and a brutal reality, this was something you thought about with yourself and didn't imagine that someone else would feel it too.

“That's when I thought of you.”

You gulped, mouth twisting to prevent a smile. 

“You and your perfume. It was always a femininity that I repudiated, particularly because it broke with my focus, took me off the axis, off my plan. After that I realized that getting rid of Escobar was an incredible feeling and going back to that same perfume was just as good.” 

No one spoke of goodbyes, of a goodbye that would be seen occasionally and almost instantly. You did it, you accomplished your mission. And if what was left, even if only for a short time, was that sensitive moment of implied declarations and a true sense of love, then so be it. 

This ending wasn't that bad.

---------------------------------

“You’re really trying to make this a competition, huh?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his teasing tone, turning your head for a peck on the lips before going back to the search on your bag. It was still early in the morning, so after a good fight around your kitchen to do a cup of coffee before he woke up, you decided to smoke some - just to notice that you couldn’t find your pack of cigarettes. 

Carrillo circled his arms around your waist from behind, making you tilt your head to give room for him to place small and deliberate kisses on your neck. When he started to lower his hand, brushing the inside of your left thigh, you couldn’t help but chuckle. Noticing that you still weren't giving him your undivided attention, Horacio grunted and suddenly grabbed your purse, throwing it haphazardly on the sofa and suppressing your surprised gasp by turning you towards him and kissing your mouth.

“What’s going on?” You asked, unsure if you should laugh, push him away lightly or just give in on his affections. 

“Nn-nn,” He mumbled, burying his face on your neck again. 

“Nn-nn?”

“Just five more minutes.”

And he wasn't agitated, nor witty enough to make that moment a heap of giggles or tickles or… Anyway. He remained quiet, breathing deeply, placing both palms on your back and pressing you against his body. You frowned at the silence, at the request, until you felt his heart racing in his chest, his skin sweaty. Perhaps you had heard a commotion in the room, something that indicated the reason for that almost unexpected attitude. Horacio was rigid, almost restless in a… different way, burying his fingers on your back. 

“Was it a nightmare?” You asked in a low tone.

“Bad dream.”

Well, you could say it was the same thing, but Carrillo probably had odd ways to cope with this shit, like not saying it was a nightmare would make it less scary. It was early - way too early for either of you to be up. It was as if the calm was fighting against the hustle and bustle of the outside world and what was happening. A reminder. You could tell he felt what you had felt the day before, at least because you knew there would be a small sacrifice at the end of it all. 

You hugged him back, closed your eyes at the proximity. No one said anything, you particularly couldn’t. If you did, you would have to admit that, yeah, you knew how it was to have bad dreams - that yours involved saying a difficult goodbye, saying that you two would be over. 

Yeah, this ending wasn't that bad, but it hurted a little; if felt like a fucking sacrifice. 

---------------------------------

You both had busy days with bureaucracy. There was a lot of paperwork, press conferences, arrests and transfers. The Montoya family wrote to you, Peña wrote (although he was more succinct). When your mother wrote, asking (among other things) when you would return, you answered all her other questions except that one. Steve and Connie invited you to dinner as a farewell and they, yes, had a date to leave, to bury complicated days.

Your apartment was a mess because of it; clothes on the floor, work things scattered around. Some people in the office already had tickets booked to the US, so whenever you came back late at night or in the early hours of the day, there would be someone walking by with boxes, smiling in relief. You just stayed quiet. At dinner, at bureaucracies, at the times you managed to meet Carrillo. 

Something was missing. You didn't feel truly fulfilled, you didn't find the strength to respond to your father's criticism or anything that came out of his mouth. It was an inertia of confusion, uncertainty and emptiness.

Horacio was in your apartment when it happened.

The two of you had sat on the couch, smoked, drank, had sex. The usual.

You remembered him getting up to get the bottle of bourbon that was left in the kitchen and you said you would accept another drink. Then you squirmed on the couch, rested your head to face the ceiling and rubbed your eyes, already partially drunk. When you turned your head to the side, hearing Carrillo mumble something about the bottle already running out, you saw a piece of paper pointing out from under the couch. 

Any other time, really, you would leave it there. God, why did you take that shit in the first place? Why didn't Horacio arrive seconds earlier to distract you from opening that letter? 

Jorge Pérez. With a high level of importance.

It was dated a few days earlier and had been written on pages in a small notebook, with spaced words and letters, all written in typical Colombian Spanish that was mixed in quick, light, hurried writing. 

The last time you felt that feeling of having disassociated like that was when Juan Marcos almost killed you. Your head felt light, removed from reality, and it was as if your hands were tingling. You didn't laugh this time, you didn't have a hysterical laughing reaction from the shock, because maybe your body was so exhausted that you could only react with the first thing you felt like doing. 

Each word was taken in with a lump in your throat and you blinked a few times as you felt your hands shaking, holding the papers and couldn't finish reading the rest. There were three parts, three pieces. You were suddenly impulsive about finishing the rest, reading, turning over the papers, gripping them tightly between your fingers. 

“What?”

He asked with a confused expression, but you couldn’t quite catch his question right away. With a hand in front of your mouth, you swallowed a sob and held that letter with a firm grip, afraid of it all being a lie or an illusion or… A trick. A fucking universe trick for your mind and soul. 

You raised your eyes to Carrillo, gulping again to prevent any big emotion from spreading all over the place. 

“... It’s… It’s Jorge.”

“And who is it?”

The words almost didn’t leave your mouth, as if you were scared of the consequences of just… saying it. 

“My brother.”

---------------------------------

I saw him on TV, but I saw you on a very trivial day. I don't remember the clothes you were wearing, nor could I tell you what time it was, or what day specifically. Maybe it was right after I saw him, but I still wouldn't know for sure. Things always pass me by with dates and names. I'm dyslexic. The truth is, well, you have a dyslexic brother who is a doctor. This is a great treat for those who enjoy stories of overcoming.

He never talked about me, did he? I'm sure he didn't do that. I think you're smart, maybe witty, because he never talked about you to me either. Perhaps we both did something that would be worthy of making him pull away. This is strangely comforting. 

I know that the moment is not convenient and that it may seem like a lie, like a trap or something, so I understand if it takes a while, despite admitting that I am an anxious guy, I would even say impulsive. The truth is that not having an answer from you makes me resigned, but if you responded, if you looked for me, I would be hopeful.

Be sure to stop by a bar in Belén called Bodega del Toro. They have great fish filets and craft beers that are always cold. 

Show up. Go to the bar if you can.

He won't show up, you can be sure. This stopped being a reality a long time ago. I hope it also brought out, in addition to your appearance, the generosity that I'm sure your mother has. 

---------------------------------

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thesandbeneathmytoes ​

@616wilsons ​

@nessamc​

@thoroughlymodernminutia ​

@padbrookcottage ​

#horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo #colonel carrillo x reader #colonel carrillo #female reader #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #narcos #maurice compte

[kaira-diaries]

The Colonel’s Sister:

Note: one shot is also available on Wattpad under my account Kairadiaries for those who prefer it.

Warning: smut / fluff / language / wounds / blood

Pairing: Javi x f!character

Summary: she's Carrillo's sister, and off limits, until Javier thinks otherwise.

••••

My brother's lesson consisted of standing in the blistering heat for hours with my hands rolled into fists, bruised from a punching bag. Throughout it, he silently critiqued my form and stood with his arms crossed in authority. One two, I counted to memorize his instructions on the combos he was reluctant to share with me.

I made the mistake of asking if he'd caught Escobar yet. The answer was no, as the anger erupted between his clenched teeth. My older brother scowled at me the way he would as the colonel of the DEA. I still remember the day he was promoted to the job. Mama had been crying and squeezing him in hugs tighter than he could handle. My fingers poked at his uniform as I laughed at how ridiculous he looked, but he always made it a point to educate me on what an honor it was to become a colonel. He wears that same uniform now with no detectable expressions on his face. I rolled my eyes and limped over to the nearest chair I could find.

"Tell me something, Horacio. You look like a knob just standing there." I snickered. Knob. I'd just learned that word yesterday at the embassy.

I lick the sweat from my upper lip and empty the rest of my water bottle. He exhaled through his nose and went to open his mouth, but his wristwatch chimed. 8:00. I had guessed. Hours at the embassy were flat-out exhausting. Though, I'm only a receptionist. Despite rising at such early hours for my brother's lessons, it still hasn't gotten any easier.

"We should go." He said and disappeared into the apartment.

***

I hadn't gotten many calls today, and it was exhilarating.

Flipping to the next page of my novel, I sip on some much-needed coffee. It burns my tongue, and I groan at the burning sensation.

"You still haven't learned, huh?" I turn my head to find Murphy. He holds an orange folder stuffed with papers.

With a lopsided grin, I say, "I guess not."

He trades with me. I now have the nightmare of a folder, and he sips from the coffee mug. "What's Peña up to?" I ask, and he raises a suspicious brow. Exhaling through his mouth, he said

"Oh, you know, out, gathering information." His scrunched mouth confirms the worse. "How does the colonel feel about that?" I pick up the nearest pen and tap it against the desk. A shrug was all he gave.

"I don't know, you tell me? He's your brother." Horacio knows damn well what Peña has been up to but doesn't care to act on it. I've even called him on it, seeing it unfit to allow an agent to sleep around for information. I shrugged back when the double doors flew open to reveal peña. It was an effort not to roll my eyes at his appearance. The chocolate brown hair on his head was ruffled to hell, along with the wrinkled mess that was his maroon shirt. I leaned back in my seat.

"Jesus, you can't keep it in your pants, can you?" Peña unveiled a devious smirk and threw it in my direction.

"If it gets us what we need and keeps me young." I swallowed in disgust, and Murphy patted him on the shoulder. My brows raised, and I scoffed, standing from the chair to file the folder Murphy had given me. Checking the clock on my desk, my heart excites at quitting time.

My brother had promised to bring back my favorite allergy free dessert from his business trip today. I could already taste the sweetness as I smiled and grabbed my purse.

Tuning in to the boy's conversation, Peña was in the middle of sharing his recent sexual activity with yet another woman. I mimicked a vomit sound and pushed my way between them. "You're a pig." I spat and strolled out the doors, thinking that was the end of it.

My heels hit the concrete of the sidewalk when he stepped beside me. I gasped, jumping back. "That was quite the insult." He intercepted me.

I pulled my purse closer to me. "You have no sense of self-control or respect." I grab my car keys and unlock the doors, circling him. "You're wrong." He disagrees.

"I have a lot more than you think I do." With that, his eyes darken, and his jaw clenches. I feel trapped between him and my car as a hand reaches up to stroke my glossed, pouty lips. Lucky for me, I break from the trance and shove him back.

"I'd suggest Lisa as your new subject for your kinky fuckery. I heard she likes to sleep around." I threw myself into my car and sped off, leaving him there and not looking back.

***

I laid in bed that night, stomach full of the yummy dessert my brother had gotten me, and thought of Peña. My lips still stung from the lingering kiss of his fingers, and I had wondered why he'd done it.

It's no secret that the man is handsome, with strength in his appearance and confidence in his tone. He was the golden boy of the embassy and sought after by women of all ages and wanted for jobs by other businesses, despite how..flawed his tactics were. I'd asked him why he never took the better offers, but he only shrugged the question off his shoulders. I stopped believing the dismissive answers when I saw his clenched fists and frigid breaths. There was a reason; he was just so reluctant to tell me or anyone.

Blowing a caramel strand of hair from my face, I sit up, having an idea.

An hour later, I sat in a nightclub. Drinks and laughter filled every corner with gleaming happiness as I smiled at the sight of the glowing strangers that'd find love on the dance floor. A tinge of jealousy stabbed at my chest, and I sipped down the rest of my drink.

I hadn't registered the movement of my legs that carried me onto the dance floor and into the arms of a tall and handsome stranger. The red dress I had chosen tightened as my breaths increased once we set the pace. The man's eyes were blue, his hair black and long. I crumbled into his arms as his hands seduced my body. It was like electricity that had brought my limbs to life once the song's climax started.

But once the song had ended, my happiness ended with it.

In a second, the man was violently shoved in the opposite direction...by Peña, who had a melody of rage and jealousy in his eyes. The stranger recovered, but the strength of Peña's shove was enough for him to get the message as he disappeared across the club. "What the fuck are you doing here!" I yelled.

"Yeah, in this situation, you're not allowed to ask that question." He yelled back. Before I could open my mouth to question him on what 'situation', he pulled me in to talk into my ear.

"Carrillo called me once he'd figured out you went on a field trip." I screeched and shoved him back. "Fuck off." I scolded and ran off.

I wrapped my jacket around myself and slid my arms over my chest to draw less attention as I walked home. "Get in the car." I halted to find Peña's car. I snap my chin in his direction.

"Don't you have some bitch to fuck?" I bite.

"Not until Tuesday." He smirks. I could almost read his mind as it said,

Play with me.

I'd do no such thing as I started walking once more.

He drives alongside me. "Are you going to walk five miles? Just get in the damn car; that's insane." I scoff.

"No, you're insane." I countered.

"I don't recall asking for your opinion, querida." I rolled my eyes at the name and kicked off my heels to carry them.

"Someone needs to keep you and your inflated ego in check." My feet begin to ache, and he chuckles.

"Then I'm glad it's a young twenty-four-year-old like you, now get in the car; I'm wasting gas." I considered it for a minute until I had no choice as a shard of glass punctured the arch of my foot. I cursed and hit the ground like a coward, making Javi stop the car and speed to my side. "Don't touch me." I cringed when a hand grazed my shoulder. "Fine. Stand on your own, but we need to remove the glass." He plainly said.

Planting my hands, I push up with my arms but accidentally put pressure on my foot.

A sharp pain runs through my foot as I cry and nearly hit the ground again until he's there to catch me. Peña reassures me that he's got me, but his calloused hands linger on my bicep. His raised brows make me chuckle through the pain. "What? Were you expecting skin and bone?"

***

We ended up at his apartment.

Something about it being closer than mine.

I sit on the toilet seat with my foot elevated on the edge of the tub.

Peña curses as he digs for the medical supplies underneath his sink. He eventually finds the kit hidden behind a new bottle of body wash. "Ah, here it is." He gleams and disappears into the kitchen and returns with a bottle of titos vodka. I squirm and pull the bottom of my dress down, afraid of showing too much.

"It's best if you don't tell your brother about this." He comments, pulling out a bandaid to cover the soon-to-be-open wound once the glass is removed. "Why? You're just dressing a wound?" I asked, genuinely confused, and he shrugged.

"Carrillo is the colonel, and if he hears of you and me at the club, I'll be sacked."

My brows pinched together, and his rose.

"But..you said he sent you?"

My lips part. If Horacio didn't send him, then why was he there?

Peña remains silent and pulls out a pair of tweezers, and I bite my lip. "Will it hurt?" Fear travels up my spine as he looks at me with softened eyes. "Only a little." I release a breath from my nose and nod for him to continue. I yelped at the intense pinch of the withdrawal of glass and the burn of the alcohol to clean the wound. My hand reaches to grab for something to hold until the pain passes, and that something was accidentally Peña's free hand.

He allows it and laces his fingers with mine. I'm in too much pain to bat him away and embrace the warm and rough feeling of his touch.

Groaning through the pain, I ask him.

"What were you doing at the club?" I hiss at the burn as he thoroughly cleans it. Once the blood is wiped clean, he covers the wound with a bandaid. "Keeping an eye on you." He responds.

"Why?" I asked, quicker than I had intended, and he took a deep breath. "Because that man wanted to fuck you." I folded my arms over my chest. "So? Maybe I wanted to fuck him?" He throws the kit back in the cabinet under the sink and takes a mouth full of vodka.

"Don't say shit like that." He groans in annoyance. I lean forward to get in his face.

"I'll fuck who I want, Peña; it's none of your business, nor is it your place to interfere." He stands from the edge of the tub, laughing.

"You're such a hypocrite, Carrillo. So I'm not allowed to fuck anybody, but you can spread your legs, and it's all kumbaya?"

I stand, relying on my left foot. "Are you serious?" I asked.

He raises the bottle for another drink. "Do I look serious?"

I shake my head. "No, you look like a fucking imbecile."

As soon as it left my mouth, I knew I was in trouble when he pinned me between his intimidating figure and the bathroom sink.

"Such a dirty mouth." He cooed and licked his lips before pressing them to mine for a peck. I froze from what he had done, and he leaned in again for a deepened kiss. My lips widened as his tongue dipped into my mouth. Fuck. I hadn't known I wanted this, and fuck did he know.

He grabs my waist to spin me around. Facing the mirror, his fingers diligently travel to undo my dress and take ownership of my panties. We both knew damn well what was going to happen, but what I hadn't known was what he was thinking, and for some reason, I wanted to.

Leaning back into his chest, I offer my neck as he leaves hungry bites that'd last for a week.

As if he read my mind, he says,

"I think that whenever I'm around you, I feel like I'm worth more."

The clink of his belt brings me to life as he continues,

"I think...I want to bend you over and brand you as mine." A soft moan drags from my lips. He's concrete against my backside when I'm bent over.

He gathers my hair in his fist, and I prepare for what's to come.

"I'm thinking..you've been wanting this for a long time." He whispered in my ear and, in one thrust, filled me until he leveled out. I'd never felt so complete as he tried to wiggle closer. I welcomed him, wanting his skin pressed tighter against mine. The pain in my foot stung, but I shoved it aside as the feeling electrified my body.

"Fuck." He barked, and I arched back into him until his other arm pinned down my body. The thrusts were slow as he was pacing himself, but I wanted more.

"Stop being withholding." I groaned, and he chuckled.

"What do you need?" He rasped. "Fuck, you want more?" I nodded in the mirror, but his movements stopped. "I need words, baby doll."

"Give me more." I cried against the cold granite top. My chest was freezing, and his thrusts were coming in faster than I could take them.

My hips were bruising from his impact as I crumbled beneath his fingertips. He groaned in satisfaction from above and collapsed into my back. Turning my head, we share our breaths and come down together.

"Don't tell my brother," I whispered, and together we breathlessly chuckled.

#pedro pascal #lovers #fanfic #javier peña #agent peña #narcos #fluff and smutt #colombia #angst #wanting #enemies to lovers