Warning: Graphic sexual descriptions, lots of smut, longing, lust, allusions to violence, and a helping of angst.
Chapter 4: Cagey
Javier is gone for more than a few days, but considering the stories in the news and the front page splashes of the newspapers? You're not surprised.
The latest assassination is daring – jarring in a region that's already teeming with anxiety. You feel it as you walk through the halls of the embassy, see it even in the deep scowls of the different officials as they brief their staffs. Even affable Ellis seems unnerved, and you find yourself joking to cheer him up. The turmoil is on a slow burn, and everyone is desperate for a respite that is nowhere close to arriving.
You keep busy, though, and before you realize it, it's been a little over a week since you've seen Javi. Hanging up the clothes you just finished ironing, your glance catches the much-too-big button up that's tucked next to your petite blouses, and you smile wistfully. It's crisp and laundered, waiting for you to pull it back out and toss it over to its owner the next morning you're both getting ready together.
With a sigh, you close the closet and put the ironing board away, rescind to another night of tutorial planning in front of the TV in the living room when you hear three distinctive knocks at the front door. Without your permission, your heart skips a beat. Snorting ruefully at yourself, you stride down the hall, pretending that you're not totally rushing to the door, or preening in the mirror to make sure you don't look disheveled from doing house chores, and open the door.
The sunset is ebbing and outlining his broad frame, catching in his dark chocolate strands and highlighting the side of his face. Dressed in a rust-red casual button-up underneath a leather jacket, trademark pair of jeans and boots, he looks good enough to pounce on, but you keep the impulse leashed up. He's wearing those amber-tinted aviators, looking ridiculously handsome as he leans against the open door's frame and smirks at you.
The debonair look and intense swagger is just too much for you to not raise a goading brow at him.
"Agente Peña," you drawl and put a hand on your hip, looking casual in your sweat shorts and slouchy top as you lean your weight there and watch him let the duffle at his shoulder drop at the threshold of the door as he slowly takes his shades off and gives you a challenging look. "Can I help you?"
He lets his brows quirk, submerging the devious smirk under a faux scowl of perturbation. "Yes, you most certainly can," he muses as he puts the sunglasses into his jacket pocket. "You could invite me in and stop teasing me," he mutters and fans his smoldering gaze up your body before settling to bore provocatively at your imperious stare.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, agente—" your cavalier purr is halted by him punting his duffle to the side into your apartment and breezing in to sweep you up in his arms, your giggle pitching as he kicks the door closed behind himself. "Javi!" you exclaim, tone effervescent as he carries you bridal style down to your bedroom.
"Such misbehavior," he huffs playfully as he tosses you onto your bed and watches you bounce on the soft mattress, still giggling. "After I told you to be good. What a shame," he faux admonishes as he shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it to hang on the mirror tucked in the corner. His gun is put aside on your dresser as he kicks his boots off and drawls, "Just a wicked troublemaker—"
You blow a raspberry at that and sit up on the bed. "I'm a fucking angel," you quip and watch him chuckle as he struts over, coming within arm's length so you can grab him by the shirt as you waddle on your knees to the edge with a derisive pout on your plush lips. "You disagree, then?"
His hands grope your hips before pulling you against him. "Most of you is divine, yes," he murmurs against your lips, adding cheekily, "But that mouth of yours is downright sinful sometimes."
He brushes his nose against your cheek before tilting his countenance to slot his mouth in capturing yours with a hungry kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck and anchor to him so he has to let you lead him down to the bed and onto you.
Javi missed this. Having you in his arms, underneath him, and pulling him close, not shy in your doting passion. The time apart had been frustrating in all ways, but none more than when he would lay in bed alone and roll onto his side. He'd caught himself reaching to pull at the phantom body next to him a few times and would huff. Coming up empty of your form, your sleepy kisses, the soft mumbles of his name. Deprived of the intimacy and calm of your naked body pressing up against his. It'd been a miserable experience.
It'd been hard to shake off in the morning and it'd leave him gruff for most of the day, unless he and Steve were laser focused on the latest tactic to fuck with the cartel; to making some kind of dent. If they didn't at least have some kind of positive outcome in changing morale after the latest assassination, he doesn't think he'd have been able to keep his focus. However, a new development he hadn't seen coming threw him for a loop.
When he went to check in with informants, nothing disarmed him or gave him pause more than when a particular one, of the female variety, pulled him coquettishly by the front of his shirt and proposed filth – '¿Vamos a mi cama un ratito?' – and he'd unhooked her hands and shook his head before drawling some excuse. It hadn't hit him until he was back in the jeep and driven off:
He only wanted you. The proposition had no appeal whatsoever, and as he'd idly pressed his thumb against his lips while he drove and thought about it, Javier had to hash out what this kind of thing meant. How much would he need to reprioritize?
By the 4th day without seeing you, he couldn't give a fuck. If you'd told him, 'I don't ever want you to sleep with your working girls again,' Javi would've agreed without a second thought. It'd always been risky behavior, and he had to admit to himself that he thrived on it – got high on the feeling of engaging in dangerous liaisons with his informants who were so fucking close – literally – to the scumbags he was trying to take down. But now, after you – being with you?
It was a gamble, though. An agent was only as good as his dogged resilience – his ability to gain contacts and incentivize them. He'd found that the working girls needed something more than cash to give him the kind of leads he sought out. They needed to trust him, and putting himself out there had done that, albeit with the lewd bonus of frill-free sex, devoid of expectations. Things were only getting more savage in Medellín, and the fallout tended to rain down on Bogotá. The assassinations were proving that. How would he keep his ear to the ground if his main well of information started getting miffed by his rebuffs?
Javier thought about it the whole drive back into town, but once he started packing his duffle so he could trek over to your place, he shoved all of it to the back burner of his mind. The sight of you only reinforced his intent, and now? With you kissing him and wrapping your legs around his waist, eyes gleaming with affection? He could scarce remember what was weighing his thoughts; what was vexing him. Your gravitation always centers him, and all Javi wants to do right now is get lost in the sensation of being with you.
So, he does. Javier lets you undress him, and is patient while you work his shirt off his shoulders and smile against his throat when you get his jeans undone and are surprised to find he's wearing underwear. The soft, dark cotton rubbing over his cock as you fondle him over the material has Javier making a starved sound, and the sight of his hands gripping the bedding while he lets you tease him has you wet and tingly.
"I had started to think you didn't own a pair of these," you murmur and suckle on the side of his neck.
"It's your fault," he grumbles, hissing as you graze your teeth over that spot just beneath his jaw that drives him wild. "Fuck—cuz of you. Couldn't walk around fucking hard all the time, so had to start wearing 'em again to not look like some fucking horny creep," he sears out in a gruff rumble, lips parted as he lets you stroke him off over the underwear. He doesn't add that the easy access of going commando was pointless since he wasn't going to fuck any of his informants, figuring that would go over like a lead balloon.
You hum at his rationale and nudge your head affectionately against his. "Ah-hah, claro," you purr and nudge him to lie back on the bed so you can yank his jeans off and keep up your foreplay. When you kiss him through the cotton, he exhales a tight sound, stomach muscles flexing in excitement as you follow with a long lave of his length. "Are you going to let my sinful mouth have what it wants?" you purr against the head of his cock before you give it an open-mouth kiss.
"Mmmph!" he rumbles at that and is straining against the underwear now, biting his lip hard while his strong fingers wring into the covers beneath his hands. "…Only if you get naked and sit on my face," he counters, baritone rough and eager.
Your core throbs at the proposition, and you really have to tell that raunchy part of yourself to not give in. After all, you've fantasized about him almost every other thought for over a week, and you are not sure you could hold out for more than a few minutes if he gets his mouth or hands on you. Instead, you want to let your lust build so when he does snap and takes control, you would've done all the lascivious things you've been fantasizing about.
"Nope, I want to concentrate on your big, hard dick," you answer simply as you yank the waistband of his underwear down and off his thighs, freeing his thick cock so you can worship it with your hands and mouth.
You're pursing your lips around the delicious head of his cock when he blurts dazedly, "You don't want me to give you a moustache ride?"
You choke on your laugh, and the oddly exhilarating sensation of your tongue pushing his cock against the hard palette of your mouth has Javi hissing your name.
"I cannot believe you just said that," you gasp out and laugh ironically, staring up at him and ignoring how filthy you probably look with a thin string of saliva linking the head of his cock to your bottom lip.
"…Querida, you're really pushing it, looking that hot and refusing me right now," his baritone darkens hungrily and you squeeze your thighs together, trying to get the tickling heat at your clit to abate so you can concentrate on having Javier writhing underneath you. "You don't even know how much control I'm exerting right now…"
"Mmm, tell me then, Javi," you murmur as you stroke him and lean down to take his dick back into your mouth and suckle the tip greedily.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Javier croaks out and bucks his hips, whole body wringing with pent-up arousal. "It's t-taking everything not to fucking dominate you—mmmph, fuck," his raunchy grouse dissolves as you start to suck his cock and rub at his aching spheres in time with the strokes of your tongue. He's panting, arching and trying to keep his hands on the bed, but when you hollow out your cheeks and suck him as you make a little sound of delight around him, Javier's hand buries in your hair and tangles there. He's at the edge, and clamps his other hand over his face when his panting gets needy, so close to the verge of reaching bliss.
You squeeze the base of his cock and take his dick as far as it can go in your mouth without choking, and the burn is sharp around your lips as your jaw strains to open that wide. When he feels you fucking swallow, it wrecks his lust to careen sharply into his gut and zing down to his loins. "S-Shit—! Baby, I-I'm gonna—" Javi is warning you hoarsely, voice shaking as he feels pleasure untangle in his gut and snap free inside him. He shouts your name when he comes, shuddering as you make a small sound of surprise as his cum spurts onto the back of your tongue before thick ropes of his pulsing spend fill your mouth.
You're moaning at the taste of his seed as you swallow, feeling your cheeks burn as you pull your mouth away and gasp before gulping a hearty breath while you keep stroking him into the shaking aftershocks that have him flushed, eyes clenched shut – writhing and swearing delightedly on the bed. You idly wipe the back of your hand across your mouth before smiling and kissing his hip.
"What was that, chulo?" you murmur playfully, but your voice is briny from your previous indulgence.
Javier pets your hair and laughs drily as he pants, sighing, "No one's called me that since I was a kid."
"What a travesty," you deadpan and kiss your way back up his body, gleeful at having him trembling and out of breath. "But if you'd prefer a different apodo, I think guapetón fits too," you muse and comb your fingers through his hair as you flop down to sidle next to his body and gaze down at him.
He snickers, tone reedy as he rumbles, "You only get to call me that if you do as you're asked—"
"You mean told, eh?" you counter impishly, kissing his cheek and smiling when he smirks and turns his head to kiss your lips. "No one bosses me around unless I want them to—"
" 'Them', huh," Javi mutters flatly. When you snicker and brush the hairs fanning across his forehead tenderly, he finally opens his eyes and the smoldering depths are still fogged with lust as he murmurs, "C'mon, I've been thinking about it all week. Even decided that if I have to go out before my time, I'd like it to be with my head between your thighs—"
"¡Javier Peña!" you gasp and laugh, swatting his chest. He chuckles naughtily and pulls you into his arms before he rolls so he can pin you down on the bed. "When the hell did you have time to be thinking such smut, pray tell?" you joke and wriggle under him.
He pins your hands easily above your head and leans close to whisper against your ear, "When I'd lay in that stiff fucking bed at the crash house and think of you."
You're flooded with excitement and something incandescent at that. You stop wriggling and stare into his twinkling gaze, eyes narrowed appraisingly on your features as you soften and lean up, lips parted and beckoning for a kiss. He grants you with one, and you hum when he cuffs both of your wrists in one large hand so the other can go exploring down your body. It skates across your exposed belly before snaking under your top to fondle your breast over the bra, thumb caressing your studding nipple and earning a breathy sigh from you. When he kisses a trail down your jaw, you arch in his grip and whisper, "What would you do about it?"
His lust-revved mind struggles for a second to understand, but when he looks at your sultry expression, reading the teasing promise in your glittering eyes, he grunts and suddenly rolls off to the side to lie next to you. "Well, I'm not going to tell you that – not unless you agree to my suggestion—" he begins to qualify as he folds his hands over his chest, as if in deliberation.
You scoff. "Tan jodón," is your muttered huff, but the amusement is tinged in your tone as you glance over and struggle to not just pounce on him already. "…Fine, beyako. But you're telling me first," you compromise and nudge your shoulder against his.
He chuckles before giving you a sidelong leer. "Get naked, and we have a deal," he mutters and nudges you back with his shoulder.
You roll your eyes, but the lopsided grin is enchanting to him as you sit up and tug your top off before adjusting to yank your sweat shorts off too. When you reach for the fastening of your bra, you slow your striptease, watching him stare at the planes of your body. The way he presses his lips together to wet them as he flicks his gaze down to your crotch digs a shiver out of you. Bra slipping off your shoulders to join the pile at the floor, you're topless now as you shimmy off the bed so you can stand in front of him and slink your panties off.
Javier can see the gleam of excitement already dampening your pussy, and it takes a ruinous level of control to keep himself flat on the bed while you smile down at him, looking fierce and vivacious. It's an insane level of self-control he didn't know he had. When you crawl back to lie sinuously on your side next to him, you raise a challenging brow at him. "Well?" you prompt, hair cascading over your shoulder.
"…I forgot what the deal was," he mumbles debonairly, so you swat his shoulder. "Alright, malcriada, no need to smack me around," he quips and stretches out, propping his interlaced hands behind his head so he can gaze at you more comfortably. "Promise not to get mad?"
You raise a cautious eyebrow at that – unsure about why he'd need the reassurance. "Okay," you drawl and press your lips together.
Satisfied, Javi's expression sobers. "When I couldn't sleep, or was too…wound up? I'd take the edge off by jerking off to your panties," he admits, baritone husky as he stares shamelessly at you.
Your brows arch, mouth hanging open in a question that you abort when you flash back to around the time you'd both fooled around for the first time in the living room, and you'd noted that you were missing a pair of panties when you'd done laundry. Realizing he was meaning a pair of your used panties, you flush, cheeks burning as you laugh in shock. "Are you serious?!" you exclaim, melodious laugh silly and effervescent as you sit up and start swatting him playfully on the chest while he grunts with humor and fends you off. "You fucking fresco! I cannot even believe you—"
He bracelets your wrists and pulls them together so you have to lean precariously forward and flop halfway across his stomach and chest. "Yes, you can, atrevida. You love it, admit it," he counters flirtatiously and pivots you both so you're slung sideways before he crowds you to nestle against him and nuzzles your neck.
You manage to wiggle an arm free by slinking it around from under his shoulder so you can wryly snag your fingers into the back of his hair and tug lightly. He grunts and grins against you when you huff and toss your leg over his hip to try and pivot him into the position he'd been in. "Make me, Javi," you challenge against his jaw, and feel him tense, his arousal flexing beneath his flesh at the searing purr.
"Oh…you are trying to get out of your end of the deal. It's not going to work, querida," he answers in a warm grumble as he shifts onto his back and smirks goadingly at you. "Now c'mon," he beckons you with his finger to come over and stop stalling.
"Where are my panties, Javier," you question instead and shy away when he reaches for you.
"…You don't want them back, do you?" he mumbles and actually looks like the prospect that you would is a complete downer.
You laugh, despite your umbrage. "You better not have passed them around to your CNP buddies—!"
"Yeah fucking right," he scoffs, expression quirked in a jeering scowl. "I don't share…" he derides as he slowly sits up and shuffles towards you to hook a strong forearm to your waist to pull you back to him. "Don't get shy on me, hermosa—"
"I've just not done that before, you perv," you complain, but slink up against him and let him kiss you tenderly along your neck. "And you did not paint a great picture by suggesting you'd suffocate while doing it—"
Javier laughs so hard, and you just pout, shoving at his shoulders. The more he laughs, though, you relent and snicker. "You have no idea how sexy you are, do you," he mumbles when his mirth cools. You sigh, buzzing as he caresses your body before he states in a whisper to your ear, "I got an idea."
Intrigued, you sit on the bed as he goes to the mirror in the corner of the room –where he'd tossed his jacket onto earlier. At first you think he's going to retrieve something from a pocket, and frankly you get distracted by the delectable contours of his toned back and fine ass, so you don't realize what he's even done until he's back on the bed. He sits behind you and guides you to look. You notice he hung his jacket up on the window crank and adjusted the standing mirror to pivot and face the bed.
Your disarmed reflection stares back at you while Javi smirks and kisses the top of your shoulder. "I want you to watch yourself while you ride my tongue," he murmurs decadently at your ear, brushing strands away from the nape of your neck so he can plant a kiss there too. When you just stare in stunned awe at the suggestion, you watch Javi look at you with a passion that has your core alight with desire. "I want you to see how beautiful you are when you come apart."
Needless to say, Javier Peña is a master at snuffing out your insecurities and making something debauched sound splendid, and when you're sitting on his face and watching yourself writhe in filthy delight? You can't help but feel sinful, yet powerful. The fact Javier's body is on full display in the reflection as well as you sit reverse cowgirl over his face is an incredible turn on – allowing you to watch his cock throb and his muscles flex as his hands clutch and knead your thighs, gliding to caress your ass worshipfully as he devours you like he's fantasized about. His hum of drunken pleasure vibrates against your drenched cunt and pulsing clitoris, leaving you to whimper and press your hands for purchase at his ribcage. You watch yourself orgasm and feel Javi hold onto you as he pivots his tongue into the clutch of your cunt and drinks your climax.
Your eyes light up and mouth falls open as you cry out his name, arching and tensing against the reflexive spasms of being awash with a fierce orgasm that has you almost bowling over. When you cant hold yourself up, you slink down to your tummy and over Javier's torso, until your own face is nuzzling the side of his weeping cock. He forbade you from reciprocating the oral havoc he expertly wrecked over you in this raunchy position, so when you sigh and kiss the thick column of throbbing flesh and trace the tip of your tongue along a pronounced vein, Javi flinches and taps your ass.
"Mmm, bad girl," he mumbles against your thigh before suckling a kiss into your supple flesh, getting a breathy mewl from you. When you defy him and lave your tongue along his shaft, Javier rumbles something unintelligible and writhes under you before he nudges to buck you off.
You whine your sigh. "Javi—"
He gathers you up into his arms and pulls you close before surprising you by flopping onto his back and hauling you with him, manhandling you to straddle his shoulders – this time facing away from the mirror and with Javi's face only inches away from your soaked pussy. His eyes capture yours in a heated gaze.
"Now, I'm going to watch you come on my tongue, preciosa," he husks in a thick murmur as he effortlessly positions you so you're hovering perfectly over his face before he buries his mouth into your still-fluttering cunt.
You gasp and hiccup a cry of delight as you grind down on his mouth and card your fingers into the top of his hair and grip the dark strands. Javi's hands are like loving vises as they grip your thighs and guide you along to riding his face while you arch and tug his hair, jolting when his tongue flicks wantonly against your still-recovering clit.
The sound you make has Javi's cock straining, ruddy as it pulses and weeps to be inside you. He's only been able to ignore it for so long because your taste is what he's been craving for days, thirst only abated by your scent he'd inhale from your pilfered panties as he breathed you in and jerked himself off. Now with you riding his tongue and crying out in unabashed pleasure, Javi feels anchored like he's never been before, with the tempest that is your addictive heat seeking his yearning mouth. He feels powerful – fulfilled. And his pride swells raucously in him when you whimper his name over and over as you start to climax again.
Javier plunges his tongue deep and lets you spasm through your searing orgasm until the aftershocks have you flinching away in hypersensitivity.
He laps tenderly at your soft, tingling flesh, eyes clouded with dark, smoky desire as he watches you come down with a content growl of approval he thrums into your wet center.
You are nothing but a boneless heap when he guides you from collapsing above him. The sensation of his arms wrapping around you as he places you on the bed before he lies on top of you has you floating, blissed out of your mind. Your limbs feel dumb and gangly as they try to circle him and hold him close while he grunts affectionately and nuzzles you lovingly.
"Missed you on top of me," you dimly mumble, unfiltered and sweet. He rumbles against the crook of your neck something that sounds like 'Yeah?' so you murmur, "Mmhmmm."
Javier cheekily presses his weight into you more and exhales. "Missed being on top of you," he genuinely murmurs and relishes how you wrap your arms and legs around him.
You both remain like that for a while, content and silly with pining.
It isn't until you're both kissing and grinding tantalizing against each other that Javi is rushing to put a condom on and press his cock into your slick and primed sheath. He's proud to have had the fortitude to hold out for as long as he did, but the moment you're tightening your knees against the sides of his ribs and digging your fingertips into his triceps as ecstasy blossoms across your dewy features, all control splinters. He's slamming his orgasm into you and groaning harshly, muscles tensing in his back and under your fingers as he drives you into an almost stinging orgasm after having climaxed twice already.
Just as you're dozing off – sheets warm and tangled underneath you, you feel Javi murmur your name and hold you close, hands molding to your curves and the press of his nose slotting against your nape before he exhales in relief.
A feeling you can't explain settles in your chest, and you're smiling as you fall asleep in Javi's embrace.
The feeling is still there the entire time Javier is with you. He spends the weekend at your place, alternating into a pleasantly quirky routine of coupling, hanging out, sharing meals, and even talking about everything that came up organically. You don't think you've talked this much ever, and Javi is glad for it. He is in no rush to go back into the shitshow of his regular routine, and even when you broach the question, he huffs amusedly and deadpans, "It's Steve's weekend to be on duty. I'll stress the fuck out Monday."
Javier does a fair share of talking too, even about his work, albeit mostly as a flippant, high-level perfunctory aside of facts or answer to your careful questions. In exchange, he knows more than anyone has in a long time – than you've shared willingly and without concession. He doesn't coddle you when you tell him about your estranged relationship with your father, or linger on the topic of your mother. Instead, he holds you in his arms and nuzzles you and listens, and you feel safe.
He's fond though, when you talk about your work, impressed by your zeal for what he always labeled 'Nerdy Computer Shit' and was now getting a fascinating education on. Javier found it especially charming when you'd theorize the future impact of computers, smirking when you'd insist, "It's going to revolutionize everything – even your work. Surveillance, counter-intelligence; you'll even have to type up reports on a computer and store it on a database network by classification. You'll see."
You're so besotted with each other that when you forlornly declare you were supposed to go food shopping, he lets you put on an outfit after only allowing you to flounce around in just his open button up shirt – which is a ridiculous turn on he's discovered – and gets ready to tag along.
The farmers market is bustling, but not crowded for an early afternoon as you walk together perusing the different booths and stands. It's a cool day, so you've opted for a flirty tunic dress and flats while Javier is in his patented outfit of short-sleeved button up and jeans. You playfully smile at him and point that out, quipping, "Do you even own a t-shirt?"
"Of course I do," he snickers and takes the canvas shopping bag filled with purchases from you, to your pouting chagrin. "That's to hang around the house, though. Or to sleep in," he muses as you purse your lips at him. "You're doing it again…" he mutters against your ear before loping ahead.
"What's that?" you muse innocently, but mischief is dancing in your twinkling gaze as you take his forearm and guide him down another aisle in the open-aired market.
"You're teasing me, when you know I'm not the one with hang ups – that I'm more than content to pull you into an alley and have my way with you," he grouses against your temple and smiles when your fingers squeeze his arm.
"As if I'd allow that, beyako," you hiss to him covertly and detach from his side before he can retaliate, batting your lashes as you walk ahead to a specific stand you want to order from.
He smiles to himself as he watches you peruse the offerings before the stand owner greets you. While you're asking him for a specific kind of cheese, Javi notices how most of the men who walk by give you a glance. Some are practiced leers while others are curious stares, as if wondering if they had a shot with you. Of course you're seemingly oblivious to it. A man like him is ingrained with training to spot everything around him, so when a punk walks by and gets awfully close to grazing a touch he can say was accidental if you turn, Javi realizes he's stalked over and checked him with a bunt of his shoulder hard enough to jolt the asshole's rotator cuff before the impulse was even registered in his mind. He shoots the punk what he can only assume is a murderous look, because he doesn't challenge him and rushes off.
You turn just in time to catch Javier glaring after the guy, and you furrow your brows in question. He doesn't acknowledge it and just loops his arm around your waist to continue your stroll through the market.
The groceries stay in the backseat of his jeep as you both sit in the coffee shop a while later, chatting and nursing the delicious brews in your cups. When he laughs at an anecdote you share about how you first met Ellis and how annoying you thought he was going to be, you get lost in how mirth crests his eyes and scrunches his nose adorably. The flash of his teeth beyond the wry grin of his lips is charming until it becomes sinful when he idly presses the tips of his fore and middle fingers to his moustache and tries to suppress his smile. Those same fingertips trace salacious havoc over your thigh as he drives back to your place. They draw slow circles at the top of your thigh, dangerously close to the hem of your dress, before dipping down the inner curve and caressing teasingly there. When you both walk through your front door with groceries in hand, you are convinced that he's going to wait only until everything is stored away before he pulls you back to bed so he can continue driving you wild.
Instead, he grazes behind you after you've tucked the shopping totes away in a kitchen cabinet, and murmurs, "Does that happen often?"
Perplexed, you glance over your shoulder at him. "What?"
He exhales and braces his arm at the counter so he can lean close and mutter, "Assholes trying to brush up against you in public. Does it happen often?"
You're quite bemused. He sees that you clearly hadn't even noticed what the punk tried to do in the market, and it winds him up. Your gaze is innocent but skeptical until you recall him glaring at the guy that had rushed by you, so you muse, "Javi, it's not that big a deal—" He grunts impatiently at that and scowls, hands going to his hips and molten eyes flashing at you as he gives you a very miffed look. You can't help crack an impudent smile. "If he'd done anything rude or lewd, I would've handled it."
"You didn't even notice the fucker," he grumbles and huffs when you turn to face him and imperiously dismiss that with a flippant gesture. "How would you have handled it had he groped you—?"
"The same way I handled it the last time some scumbag groped me in public," you cut in and raise a brow as you slink up against him and press your fingers into pressure points at his sides, making him flinch. "I would've kneed him in the balls and bitch-slapped him across the face," you add simply before standing on your tippy toes and kissing his glowering lips. He struggles to keep his mouth hard, but when you just keep stubbornly pressing your mouth against him and make a goofy sound as you drag your lips over his moustache, Javier relents – soulful coffee-colored eyes cooling when he pulls you close, kissing you back.
He still sulks when you break the kiss, though, as if unconvinced. "You really did that?" he inquires, dubious as he leans back against the counter and encircles your waist.
"Yes. It was at the airport, of all places, and I got scolded by security, but there were witnesses so they just let it slide and dragged the guy off," you explain and smile up at him when his features relax, lips twitching to suppress a smirk. "You've been all peeved by something so silly this whole time?"
"I don't like the idea of anyone bothering you," he admits, gruff, but trying to feign aloofness.
"You mean anyone but you bothering me," you tease, tucking your hair behind your ear as you smile brilliantly at him.
"Such a malcriada," he mutters and smirks. "Alright then, I'll be on the balcony so as to not bother you while you cook—" he begins to drawl and slips away from you, grabbing his pack of cigarettes and opening the rustic doors.
He catches your pout and haughty pose in the corner of his eye. "Hah," you scoff. "When are you ever going to cook for me, pray tell, eh, galán?" you mutter goofily and cross your arms after leaning your hip into the kitchen island, watching him light up a cigarette and busy himself with admiring the potted plants hanging in wrought stands along the side banister and the Spanish ivy curling along the façade of the building.
"After you make your famous lasagna for me," he replies glibly and glances back at you, seeing how you roll your eyes and shake your head ruefully as you go start dinner. Your smile never wanes, though.
Regardless of how exasperatingly cocky he can be, you enjoy his playful ribbing, and love slinging it right back. You can't help smile to yourself about how opposed to even entertaining his advances you'd been. Jeez, what happened to that chick, eh?
But, you're woman enough to admit it to yourself now: You were dubious about opening yourself up – suspicious and standoffish because you weren't sure you had it in you to open yourself to him and ever be able to close the floodgates again if it didn't work out. You always had a talent for getting ahead of yourself, but somehow, Javi had been able to navigate that and not crash and burn, making it ashore and basking in your truculent feminine wiles.
You feel like you can shed your armor and remain unguarded to the savagery and uncertainty – that you can count on him.
While you're seasoning the drumsticks, Javi is at the couch, finishing the cigarette while nosily looking through the papers you left out on the coffee table. "So, what's all this?" he asks and holds up a particular binder when you glance up.
"I'm putting together a tutorial. That's all research, though. We're going to expand our proposal to larger agencies at the embassy," you explain and smile when he stubs his cigarette out before leaning back to read through the binder. "Pretty soon I might even have you in one of the workshops – if the brass signs off," you quip, setting the chicken aside to marinate and go to wash your hands in the kitchen sink.
"I fucking suck at computers…" you hear him mutter distractedly as he looks over the specs for the different portable computer options you're studying. "I can barely deal with typing reports up as it is. You're not saying I'm gonna get stuck having to use a…laptop?" he pauses his surly question and reads out the term. "Whatever the hell that is," he mutters deprecatingly.
"That's exactly what I'm saying, agente," you quip as you dry your hands on the edge of your tunic's hem before walking back over and sitting next to him. He actually glowers at your suggestion, and you grin. "Don't worry, chavón. I'll teach you the basics," you tease and take the binder into your lap. "Can't let you look like a dork—"
"You keep teasing," he warns, smirk wry. "I could just get you to type up all my reports on your fancy lapcomputer—"
"Laptop," you correct, biting your lip to suppress a wily grin when he rolls his eyes. "It's unavoidable, babe. Ten years from now? They'll be standard in every office, on every desk, no matter the role or occupation. Even you smooth operator DEA types are gonna rely on these," you explain and playfully rib his side with your elbow after you set the binder back onto the coffee table and lean close to him.
He exhales dramatically at that and stretches his arm along the back of the couch, silent invitation for you to cuddle closer so he can wrap the strong limb around your shoulders. "Just be gentle with me," he murmurs against your cheek before kissing you.
"It's not that different from a typewriter. Unless you type with a pointer finger—" you snicker sarcastically and catch him raising a haughty eyebrow at that. "…Oh c'mon, Javi!"
"What?! The keys are too small! It's a pain in the ass," he complains, and you can't help but laugh while he pantomimes typing on a very small typewriter. "The damned things are medieval, and the keys are too close together – and small. They get stuck together when I try and type normal—"
"Oh god, you're going to be the worst," you chuckle and face palm. "Is it too late to exclude the DEA from the program?" you joke, and he grabs you and squeezes you, earning a vivacious laugh as he possessively pulls you down onto him and lies back on the couch, nuzzling you with ruthless humor as he kicks off his boots and gets comfortable.
After you rest your forehead against his and give him that brilliant smile that he adores, Javi kisses you and pulls you to cuddle, using the clicker and turning the TV on so you can both just lounge and idly make out for a bit while the food cooks.
The ambient light and buzz of dialogue coming from the television helps you zone out, cozy and relaxed, sidled between the back of the couch cushions and Javier's side while he pins you comfortably in place against him. Your couch is not at all long enough to accommodate his height, so he sits in a reclined position against the armrest while your head is on his chest and your legs are astride one of his and he dangles the other to the floor. You can't imagine he's very comfortable, but he doesn't complain, so you get lost in his scent. It's ruggedly him: spiced, warm, a hint of cigarette smoke and masculine musk, and a note of soap and aftershave.
You get lost in it so much that you start when you realize the stove is still on. You scamper off him and rush to the kitchen, checking the cauldron for the rice and finding it's done, but the pot with the beans still needs a bit longer so they're nice and tender.
Javier quietly watches you work in the kitchen as you're immersed in tending to the frying chicken and looking lovely. The dying light from the sunset pours in from the open balcony doors and caresses your figure. He can't help brood at what you'd said – about the unsolicited attentions of men, wondering if that was why you'd been so reluctant to entertain his advances – if you'd presumed him to just be another asshole looking to feel you up. While you two haven't spent a lot of time together, he felt like the feisty ice queen he'd seen at the embassy fountain was merely a facet of the person that he now knew to be you. You've let him in, and he wonders if he's given himself to you just as much.
Did you feel the same about him?
He sits up and sips his whiskey, gaze softening fondly as he watches you.
Once you're satisfied that everything is ready save for the beans, you set the fried chicken aside and cover it so it stays hot, and wash your hands before idly drying them on the hem of your tunic as you walk back to the couch.
You find Javi lounging there, glass of whiskey at his lips as he takes a long pull of the amber liquid while he eyes you over the rim.
Shooting him a flirty look back, you lope closer and go to sit in the little wedge his broad frame has created in his reclined pose when he moves with the grace of a feline predator and grabs you up with one strong forearm lassoed around your waist as he sets his now-empty glass aside to pull you against him.
You're huffing wryly at first, thinking he's going to retaliate for your pressure-point prodding at his ribs and the computer ribbing from earlier, but instead he pulls you to sit on his lap with your back against his chest, which forces your thighs to part wide and the hem of your tunic to ride up. When your ass presses against his crotch, you gasp at feeling him hard and insistent, jutting up against you as he palms his hand over your breast and trails the other up your dress to slot against your pussy.
"Ja-Javi!" you yelp tightly and instinctually grip a hand at each of his forearms, squeezing. You're about to protest that you can't fool around right now, when his fingers ruck the crotch of your panties aside before rubbing teasingly along your folds. You gasp out and arch against him, which only forces your ass to grind against his hard-on. "C-Can't! I h-have to watch the s-stove—"
"I thought you'd say we can't because the balcony doors are open," he purrs hotly against your ear, and you flush. "Wanna feel you get wet around my fingers, cariño," he husks as his fingers rub at your dampening pussy and the inner ridge of his palm presses flush against your clit.
He groans at you writhing in his lap, and you're biting your lip hard to stifle a heated sound while you reach your hand backwards to fist in his hair at the nape of his neck, anchoring yourself to him. "O-Only a few minutes – food's g-gonna burn," you keen breathily, and clench your thighs closed around his hand as you grind into him and feel Javi shiver.
"I can get you off before that," he murmurs against your temple before trailing his mouth down to latch at the tender spot on your neck just as he sticks his fingers inside and curves them.
Javier Peña is a man of his word. A minute later, you're whimpering incandescently while he draws a desperate orgasm from your tight, fluttering pussy, climax soaking his palm as you spasm, panting shallow and fast against his jaw. He recedes his fingers and lets you melt into him as you pull him by the nape as you crane to meet his hungry kiss. When you suck his bottom lip and make a soft noise of desire, Javi grunts and nuzzles you.
"Go, before I change my mind and let you burn dinner," he grouses ruggedly as he lets his hands fall away so you have to pry yourself up and away from his ravenous foreplay.
Your cheeks are burning as you struggle to shimmy to your feet and walk on trembling legs to the kitchen to turn the stove off once you've stared at the beans with lust-fogged eyes.
Javier is so tempted to use your slick in his hand to jerk himself off right then and there, just to see your reaction, but disregards it when you rush back to the couch and climb onto his lap.
You are not shy when you look into his soulful stare and reach your hands between your bodies. He's taken aback when you hurriedly and purposefully unfasten his jeans, free his throbbing cock and grab his sullied hand, guiding it with your own to stroke himself off – smearing your slick over his cock and earning a starved groan of approval from him.
He rushes to get a condom on, and you help roll the rubber down to his base before pulling your skirt up and settling your straddling thighs around his lap. Once you sink yourself down on his thick dick, you cling to his shoulders and let him fuck up into you on the couch, desperate to take the edge off.
The quickie is fantastic and just what Javi needed, especially that he got to possessively grip your ass and pound you down onto his cock while you whimpered his name in soft mewls against his neck and shoulder. You're both left buzzing and relieved, coming down from the shared bliss to kiss languidly. His mouth soothes your scorching skin, the ridge of his nose nuzzling your throat while you lovingly comb your fingers through his hair.
"Fuck, now I'm really hungry," he purrs, and you wistfully sigh, tickled by that.
There's nothing more ravenous in the world than Javier Peña after scorching sex and with a meal placed in front of him. You watch him eat with sheer gusto, and when he takes a big bite of the fried chicken and licks the fingers he'd had inside you not so long ago, you're sure you're going to spontaneously combust from your scintillating need and yearning for him.
By the time you're both in the shower together, you're literally shaking with wound up need, so before Javier can finish drying off, you're pulling him by his forearm down the hall to your bedroom where you unceremoniously shove him onto the bed and climb on top of him.
Javier loves it when you're bossy in bed, and when you're uninhibited and insatiable for him? Well, it's needless to say he's chugging tons of water when he goes to the kitchen in the middle of the night and brings you your own glass of cold water. Thirst sated, you pull him down and kiss him like a woman needing to quench something else entirely. The whole thing is bliss, and neither of you are in any rush to disrupt the ebb and flow of things.
You spend so much time together during these fleeting slivers of days that before long, you orbit each other and make the undefined arrangement work. In next to no time, he's got a drawer in your dresser and a few ironed shirts in your closet. No one from work knows, and it stays that way, but you do learn more about Javier Peña, about his work, his ethos, what drives him, and you give him peace when you just get it, unconditionally. You never pry, and he is thankful, but ironically ends up telling you more than he probably should because, well, he trusts you.
And that blindsides him when he realizes it. But the content wonder of it cools any concerns he has, especially when you act as the perfect counterbalance to all the shit he has to put up with.
You're glad to give him respite, getting it now whenever he murmurs how you're too good to him – understanding implicitly what he was feeling. Javier hopes he gives you something as well – besides the rapacious, divine sex, of course. And he most certainly does, but if put on the spot to explain what that is, you come up short. If your life depended on it, though, could you describe it? Yes, you could.
He gives you a sense of home you've not felt in ages. Javi's smile, his laugh, the testy way he gets with you when you insist something isn't serious enough for him to worry about, or the way he pulls you close and murmurs things to you in a baritone whisper? They all ground you; earth you to the promise of more and the prospect of passion you can give yourself into freely, without fear.
It isn't until weeks in, when you're both on the couch and he's entertaining your silliness that the coarse, stubborn side of you realizes what the feeling is. And when you do, it's swiftly caged and stored away to be spectated from afar, but never spoken of out loud. You have no chance to dwell on it though when Javier's finally relenting and telling you the story he'd referenced when the little black cat had climbed up to your balcony and meowed to be let in.
"—Puff, I think, was its name. First DEA cat to get whacked by narcos," he laconically quips, repressing a devious smile when you gasp and swat his knee. "Hey, I didn't put the hit out."
"Jesus Christ, que cabrones," you exhale, watching the little black cat eat her tuna from the dish, frowning at the thought. "Poor Connie," you find yourself musing, and Javi softens in his glib demeanor. "Oh, that's what you meant that one time," you blurt and start laughing, shaking your head at yourself.
"Who brings a fucking cat with them to Colombia though?" he jokes derisively, and you let him pull you over to lounge on top of him while he leans length-wise on the couch.
You snort. "Still, so cruel…" you sigh and wrap your arms around his torso, cuddling him.
He's about to drawl a follow up joke at that when something starts ringing in your apartment, by the door. You sit up and furrow your brows in confusion while Javier swears and rushes off the couch. He's digging into his duffle bag and pulling something out. When he adjusts it, you realize it's a black satellite phone.
"Peña," he answers, gravelly tone tempered into steel. He speaks in Spanish as he turns to walk down the hallway for privacy. It's moot, though, because you can hear his side of the conversation distinctly, but you feign like you couldn't when he walks back a few minutes later.
You're busying yourself with petting the cat when he comes back, getting the ebony feline's attention. She prowls towards Javi and head butts his shin before wrapping around his legs, to his chagrin. You snicker and get her to lope back to you when you put a little more tuna in her dish.
"Something wrong?" you ask, but not in a prying tone as you sit back on the couch and fold your legs beneath yourself.
"I have to leave early in the morning to pick up Steve and meet up with Carrillo," he answers stoically as he shoves the satellite phone back into the duffle and goes to sit next to you. He leans back into the couch and wrings his hands over his face. "…I might be gone a few days. Dunno," he mutters, and he doesn't look you in the eye as he talks. You know that means some shit is going to go down and he is contextualizing it to himself, so you reach over and squeeze his thigh. Snapping out of his faraway brooding, he blinks down at you. "Sorry, querida—"
"Nada de eso," you murmur and lean over to kiss his cheek. "Tell me more about the retribution Steve got from the fuckers who dimed his cat out?"
He coughs a laugh, shaking his head at you and leaning back in the lounging position he'd been in, pulling you along with him. You're keeping him from stewing about things, and he's grateful, especially when you take him to bed and let him dominate you the way he likes. The sense of control excites him, grounds him to the moment and gives him an intoxicating high, especially when you relish his possessive passion and plead for more.
The only thing that disrupts that is the slip of the tongue on his part.
He has you on your knees, but posed to prop your hands against the headboard you're gripping as he hauls your hips back to meet his slamming pace, cock pounding dead-center into that ruinous point in you, when his feral mind rambles a stream of filthy praise that he grouses in that canela-brined baritone of his.
"Fucking so good—taking my cock, letting me have you all the time," you hear over the sound of your breathless whimpers of delight and the lewd sounds of him slamming through your soaking sheath. It's like the squelching sounds spur his lust higher and turn the filter in his head off as he husks, "Things I wanna do to you—fucking wanna make you beg—want you to come all over me, mamita—"
When you stiffen and literally squeak in confusion at that, Javi practically flinches back, thrusting rhythm stuttering when you pivot your hips and rail, "¿QUE?"
He grabs fast to the headboard to not flop onto his back when you're balking at him, all flushed and sweaty but a bit riled – in not a carnal way. "…What?!" he asks, getting cagey when you shove him back so you can scramble to turn. He can't read your expression. It's quirked in a mix of unease and embarrassed humor? That doesn't make sense to him at all—
"Javi, I can't with that. Bleh, ugh!" you cringe and snicker when he's just panting and staring at you flustered, with those confused puppy eyes. "All that nasty stuff is sexy, but not if you call me that!"
"…Mamita?" he questions, and you physically cringe, and he scoffs, relieved but exasperated that something so harmless would raise your ire. "Seriously?" he snickers, and you're flustered now that he's not taking your disdain for the pet name serious. "That's the safe word then?" he jokes, and you shove him at the shoulder, now starting to get annoyed. "Oh, c'mon, mami—"
You recoil, squirming away from him. "Javi, deja con esas pendejadas," you snipe and scowl at him when he just grins at you haranguing him to stop with that bullshit as if he'd said something scathingly offensive. "If you want to turn me off, then congratulations, you know how to now—!"
"Fuck's sakes, baby," he pulls you into his arms, and you try not to fixate on how warm and sweaty he is, on how good he smells and feels, or how his hands grope your supple and overheated, sweat-sheened curves. "It really turns you off?"
"Mira, no to pongas a joder conmigo," you growl in annoyance, warning him not to start fucking with you, and his mirth cools, so you huff, "I'm not into it. And don't even think about me ever calling you daddy or papi, either—!"
"Alright, noted!" he raises his hands in defeat, but his expression is amused, infuriatingly sexy as he murmurs, "For the record? I can't think of anything you could say or do to turn me off."
"Yeah, cuz you're a filthy beyako, that's why," you rib, smirk lopsided as you let him pull you against him and weigh you down to the bed. "The last time someone called me mamacita I almost backhanded him," you huff wryly, squirming when he starts to kiss down your body while you fidget onto your back under him.
"Tan brava," he purrs, and you squeeze his shoulder and grip at his chest as he tugs your legs open to him so he can maneuver his hips between them. "You liked all the rest of it though?"
You gasp when he rolls his hips and nudges his cock against your wet pussy and pushes back into you while he pins your legs open and apart with a strong hand at the back of each knee. You arch and undulate your hips against him. "Mmm, yes," you sigh harshly. He groans in approval and starts to thrust fast and hard, enjoying how you whimper and pant heatedly, hands fastening to the bed and letting him set the pace.
"Even the p-part about making you b-beg and come all over me?" he gruffly asks, feral need twisting in him again as he feels your walls squeeze excitedly around him.
"Ah—y-yes," you answer in a whine and moan when he spreads you wider to his pounding cock. "I want it all, chulito," you ramble suddenly.
Javi's thrusts actually stutter in rhythm and he stiffens awkwardly at the pet name. When you feel him hesitate, you blink up at him and see he's flushed and his mustachioed lips are quirked in what you could only refer to as a pouty sneer. "Fuck…maybe I spoke too soon," he mutters, out of breath and wringing his hand across his forehead to wipe the sweat collecting there away before it can drip down his brow. "That is not a turn on—"
You laugh, irreverent and melodious, hands folding over your chest as it becomes uncontrollable. Javier huffs and just watches you wryly, taken with how your dewy skin shines under the lamplight and your hair is fanned out haphazardly over the covers beneath you. Smiling radiantly, you caress his cheek with a teasing brush of your fingertips. "Alright, chulito—" you jibe, grinning.
"Ugh…don't. You've made your point," Javier deadpans sorely and adjusts so you can pull him down to wrap your arms around his shoulders.
"Aww, pobrecito," you tease and kiss his temple, while he exhales noisily at that. "You know, you're cute when you pout—"
"You're teasing me when I'm still inside you, you know," he cuts in salaciously and makes his point by bucking his hips against the cradle of your open thighs and nestling himself deep, jostling a little sound out of you.
He repeats the maneuver a few times, until he's eventually just fucking you into the bed, driving you wild as he buries his face in the crook of your neck and tells you filth – how he loves your pussy, can't get enough of being inside you, how beautiful you look when you're whimpering his name – all of which has you dissolving into a hearty orgasm and clinging to him as your core pulses hungrily around him. Javi climaxes right after thanks to the contracting flutter of your walls rippling possessively around his cock.
When he comes, he mumbles your name in a reedy groan, and you replay the sound of his voice and feel of him while you both lie fucked out on the bed. You feel like you barely had your eyes closed before it's suddenly early morning, and Javi is grunting groggily as he sits up after swinging his long legs to the side of the bed and yawning as he stretches. Reluctantly, you roll into the warm spot he just vacated and realize you need to get ready too.
You think about him all day and night once he's left, and it isn't until you hear the news about Hacienda Nápoles that you understand why he was so tense after the phone call. They must've been gearing up for the raid – relying on a tip gained in the way that he would never disclose to you, but that you were pragmatic enough to have an idea about.
A couple of days after, he's at your door and picking you up effortlessly in his arms so he can kiss you, his mood lighter than you've ever seen as he smiles and holds onto you while he tells you everything – how successful the raid was, and how it finally tipped the scales.
"—Steve and I are going to el Palacio de Justicia in the morning to see the evidence inventory. This could finally give us the leverage we need to catch that fucker," he tells you – smile hopeful, dark-brewed eyes cresting with promise.
You slink close and brush a chaste kiss to his lips. "Good job, agente," you purr and smile, melting when he pets a hand through your hair before hooking his fingers in the thick tresses at the back of your nape and pulling you against him so he can kiss you with gusto.
If you thought he could make love to you with vigor and zeal before, Javier Peña feeling at the top of his fucking game – literally and figuratively – is awe-inspiring and nerve incinerating. His need for you is insatiable, and the way he expresses it by fucking you in the middle of the bed has you precariously teetering between delirium and ecstasy, especially because you can see his feral hunger in his expression as he pounds his desire into you.
You don't expect it to come careening to a halt suddenly when he tears a bone melting orgasm from you just as he pivots his final thrusts up into you after he shoved his forearm to hook under your waist. The maneuver slots him into a new angle inside you just as he comes and tenses at the odd change of sensation that occurs for him. Realization dawns on his pleasure-soaked brain after his orgasm fizzles out of his flexing muscles, making a cold chill shoot up his spine.
"Oh fuck," you hear him snap out before he goes rigid over you. You're a throbbing, buzzing shell of delight under him, and when his panting shallows and he swears tensely to himself, you dopily try to glance up at him, but his head is bowed, hair obscuring his eyes, so you glance at your reflections in the standing mirror. Of course you left it so it was strategically positioned to reflect the bed, and you dimly stare at the sharp edge of Javi's shoulders and the contour of his spine, watching them only get more rigid as he finally exhales and stares down at you.
The look in his eyes instantly snaps your lusty haze away. "What's wrong?" you whisper and caress his cheek. When he squeezes his eyes shut and huffs, you trail your fingertips soothingly over his brow, caress his forehead and trace his jaw lovingly. "Babe, look at me. What's the matter?" you murmur softly.
Javi is warring with the anxious panic that's welled inside him and the dizzying worry that you'd react just the way he fears you will.
"…The condom broke."
You lie underneath him and blink slowly. He swears, and eases out of your tight, wet heat. Sure enough, you feel his cum drip in his wake, and Javier curses tensely as he pulls out and sees the mess, comingled fluids spilling beautifully from you and making him antsy from the dueling feelings the sight strikes in him.
They're twisting in his chest as he adjusts and takes the condom off. The damned thing tore from how rough he was being, and he is cursing himself at losing control to such a degree. He was always fucking careful, to a fault – had to be with all the risky shit he does. The panic settles like a stone in his gut when he glances back at you and sees you're just lying there, quietly recovering and not going off on him like he feels he deserves.
It isn't that he's afraid of having given you anything. He gets tested often, and just did so again a week prior and came up negative, but firstly, he's not sure you'll believe him, and secondly, that is not why pressure is welling in him right now.
You do take your time to recover and process things, and know it probably isn't helpful to leave Javi reeling for the tense minute he spends sitting at the edge of the bed internally cursing himself and damning his recklessness, but you're absorbing things.
When you sit up, Javier's back flexes in anticipation, as if expecting you to start wailing on him. You frown at that, and reach your hand to touch his back. He tenses, but doesn't move. "I know you get tested," you declare, and he's whirling to stare back at you, surprised. "Office gossip is a bitch, especially when HR has loose lips," you quip, trying to ease the tension.
He relaxes minutely, and exhales in frustration. "That's not it. At least not just that," he mumbles, looking away.
With much effort, you collect yourself and slink over to cuddle up next to him, circling your arms around his shoulder and nudging him to shake off his brooding worry.
"Javi. I'm on the pill."
As if on delay, Javi mechanically stares over at you before his brows arch, lips pressing together and jaw clenching. You kiss his shoulder. He hates to admit it, but the relief that washes through him is disorienting, but when you stay cuddled next to him, he encircles your waist and pulls you closer, kissing the top of your head and exhaling his tense breath. He hugs you, and you let him hold onto you, feeling the tension ease from his back as you rub soothing circles with your hands into the warm, muscled planes.
"…You're amazing, cariño," he murmurs against your hair line before he tilts your face up and whispers, "I don't deserve you," and kisses you with a passionate longing you've never felt from him.
The scare aside, you're quite effervescent, beaming from the inside out. You think it's behind you, especially when you pull Javi back into bed and tell him you want him to come inside you, and his eyes heat up with a primal desire. He's inside you and driving you over the edge of another fantastic orgasm in no time before he arches against you, and fills you with his cum soon after. The sensation is heightened – amazing and thrilling as you both lie in post-coital repose in each other's arms. You don't think he's still twisted up with anxiety, or that he's worrying at all.
Javier is good at keeping a poker face.
The next morning, he makes love to you in the shower, loving how you sob your whimpers breathily under the warm water as he holds onto you, pressed against the tiled wall, before he eases his cock out of your tight cunt and his seed seeps out of you. The feeling of him inside you is always amazing, but without protection? It's sensational. You smile dreamily when he cleans you off, tender and gentle as he glides his fingers along your slippery thighs and up along your crotch while you lean against his chest and nuzzle his throat under the shower spray.
When you're watching him get dressed, you admire him attempting to tame his shaggy hair and catch his glance in the mirror.
You don't sense at all that he's simmering internally, and when he smiles, you can't help but purr, "I'm picking up ingredients for a certain meal I'll be whipping up for a very accomplished agente de la DEA at the end of the week."
Javier rubs his forefinger along his moustache as he turns and walks towards you, smoldering gaze earning an excited tickle in your core as he leans down and kisses you before caressing his fingertips along your jawline, tipping your face up so he can hold your gaze as he murmurs richly, "Sounds like a plan, querida. I'll call you."
You purse your lips before letting the plush flesh quirk in a smile. "You and Steve are going to hole up with tons of boxes of documents for a few days, huh," you muse and stand to walk with him to the door.
As he collects his things, he takes your hand and squeezes. "Something like that," he retorts coolly before turning and pulling you close as he gets to the door. "Be good, preciosa," he husks, leans down and kisses your lips, letting you caress his cheek as you deepen the kiss.
"Good luck, agente," you purr and smile when he taps your ass affectionately and grunts humorously at you.
When he walks out, you don't think he's getting tangled up with ambivalence. On the contrary, you feel alight with contentment. Your smile is brilliant as you get to the office, feeling vibrant as you talk through your tutorial training and make plans to expand the successful pilot program to other high-level agencies in the embassy. Even the CIA is encouraging in their interests at participating, which you think to yourself is something Javi will get saucy about, seeing as he's made his disdain for many of the officials no secret to you. Ellis even had a meeting with the head of Mil Group in the works, which has always been the tough nut to crack.
You spend a few days working on the presentation for Col. Wysession's team when someone runs by your conference room you and Ellis are currently researching in and says something is going down on the news. Squeezed in the break room with the crowd of gaping office workers, you are horrified to see the siege occurring at the Palace of Justice. Terror seizes you – could Javi be there?! – and wells in you beseechingly as you find yourself compelled to go to the floor the DEA's department is and find it empty. Your heart is pounding as you catch a glimpse at Murphy rushing to the stairwell and going up, but don't see Javier.
"—The roads are blocked everywhere. Anita said it's pandemonium out there. They're not gonna let us leave the embassy compound for a few hours," Ellis is telling you, and you dimly register it as you stare at the TV set you don't even know where he wheeled it from so everyone in your department could keep watching the violent standoff in shock.
They don't let you leave until very late, and as soon as you're through the door, you're turning on the TV and watching the coverage, on pins and needles as you pace the living room. You're irate – feeling helpless and angry with yourself for never discussing with Javier how to get in contact with each other if anything was to ever happen. You remember the satellite phone, and immediately wonder whom at the embassy you could ask who'd know the number, anxiety leaving you shaking as you sit in the chair that faces the TV and wring your hands in your hair for what feels like hours.
The phone rings, and you jolt, heart pounding and pulse racing as you rush to answer it.
"Hello?"
"It's me."
You feel yourself go slack and need to lean against the wall to not crumble in sharp relief. You exhale and blurt, "Christ, Javier! I've been worr—" you pause, reining yourself in. You do not want to sound harried or hysterical, and telling him you've been worried and scared for him is not something you want to put on him. "Are you ok?"
Javi can't help smile, loving your flare of temper even in such a fucked up, tense moment. It distracts him from the fact that Steve is interrogating Elisa like a man with a vendetta in the other room, and anchors him to count himself lucky. Had that crooked fuck Jarramillo allowed him and Steve to make copies of all the files confiscated from the Escobar raids, the potential that they could've gotten swept up in the siege was one he didn't want to think about for too long.
"Yeah. We're fine. Listen, there's something that's come up that we're trying to get handled, so I might not be able to come around—"
"No worries. I'm just glad you're safe," you utter, unbidden and against your better judgment, but uncaring.
Javi feels his heart swell in his chest, and he has to submerge the feeling from the prying eyes of the potential interlopers in his living room. Tucking around the corner as far as the phone cord attached to the receiver will allow him to go, Javier finds himself murmuring, "I'll see you this weekend. All that bragging better be worth it."
You snicker, and are about to muse something sassy, when a question dawns on you. "Wait—how'd you get this number?"
He chuckles, the gravel in the pitch of his tone making you tingly. "I have my ways," Javi rumbles smugly before lowering his voice to add, "Goodnight, querida."
"Goodnight."
When you hang up the receiver, you find yourself strung out from worrying, and the sharp relief only leaves you with a throbbing headache from all the stress. You feel like that for days, as if empathetically tethered to the foreboding sadness that radiates across the city after the siege. You're working on autopilot – everyone is – and looking forward to being able to sit with your thoughts and set the bustling of work aside for a couple of days. When you get home from work at the end of the week and set out the things you'll need for making the lasagna the next day, you're feeling a bit hopeful, looking forward to seeing Javier and hugging him until you're good and goddamned satisfied.
The thought of Javi ruefully bowing in defeat at your delicious brag being fact makes you smile as you put an apron on to keep the messy sauce and grease from staining your top and capris. By the time you have the layers of sauce, cheese, and pasta laid uniformly in the tray, you're giddy, buzzing with anticipation like a love-struck idiot.
There it is again – that feeling rattling its cage.
You're not going to acknowledge it. Can't give it power by giving it a name.
Huffing at yourself, you finish wrapping the foil over the tray and slide it into the oven, where you monitor it for a few hours while you clean up. You have the plates set out on the table and are merrily arranging the garlic bread while you idly sway to the music you're playing on the radio – sick of the wall-to-wall coverage post-siege.
Once the lasagna is left to rest on the stove, you go freshen up. As you're looking at yourself in the mirror and applying some lipstick to accentuate your plush lips even more, the phone rings. You can't help skip down the hall, shutting the music off and rushing to answer it, expecting Javi to just give you an ETA.
"Hello?"
"Querida," he murmurs, and then his next words take him effort to say. "I can't make it. Something's come up."
You can't help but feel dispirited, deflating as you lean against the wall. "Oh," you manage as neutrally as possible, but you're frowning. "Is everything alright?"
Javier is quiet for a few seconds longer than he should be before he exhales. "Yes, I don't want you to worry. I'm sorry, but I promise to make it up to you—"
"Don't worry about it," you smoothly interrupt, bummed but reasonable to a fault. "If you can't make it this weekend, I can—"
"¿Y cómo vamos a manejar este arreglo?" You hear in the background – a female voice asking Javier in Spanish, 'How're we gonna handle this arrangement, then?' in a tone that is lilting and teasing.
Turning to glare at Elisa, who's just come out of the shower and is wearing some hand-me-down clothes Connie gave her to sleep in, Javier can feel you recoil over the line. His swift hand gesture to shush her does the job, and she rolls her eyes and goes back into the room. Javi is swearing internally while you're frozen in boiling, furious silence. The heat is creeping up the back of your neck, vision narrowing in as a flood of emotions crests up violently in you.
You dimly hear Javier say your name before pressing in a hasty tone, "—Cariño, it's not what you think—"
You hang up on him.
The heat rises to your face and radiates to the top of your head, dizzying and incensing as you glare at the phone. Your eyes bore through it, until they don't see it anymore and your desolate stare turns inward.
Javier swears, pissed off beyond belief. For the hundredth time since Connie dropped the human hand grenade at his front door, he curses his goddamned luck and ability to fuck up things that matter. It's like the universe is rife with ways of taking him down spectacularly, either personally or professionally.
The fact that you didn't even say anything – didn't rail, accuse him, or harangue fiercely over the phone until he could talk you down and explain really hits him. He implicitly knows the silence is much worse.
Frustrated, he calls you back.
Your phone rings, and you ignore it, focused on avoiding the lasagna, leaving it to sit on the stove as you mechanically put the dishes you'd set out away while the phone starts ringing again.
Javier slams the phone into the mount and starts pacing, fishing a cigarette out and lighting it as he stews, brooding as to how badly he's set things back. You were a fucking challenge before! Now?
As if he wasn't already furious, his mind replays the one thing you'd told him even close to a condition:
"Just…do me a favor and give me the courtesy of a heads up."
He hadn't even slept with Elisa. However, he hadn't told you about her – not that he really was in a position to disclose such a clusterfuck – and the fact that you'd never given him an ultimatum or conditioned anything but the simple courtesy of a disclosure if ever his work required him to be in the intimate company of a woman? It's no wonder you just went silent and hung up on him. He swears and exhales his huff as smoke.
Javier Peña has fucked up, and he realizes he'd started fucking up the moment he let his insecurities and ruminating after 'the scare' get the best of him. Taking a long drag of his cigarette, he rushes back to the phone and dials Steve. When his partner answers, he grunts, "Come down to my place. I need you to sit tight while I go handle something—"
"What the fuck? Can't it wait til the morning—?"
"You need to bring your ass down here and babysit the fucking grenade your wife tossed into my lap while I go take care of something important, goddammit. Get done here, now."
Once Steve is grumbling and sulking in his living room while Elisa gets cozy in his fucking bed, Javier is driving across town to your apartment. He has no plan – doesn't know what he could possibly say to convince you, but as he's stalking across the courtyard and up the stairs towards your door, he decides he just needs to be honest. You deserve it, and he owes it to you.
He can smell the aroma even from outside the door, and internally curses again. His patented three knocks echo, making him wary. He listens for any movement, but hears none. He can see the light is on via the bottom of the door, so he wonders if you're just ignoring him. Another series of knocks go unanswered, so he resorts to calling you from his satellite phone.
Javier hears your phone ring, but nothing else; no rushing footsteps, slammed doors, anything.
What he doesn't know is that as soon as the godforsaken lasagna tray had cooled enough, you packed it up and placed it in a tote to be carried to your car. You're at Ellis and Anita's door with it by the time Javier is calling you on the phone again. After all, the last time you'd slaved to make the damned dish was for Ellis' birthday, and he gorged himself merrily, so at the very least you know it won't go to waste. They're surprised to see you there, but happily invite you in and pig out on your lasagna and garlic bread, inviting you to stay and watch movies on VHS.
"My brother sent me this one! It's got the Terminator in it," he remarks as he pops the movie into the VCR while Anita serves you an after-dinner coffee.
They're mercifully sweet and don't pry, but you can feel Anita's gaze glance caringly over throughout the movie.
By the time you get home, you're emotionally numb, tired and unfeeling. When you lock the door behind yourself, you notice something on the floor. Picking up the scrap of paper, you realize it must've been slipped under the door while you were out.
In bold script, a 15-digit number is scrolled across the paper. You stare at it, brows furrowing until you realize what it is. Detachedly, you leave the paper on the kitchen counter and go to your bedroom, strip out of your clothes, and contemplate sleeping naked and alone in your bed, when a pang of hurt finally wrenches your chest.
Javi had long stalked through his apartment door and gestured for Steve to fuck off so he could brood furiously in silence. If he'd known you're numbly aching in the wake of his carelessness, he would've sworn not for the first time that he didn't deserve you, and it'd only been a matter of time until he'd messed things up. Still, he longs for you, and it disarms him – blows away all the insecurities and ambivalence that had barbed into his gut the last few days.
Finally rescind, you pull on the oversized shirt you'd found tucked into a drawer, shut off all the lights and crawl into bed. You can't help yourself though, and you bring the shirt's neckline to your nose and inhale Javier's scent, feeling your fortitude wane as the hurt floods over you now.
By the time Javier is laying his head down on the armrest of his couch – shirtless and in his jeans and glaring distantly while he nurses a cigarette, you're curled up in a ball, the welling sting at the backs of your eyes subsiding as you fitfully fall asleep to his smell.
Right before you doze off, you tell yourself what you knew all along.
You fell in love with Javi.
And now that it's out of the cage, you just need to let it die out.
Of course, it just isn't that simple…
Spanish-English Glossary:
Agente = agent
Apodo= Nickname
Jodón = pain in the ass
Chulo/Chulito = cute guy; little cutie
Guapetón = Super handsome, good-looking guy
¿Vamos a mi cama un ratito? = Come to my bed for a little while?
A-hah, claro = Uh-huh, sure
Cariño = darling/sweetheart
Querida = Affectionate term for a female, akin to expressing one's want and desire
Atrevido/Atrevida = Daring man/Daring woman
Malcriada = Bratty woman; spoiled woman; naughty woman
Beyako = Puerto Rican slang for horny/naughty guy; akin to "horn dog"
Fresco = a guy who's being 'fresh', or naughty/pervy
Preciosa = Gorgeous; precious
Hermosa = beautiful
Galán = handsome
Que cabrones = What assholes
Nada de eso = None of that
Deja con esas pendejadadas = Stop with that bullshit
Mira, no te pongas a joder conmigo = Stop fucking with me
Tan brava = So feisty; So tough; refers to a "tough girl"
Pobrecito = Poor baby; poor baby boy
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