A/N: I have always been and forever will be in love with the nickname "Javi." I am so glad this show gives me an excuse to use it in writing. Enjoy. :)
It was too early to be awake, far too early. She could tell by the lack of sound in the world. She could tell by the angle of the sunlight piercing through the thin drapes and the even thinner skin of her eyelids. She could tell because he was always at his most impatient in the mornings, and he was impatient now.
"Stop," she mumbled as his arms wrapped around her middle. She turned away from him, pressing her face into the pillow and squeezing her eyes shut tighter. "Let me sleep. I need sleep. I don't want to move."
"You don't have to move," he replied, his breath warm against the side of her neck. "You can just lie there."
"Lie there?" She cracked her eyes open, turning her head to look at him. "When have you ever known me to 'just lie there'?"
He smiled at her indignation. "Not once. But I figured it was worth a try."
"You'd like it, wouldn't you?" she accused. "You'd like it if stayed still." She turned around fully to face him, too intrigued now to bother reaching for sleep again. "I bet you'd get off on tying me up."
"I bet I would, yes," he answered, direct and unashamed as usual.
Tempting, as usual.
She shifted against the bed, weighing her options as she looked at him. She couldn't deny that the idea was appealing to her, too. Despite all the time she spent maintaining their equal footing in this relationship, she liked it sometimes, when he took charge. She liked being at the mercy of his wants, his needs—so long as they fed hers, which they almost always did.
"Well, if you want to...why don't you?"
For a second he stared at her, and she almost thought he would go through with it. She could picture it in her mind's eye: him jumping up, grabbing his belt, the tie of a bathrobe, a pair of pants—anything that could stand in for a rope—and coming back and securing her. This bed had posts; he could lash her to them. Watch her strain against the hold, squirming for him. Borne out of her own imaginings, she felt desire flicker beneath the tautness of her stomach, and she could see it reflected in the suddenly tight set of his chin. She waited, holding her breath...
But then, as if coming out of a trance, he shook his head sharply.
"Another time," he muttered.
And before she could press him further, he kissed her, and she stopped thinking about arguing. She wrapped her arms around him and she kissed him back and she didn't stop kissing him until he pulled away. She sighed as he did so, watching him through half-open eyes as he kissed a slow line down the middle of her chest to her stomach. She knew where he was headed, and she was in no mood to stop him whatsoever. If this was what he had been so impatient for so early in the morning, she decided that she actually didn't mind the wake-up call so much.
"Lift," he murmured when his lips met her belly button, and she did so, raising her hips off the bed so he could pull her underwear off.
She watched with a smile as he tossed the garment over his shoulder, and then she sighed in satisfaction as he bent his head down between her spread legs. She reached out behind her for another pillow so she could prop her head up to see.
This was her favorite thing to watch, her most entertaining of entertainments. It was even better than watching his face during sex, for while she enjoyed witnessing just how focused he was then, that focus was always split: between his own pleasure, and hers. But this, now—this was all about her.
He held her gaze as he pressed kisses on the inside of her thighs, alternating between one leg and the other, moving at an almost torturously slow pace. He was doing it on purpose, for he liked it most when she begged for him, but she refused to give him the satisfaction this time. At least not this early on.
She sighed again when his mouth finally came in contact with her vagina, her eyes flickering closed as he drew his tongue across the length of her, long and slow. She bit her lip to try and keep herself silent and in-control, but she didn't last long. He knew her too well; he knew exactly what buttons to press to get him what he wanted, and he pressed all of them until she gave in. She didn't last more than a couple minutes.
"Javi…"
He grinned at the nickname, quietly pleased. It had slipped out the other night, by accident, when they'd been similarly engaged. She had frozen the second she'd said it—her entire body locked into that tense moment before flight—but to her surprise and relief, he hadn't teased her. Instead, he'd bent over her, pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, and whispered very quietly in her ear, I like hearing you say that.
She had said it many more times that night—he had made sure of it—but since then, nothing. She had been watching herself these past few days, he knew. She was always cultivating the image of herself others saw, and part of the image he was supposed to see was that she never got too close. She might get naked with men, but that was never an act of submission, not for her. Familiarity was.
She had made a point, in all the time they'd known each other, to rarely call him by his first name—or by any name, apart from curse words. The affectionate nickname had caught them both off-guard the other night.
But not this morning.
Perhaps she was too tired, too relaxed, or perhaps she'd given up on locking away parts of herself from him. Perhaps she had decided she didn't mind them knowing one another a bit better. Whatever it was, he didn't need to know the answer. All he needed was to hear her say it again.
It didn't take much—a twist of his tongue inside her, his hands squeezing her ass, lifting her to him—and she gave him what he needed.
"Javi…" Her back was arching off the bed now, desperate to be closer, to feel him deeper. "Javier, please—"
She curled both legs around his shoulders, tightening them enough that he had to stop, had to lift his mouth to speak.
"Easy. Don't choke me."
"Then don't be so good at this."
He smirked, catching her eye. "I'll try to be terrible," he compromised.
But she shook her head at the joke. "No," she whispered, reaching a hand out to brush through his hair. "Don't. Be you. Be good."
His mouth twitched in quiet amusement at the entreaty, but he didn't say anything more, choosing instead to press a warm kiss to the inside of her thigh before returning his mouth to where they both wanted it most. But he didn't immediately push for more, as she'd come to expect out of their time together in bed. Instead, he went slow this time. He built her up towards release in layers, using his mouth, his fingers, even the scrape of his beard against her legs to bring her closer and closer to orgasm again and again.
When he finally made her come, her whole body arched up towards him, and it took more strength than he had to hold her down. He didn't mind; there was something wonderful about this unbridled part of her. Ever since that first night, he had always appreciated how uninhibited she was about sex, and that appreciation had only grown in recent weeks. They were moving further and further away from those lies they'd peddled to each other that first night, and it pleased him to no end that her brazenness was one of the small kernels of truth that stayed behind after all the rest had fallen away.
She was panting when he slid back up her body to face her again, and he took advantage of her momentary handicap, kissing her until she was forced to push him away simply so she could breathe again. He grinned to himself as she caught her breath, busying himself with leaving marks on her neck and tasting her nipples. Her skin was so pale, so soft, and so it barely required any work on his part to leave evidence of himself and his touch behind. Still, there was something gratifying about pulling away and looking at her and being able to see all the ways he'd made her his: her neck red with hickeys, her thighs slick with come, her chest heaving, still working towards normal breaths. All this, and he hadn't even been inside her yet.
"Don't look so damn pleased with yourself," she muttered, attempting scorn, but even she couldn't hide the twitch of a smile from her face. He wouldn't spend so much time marking her like this if he didn't know she liked it, too.
She pulled him back towards her, and he kissed her slowly for a few minutes, letting her come down while he brought himself up. Finally, when he couldn't stand their teasing dance of light touches and kisses anymore, he slipped his hand back between her thighs. He turned her onto her back, and once he was bent over her, he pushed inside.
"Oh, God," she groaned, digging her nails into the smooth skin of his back. Eyes squeezed shut, she didn't notice the way he flinched, nor did she seem to hear the sharp inhale of his breath. She was too focused on herself and what he was making her feel. There was little space in her brain just now for anything else.
"Deeper," she whispered as he began to move. "Deeper, deeper," she chanted, and he did as she asked.
After a few minutes, he forgot about the pain in his back, for the pleasure of being inside her was so great it overpowered everything else. He kept up a fast pace, fueled by every creak of the bed, every slam of the headboard, every gasp of his name she let out.
Her hands slid down from his back to his ass, encouraging him to go even faster, to take her even harder, and it wasn't long until he was the one panting, the one out of breath, the one not able to kiss her because he couldn't keep up this pace and satisfy her mouth at the same time. Luckily, her mouth found much sweeter ways to spend its time when it couldn't kiss his.
"Don't stop," she whispered, kissing up the rise of his neck, fisting her hands in his hair to keep him close, as if he somehow wasn't close enough already. "Please, Javi, don't stop. Don't go." Her breath was hot in his ear, melting his brain. "Promise," she ordered in a whisper, and he had no will to argue even if he had had breath to do so.
They had had many conversations about going their separate ways. They had even tried, a few times, to cut ties and never look back. And yet, despite all their efforts, they always ended up back here: naked and covetous and unable to pretend otherwise.
"Promise me, Javier," she demanded, taking ahold of his face so he would be forced to look her in the eye. Her gaze was commanding, but he could see the animal wildness in the edges of it. He could see the need there—not for sex anymore, but for reassurance. For safety. She'd been abandoned far too many times, by him and by others, and she needed this.
They both did.
He could feel the desperation rising in him, too, and it wasn't just because he was close to orgasm. He was scared of what might happen after, of how easily she could choose to slip away once she'd gotten what she wanted, and how he might never see her again. He couldn't handle that possibility, not now, not after all they'd been through and all she knew about him. It was unendurable.
He leaned forward and kissed her, long and slow and without words. When he pulled back, her eyes were closed, and though he didn't know for sure if it was because she was savoring the kiss or fearful for what might come after it, he had a good guess. They worked so well together not only because their wants matched each other's, but because their fears did, too.
He bent his head and pressed a kiss to the center of her chest.
"I promise, Letty."