Warning: Graphic depictions of sex, mentions of violence, angst, despair, some hurt/comfort, longing, and a lot of smut.
Chapter 5: Want - Part 1
Javier can't believe how fucking badly he's screwed things up between you.
Well, when he thinks about it, he can, because it's been his modus operandi for years. But he really hadn't intended to fuck this up. He'd meant it when he said he'd come over on the weekend, and was looking forward to having your lasagna and you, but things did not go as planned. He'd spent days trying to find a contact who'd accept the risk of hiding a wanted M-19 suspect, going in-person to squeeze connections all over while Steve or Connie stayed at his place to keep Elisa company. When he found one in Cumaral, he thought he'd finally be free of his burden, but his connection in getting fake papers fell through, so he'd have to go to the embassy and work his lead in Noonan's office.
Why Elisa had felt compelled to come out at that very moment and say something so fucking flirty was beyond him. He'd already spent any of the nights he was in the apartment with her on his own couch while she took his bed. So, to ask about fucking arrangements was obtuse.
He'd hoped you would call him back. His satellite phone didn't ring with you on the end of the line, though, and his calls to your place went unanswered. Javier had stewed about it the whole three-hour drive to Cumaral, and by the time he got back to his place, he was terse, surly and reticent as he stalked into his bedroom and ignored Elisa as he made a beeline to his bathroom. The water had battered down on his head and he'd felt a bit better from the absent daze he let his mind go to.
However, Javier had been confused when he'd walked out of the bathroom and found Elisa naked on his bed. He was pretty sure she'd been in sweats Connie had leant her, so when she just adjusted to sit up and stare at him, Javier had shaken his head and muttered huffily, "Me lleva la chingada…"
He hadn't made it more than a few steps to his dresser – towel wrapped around his waist – when Elisa had pressed up behind him and murmured for him not to be mad, to come to bed, to let her be his stress relief.
So, he had. And it was a fleeting feeling, not as transactional as when he'd fuck the working girls, but not anything he felt anchored in. Instead, he ended up having to reel her back from being impulsive and shortsighted, and like the working girls, she'd sarcastically asked if he slept with all his informants before blowing him off by saying she wasn't his concern. He'd kissed her to try and ground her to the reality of her situation, but while she proclaimed something about killing Escobar first, Javier was already regretting the chore of relieving stress, only to end up stuck with aggravating frustration for his efforts.
His mood was downright brooding when he got to the embassy for the interagency meeting post-siege and had to deal with an exasperated Steve, and deadpanned an acerbic answer to his partner's accusatory question. As if the threats from Lou weren't annoying enough, the overall morale in the building was miserable – filled with people who had lost friends and family during the Palace of Justice siege. When Javier had gone back at the end of the day to sneak up to Noonan's secretary's desk, he'd crossed the ornate foyer across from the atrium in the lobby and had caught sight of you.
Sitting at a bench while one of the building's cleaning ladies poured her heart out, clearly grief-stricken and overwhelmed, you console her and let her cry on your shoulder while you murmur softly to her. You catch Javi's stare and immediately flint your soft gaze away, as if he was no one to hold your gaze for long.
Javier had to force himself to punch the elevator button, stalking into the cab and reining his expression into practiced apathy – narrowed gaze faraway as the elevator doors shut. He will never know that the sight of him made your heart wrench in your chest, or that the prickling sting behind your eyes was only abated by your empathy towards the poor girl who'd lost her brother.
Your anger though? Oh, that would swell in you the next morning when you get in the elevator and two gringas ride up with you.
"So? You're not gonna fill me in?"
"About?"
"Oh c'mon, Colleen. I saw Javier Peña come out of your office yesterday. Awfully late in the day to have a meeting with the ambassador—"
Colleen, the one with the curly hair and thick-rimmed glasses, snickers, adjusting her files in her cradled arms. "I can neither confirm nor deny a thing, Deb," she quips.
"You can at least say if he flirted you up, or is that top-secret?" Deb insists, grinning.
"I don't think that man can breathe without flirting—"
You're perfectly stoic behind them, and when your floor dings, you excuse yourself to breeze between them and out of the elevator, but not before hearing Deb drawl, "I hope he's at least going to pay you one of his favors as a thanks—"
The back of your neck is burning with consternation as you stalk to your office. Ellis can only put up with your one-word answers for a few minutes before he frowns and swivels his chair towards you. "What's wrong, kid? You're not burning the midnight oil working on the presentation, right?" he inquires, leaning his chair close to cajole you into looking at him. "I got the meeting with Mil Group, by the way, and the colonel's gonna join—"
That snaps you out of your surly mood. "He is? How'd you manage that?"
"I'll tell you at happy hour when we throw some back with his team," Ellis chortles, and you roll your eyes. "Nope, I'm not taking a no this time," he admonishes lightheartedly. "You're gonna have to meet these guys where they're at – which is usually at the bar after work. Not everyone has your dogged tenacity for work, so being your congenial self is something you'll have to flex your muscles in," he chimes and smirks when you cross your arms and pointedly glare.
"Fine. I'll go, but there's no amount of congeniality in my being if any of them gets rowdy with me," you warn, and Ellis nods boldly, as if to say he totally concurs.
Happy hour goes very well, to your surprise, and you realize what Ellis was talking about. People seem more receptive to your ideas, and within the confines of an American-friendly bar, where Bud and Coors are on tap and the jukebox has all of the homey classics, the fellas from Mil Group are at ease. Things go so well that Ellis and you make it a standing occasion, meeting them and even some of the Centra Spike guys at their home away from home a few times a week. Ironically, they spend a good amount of time talking shit about the DEA, and you have to laugh at how they commiserate – how they accuse them of being a drain on resources.
"—fuckin' Peña's running around playing with CNP in Cartagena and Murphy's always spazzing. He even got into the White Room after nagging the CIA guys to death," Nador slags off before taking his shot of whiskey.
"Those two think it's a damned western out here," Benson rumbles as he signals the waitress to bring another round.
You excuse yourself from the table to go to the bar and get a breather, feeling a bit miffed. "Could I get a water, please?" you ask the bartender. As he slides the glass over to you, you contemplate whether you can bow out for the night without getting a table of loud men to gripe and cajole you to stay, when you feel someone come up to the bar next to you.
"Sorry about that. They just like to piss on the DEA every chance they get. It gets tiring."
You glance over at Samson, the field operations analyst who reports directly to Col. Wysession, and smirk, shrugging as you sip your water. "It's amusing. Reminds me that every government agency is just a proverbial pissing contest for clout and resources," you muse while he chuckles and leans against the bar.
"Yep, can't argue there," he snickers and gives you a winning smirk. For some reason, you idly think he looks like a dead-ringer for Christian Slater, albeit a more rugged version. Is it the smile? How his expressive eyebrows quirk at your musing remarks? Or his hazel eyes as they gleam good-naturedly at you? "But while they're sniping at each other, departments like yours just grind through. Your proposal is ambitious," he remarks and sips his beer. "I think the colonel will like it. Especially if it has us innovating ahead of CIA—"
"What is it with those guys? I keep reaching out for a meeting, and they'd seemed so interested, but now they're just MIA on it," you remark, making a silly gesture of disgust.
"They're conceited assholes, that's what," he jokes, and before long, you're both chatting about random things unrelated to the politics of interagency strife.
When you're driving home with Ellis, you're surprised to see him giving you that goofy stare, as if he has something on you. "What?" you snipe, eyeing him.
"Samson likes you," he declares and bounces his eyebrows. "He's been dying to talk to you one-on-one for a while—"
"Ugh, please," you dismiss and sneer. "You think every time a dude talks to me, it's gonna be some love connection—"
"Nope! He pulled me aside last happy hour and asked if you're single," Ellis insists as he turns down the avenue towards your complex. "I'm pretty sure the main reason we're getting the colonel in the meeting is because of him, and I think it's cuz he's got a thing for you."
"Great."
Your deadpan, flat musing earns a forlorn look from Ellis. "Aww, c'mon, I didn't mean it like that—"
"That our entire successful engagement with this pain in the ass interagency bully network is predicated on a guy wanting to fuck me?" you huff, turning your dispirited glare out to the passenger window. "I'm not interested."
Ellis grunts, busying himself with driving while you stew. Then, he muses, "Well, since it's already happening, could you at least throw the guy a bone?"
You bark a laugh and swat Ellis on the arm. "Fuck off, you throw him a bone!"
"I don't swing that way, and I don't think Samson does either. But then again, who knows. Mil Group is an ass-grabbing boys' club," Ellis jokes as he pulls up to the curb of your complex. "But in all seriousness, I don't think he'd involve the colonel if it was just to get in good with you. I wouldn't be surprised if he asked you out, though."
"You know my policy, Ellis," you sigh and collect your purse. "No one from work. And Mil Group?" you shake your head.
"I know," he shrugs, smiling as he adds, "Gonna finally let Anita set you up with her cousin, then?"
"Not a chance," you snicker and kiss Ellis on the cheek. "Goodnight. Thanks for the ride!"
Once you're in your apartment, you drop your purse and keys to the side table and go get something to drink in the fridge. As you're tipping your head back to drink greedily from your glass, your eyes spot the slip of paper on the counter. It instantly annoys you, and you snatch it up, but can't bring yourself to crumple it. Instead, you pin it underneath a ceramic napkin holder sat against the wall of the kitchen island and go to your bedroom when the phone rings. You're mechanically spinning to lope back and answer it.
"Hello?"
"Don't hang up."
The sound of Javier's voice instantly makes heat rise to your face, a wave of fury percolating to simmer to the top of your head as you bite your lip to not respond, but then you're not hanging up either.
"You have every right to be pissed off," he rumbles, and you can hear what sounds like the ocean in the background. "I just…I just wanted to tell you I never wanted to hurt you."
The anger is welling in your throat, and you feel smothered by it, but just when you've resolved not to say a goddamned thing in response, Javi hits you with it.
"I can't stop thinking about you. I didn't want to…didn't want to go into tomorrow without telling you, querida—"
"You fucking hijueputa malparido!" you clip with furious venom, feeling yourself shake with the repressed rancor now. "How dare you bullshit me with your fucking pendejadas?! Who the fuck do you think you're talking to, some insipid little tart?" You can't stop now, and all the anger you bottled up is seething forth. "Puñeta, do me a favor and save your bullshit for your fucking putas pendejas imbéciles and spare me anymore of your goddamn mamonadas."
There. You unloaded, and you don't feel better at all, but you said it all. However, you haven't slammed the phone into the mounted cradle. Instead, you're wrapping your palm over the mouthpiece and pressing the earpiece close, trying to listen for any sign that he didn't just hang up once you'd started to verbally eviscerate him.
You can hear the ebb and flow of water in the distance, and just when you imagine he must've put the satellite phone down and ran away from your tirade, you hear him hum.
"When I get back into town, I want to see you."
You are literally balking at that. Did he not listen to a goddamned thing you just said? Is this a circle of hell you've been thrown into? Did you die on the way home from the bar? What the hell is happening?!
"I. Am not. Interested." You find yourself grounding out in a cold, biting tone – feeling your face burn from the spiking of your blood pressure.
There's a pause, and just when you keep expecting the line to click dead, it doesn't come. Instead, just as you're convinced that you're actually drunk from happy hour and this is all a hallucination and you're contemplating just hanging up, you hear that canela-brined voice of his.
"I'm sitting here, overlooking the ocean. Wishing I was here with you, and not hunting down some piece of shit pinche asesino," he murmurs into the phone, and you're trembling with a fierce cacophony of emotions. "You gotta let me bring you here sometime. You'd look lovely underneath the moonlight."
You can't help it. Something rattles free from the tangle of feelings inside you. "What's going on, Javier?"
"…Nothing. Just needed to hear your voice. Goodnight, querida."
You hear the line click, and then a dial tone. Vacantly, you hang the phone up and feel your lip tremble. You're really shaking from the adrenalin rush of going off after swallowing all that for so long, but now you feel wrung out and tired. You can't sleep at all – scared for him all over again as you remember they said he was in Cartagena. That would explain the sound of the ocean in the background, but not the pensive tension in his voice.
It isn't until the next day when you're leaving a meeting with Centra Spike that you hear it – about the operation in Tolu, and hear some of the staff cheering. "The motherfucker did it! They got Gacha!"
You're lingering in the hall to listen, and hear some radio intercepts they're playing out to the bullpen. Within the loud ambient background sounds of a helicopter engine and the crisp static of radio comms, you hear Javi give the order: "Dale plomo."
Goosebumps breakout along your arms, and you are flooded with realization. Javier wasn't sure how the raid was going to go today, and he called you.
Your heart hurts, feeling a wave of guilt at cursing him out when he was on the precipice of a dangerous operation. It's a dizzying realization, and you find yourself walking back to your department on autopilot, but once in your hallway, you feel lightheaded and need to lean against something to catch your bearings. Just as you think you hear someone call your name, you stumble into the wall and are caught by the upper arm.
"Whoa, you don't look so good," a familiar voice is remarking as he helps you over into the nearest available chair. "Hey, you ok? Feeling faint?"
"N-no, sorry. I don't know," you stammer and try to shake the feeling off. "Just need some water. Feel thirsty all of a sudden."
In what feels like an instant, a paper cup with cool water is being placed in your hands. "Easy. Take slow sips."
You do so, and after a few gulps, the weird buzzing in your head clears. Able to focus on your surroundings, you look up and find Samson, and are bemused that you hadn't even noticed him before. "Thanks…I don't know what came over me," you retort lamely and offer him a weak smile when he crouches down and gives you a relieved smirk.
"All the color drained from your face there. You're starting to look normal again," he muses as he takes the empty cup from your hands and tosses it into a nearby wastebasket. "Have you eaten anything?"
"…No. I've not had much of an appetite today—"
"Alright, then you're coming with me," he remarks affably and helps you stand, keeping a steadying hand in the middle of your back as he helps you go to your desk. "You managed to keep your files in a death grip. I'm impressed," he jokes as he sits you down in your chair. "Ellis not in today?"
"He's in a meeting with embassy operations for most of the day—"
"Then you're going to let me take you out for lunch. You gotta eat something," he muses, and before long, he's got you walking down with him through the lobby and out the front doors.
"Samson, I'm fine—"
"You can call me Luke, you know," he remarks congenially as he walks you to his car in the nearby lot above ground. "All that surname shit is just out of habit."
You let Luke Samson take you to a little restaurant, where he orders food for you and you eat with gusto, not realizing how hungry you were until the soup touches your lips. It's a pleasant late lunch, where he fills the empty space with amiable chatter. He doesn't pry or cajole, and you're thankful for the innocuous banter. Of course he refuses to split the check, and when you're back at the embassy, he walks you to your desk and tells you he'll check in on you before he heads out for the day.
Ellis is just passing him when Luke walks out, so they strike up a quick convo before he lopes off. When he gets to your area, he's checking on you. You roll your eyes and tell him you're totally fine, but he can't help muse, "Lunch date, eh?"
"It was not a date."
"Uh-huh. Well, I'm glad you're feeling ok. Want me to drive you home? We can carpool in the morning—"
"I'm fine, really. I just got distracted and a little lightheaded," you insist. "You better not be putting him up to anything—"
"I would never do such a thing," Ellis shakes his head curtly. "No way. So whatever Samson is doing, that's all him and his avid interests in you."
You get home just in time to turn on the news, having deliberately avoided seeing Samson by ducking out a few minutes early. You catch the beginning of the top story, and see the aftermath of the successful Search Bloc raid. You realize you're hoping for a glimpse of Javi every time the camera panned over to zoom into the officers and officials on site. You heard his voice though, and it doesn't leave you until the next news alert announcing the explosion of an Avianca Airlines plane.
Feeling numbed by the horror of it all, you shut the television off and suddenly ache to call Javier.
You're on your feet and at the kitchen island before you're aware of the impulse, snatching the slip of paper from under the napkin holder and going to the phone.
Javier is in the airbase hangar with Carrillo and his men, celebrating their success when his satellite phone rings in his tactical vest's pocket. Walking off to a quieter corner away from the boisterous cheers, he answers it crisply, expecting it to be Steve.
"Peña."
"Buen trabajo, agente."
He pauses, surprised to hear your voice. The tension between his shoulder blades eases as he puts a hand on his hip and rumbles into the phone, "Can I come over later?"
You hesitate, feeling a knot form in your chest. Just as you're about to answer, you hear someone call out to Javi on the line.
"—Peña. Murphy's trying to get ahold of you."
"Of course he is—" Javier begins to grumble.
"Javier – call him. It's about the plane crash," you cut in.
"What?! Where?"
"Just call him. It was just on the news. They said Gaviria was supposed to be on board," you explain firmly.
He swears. "I'll see you soon, querida."
You sigh when the line goes dead. Hanging up the phone, you're capitulating to letting yourself slide back into that igneous feeling – the drawn gravitation of caring and pining for Javier Peña. You dimly realize you had not agreed to him coming over, but dammit, you implicitly said it in your head, so you're not mad. You're unable to close yourself off to the feeling, so at least right now, you are unfurling to the infatuation that's threatening to run amuck in you.
While you get yourself emotionally prepared to relinquish your stubborn and reluctant caprices, Javier makes it back to town and meets Steve at Gaviria's headquarters, which looks like a guarded compound now. After they agree to keep Gaviria and his head of security abreast of any developments, they head to their apartment building. Once Steve has filled him in on what happened – including the demise of Suárez, he confirms Connie got Elisa to the contact in Cumaral without incident, he jovially pats Javi on the shoulder in congratulations to the successful raid. Without ceremony, they part ways soon after, and Javi's at your door later that night, and when he knocks, you're aflutter.
Your heart is pounding in your chest when you open the door and see him. He hesitates in the doorway, those soulful, molten eyes tense, so you roll your eyes and pull him in with a firm grip on his forearm. As soon as you close the door, you hug him, and he seems disarmed, on delay as you murmur, "I'm sorry."
"…You have nothing to be sorry for," he exhales, but nuzzles the top of your head and inhales thick, soothed instantly by your comforting scent. He's going to add that he deserved it, but when you're taking his hand and pulling him down the hall to your room, his thoughts stutter to a halt at your selfless affection, how you kiss his jaw and murmur for him to get undressed.
Javier does so, shedding his gun and badge, taking his watch off and letting you help unfasten his belt while he unbuttons his shirt and tugs it off. You let him undress you, and when he picks you up and takes you to bed, you kiss him, loving and tender.
"Cariño," he whispers as he hovers over you, settling between your thighs on the bed, and the look in his eyes is haunted, as if he is burdened with something.
You lean up and kiss him reassuringly, encircling your arms around his torso and sighing. "Please, Javi…I just want to be with you," you whisper, and the truth never scared you so much. But something valiant within you shoves all fear back and reaches out to him. You caress his shoulders and nuzzle his cheek, and feel Javier melt, shudder of something primal charging through his body as you kiss him longingly.
He kisses you back like a man starved for the nectar of your lips, the warmth of your mouth, and the breathy whimpers of his name as he cards two deft fingers through your dewy folds and claims you with them. You arch and whimper – listening to his panting breath and the sleek wetness his fingers are delving through while he kisses your jaw and murmurs your name.
Javier just wants to feel you, see you react and light up with pleasure after going so long without you. His mouth trails wet fire along your torso before he settles between your legs and engulfs your pussy, slotting his lips over your clit while his fingers keep pumping through your slickened sheath before he slams them home to the knuckles and curves up. You grip the headboard above you from how harshly you arch your back off the bed while the other hand grips his hair, fisting at the crown and tugging when he flicks his tongue expertly to ignite pulsing heat at your delicate bud while his fingers press against the pleasure nested inside you.
Your climax grounds him to the ecstasy of making you feel good – makes something awaken in him he'd long thought snuffed out. He wants to stay in the feeling, so he greedily laps your slick direct from the honeyed source while he pleasures himself, hand coated in the glistening dew of you fisting his cock.
"Ah! Ja-Javi!" you moan out, thighs clenching and calf muscles straining from flexing so hard around his broad shoulders as he devours you into another orgasm so close after the last that you're quivering and shivering under him.
His tongue swipes through your drenched folds before rutting into you again, voracious as Javier nuzzles your center and hums – radiating salacious delight in your pulsing cunt. The sound is insistent and coaxing you to ride his tongue while his cock throbs painfully in his grip as his free hand holds you steady at your hip. With your legs around his shoulders like this and your hand still anchored at the headboard, you're practically hovering above the bed and the effort has you pulled taut.
"Oh god—Ja-Javi, ah, I-I'm, mmmth—!" When another orgasm slams into you, your toes curl and you wail, breath harsh as you let Javier disassemble you with his mouth and slowly piece you back together once the aftershocks twitch out of your scalding body.
You're so overwhelmed from the ravenous pleasure he's burned into you with just his skillful mouth – leaving you flushed and breathless on the bed – that you don't register a lapse between him letting you crumble to the sheets and when he's on top of you, voice gravel-pitched against your ear as he guides his cock into you finally and declares in a rough purr, "You're all I want, hermosa."
You swear you can see stardust flash behind your eyes as he makes love to you with abandon, hand still weakly gripping the headboard pried free by his so he could interlace his fingers in yours as he suckles on your neck and savors your pleading mewls. You're so close to yet another orgasm that you're anxious for it, hand squeezing his while the other clutches the back of his shoulder and your knees hoist up to slant your pelvis so he can go deep, which earns a growl of feral want from him as he speeds up his pounding thrusts. The glorious feeling of every thick inch of him slamming into that sublimely ruinous point in you has you rapacious, and your core tingles incandescently as Javier fucks you as if he feared he'd never have your grace again.
When he pulls all the way out before slamming his cock into your shuddering sheath, you're dissolving into cries of blissed accomplishment, stuttering his name over and over again until pleasure is wrung from your quivering core before it clutches beseechingly around his throbbing, thickening length.
"Oh f-fuck. Be mine, querida. Let me h-have you—w-want you always—!" Javier is rambling in a low growl against you as he pounds into you, splintering desire to flare like refracting burning shards through you to the marrow, especially when your awed and addled mind hears him husk in a hushed breath, "I need you, mi amor—!"
Every divine sensation singes through you at that, and you're clinging to Javi as you come apart in his arms and stammer inarticulate whimpers of assent, the incandescent force of your pleasure squeezing tears to well in the corners of your eyes as you writhe under him. The bed protests weakly under the force of your coupling, the soft press of the mattress cradling your back as Javi pistons into you and has you arching and quaking while you hang on for dear life.
Javier is punch-drunk by your reaction, and he drinks in how heavenly you look when in the throes of carnal completion. The all-consuming desire he's had for you is heightened – magnetic and searing as he feels you buzzing with divine submission, besotted and beckoning him with the silken warmth of your body gripping around him. You're ardent as you pull him close and savor his skin, kissing his throat and whimpering for him to conquer you. The scintillating look in your eyes, the way you dig your fingertips pleadingly into the back of his shoulder, and your panting parted lips have Javi tangled up, winding tight into feral hunger as he pistons his thrusts – feeling his pleasure stoking yours and threatening to singe through you both.
He tries to hold onto the sensation – desperate for it and feeling free of all the ferocious fury and despair that's brewed in him for so long, so when he feels his loins burn and his cock pluck that blissful pressure point in you, he growls and harshly pants in concentration while you writhe exquisitely under him and gasp his name. Your legs only tighten around his waist as he buries his face against your neck and gruffly groans from the effort of not losing control. Even in the throes of sizzling pleasure, you can feel him desperate and yearning – weighed down by something exacting, so you ground him by squeezing him with your entire body and nipping the muscle that connects neck to shoulder and soothing it with your mouth.
Javier actually whines, a rough sound that catches in his throat as he arches and pounds his delighted urge into you. You're making it clear with your body and cries that you're the only exacting presence he needs to be devoted to, so all else is eviscerated as he moans in relief before he claims your lips. He hungrily sweeps his tongue into the cup of your mouth as he holds fast to your hand again and shudders from your sheath rippling a squeeze around his throbbing manhood.
When he breaks the kiss, he groans from you raggedly catching your breath and simultaneously undulating your hips up to match his thrusts, pushing him to the precipice of pleasure.
"Baby—you're everything, fuck—n-need you, mmph…need you—" he gruffly pants, eyes burning, dark with lust and something earthy when he grips your hip and rails into you frantically, chasing your next climax as he feels it begin to flutter and strum through you.
But, what finally tips his pounding thrusts to stutter into desperate slams before he barrels his hips into your welcoming cradle is you tugging your conjoined hands to your lips so you can press an open-mouth kiss to the back of his palm and stare with hooded gleaming eyes up at him while the rest of you clings lovingly to his strong frame.
"Make me yours, Javi."
The pitch of your whispered plea is like you've grabbed all the tethers in his chest and tugged them into yours, tangling you both together. His eyes clench shut as he ruts into you and holds there, the rapturous crippling pleasure burying deep into his being and remaining earthed there as he comes. His cry is primal and coarse when you feel his cock swell and throb against your rippling walls while you wail a sound that's raw and ecstatic as your body wrings and floods over with radiating pleasure.
When Javi collapses over you, his heavy broad frame helps you survive the aftershocks of your soul-shattering orgasm, and you've never felt more alive than right now, alight and aching so wonderfully.
Your mind is melted into syrup you swear is leaking through you and coating your core, leaving you sinfully sated and adoring, lips seeking his skin as you cling to his warm, breathless frame. Javier feels just as undone by your fierce and exquisite coupling, and the idea of staying like this with you forever seems totally reasonable to his wrecked mind. You're both comingled in all the right ways, and he feels savage pride at how you're humming softly against the side of his head. Turning his face up from where he'd buried it against your neck, you feel the press of his nose seeking to nudge you affectionately, but he's so thundered through by his pleasure that he manages a grunt and huff.
You breathily hum and find a way to capture his lips, and he's grateful for it, craving your soft, sated warmth.
When you squirm under him, he musters the effort to prop up onto his forearms and stare down at you, smiling exhaustedly when you sigh wistfully and kiss his cheek, hands caressing lovingly up the length of his arms as you squeeze your knees against his sides.
"You're trouble," you murmur on an exhale and smile, feeling like a ravished mess.
He bows his head and presses his forehead to yours. "Fucking hell, querida," he scoffs amusedly. "You're fucking heaven," he confides before nuzzling you and stealing a kiss.
When he eases out of your tight sheath, you both exhale from the sensation. You have a few seconds to lie in a spent heap as you watch him from hooded eyes remove the condom – huh, when he put that on – and clean off before disposing of it and walking out of the room in a dazed and slightly clumsy lope. A jarring sense of déjà vu hits you, but he returns with a soft and damp washcloth before your buzzing mind can sink into it. He climbs into bed and tends to you with tender care, kissing your shoulder, collarbone, the swell of a breast as he runs the cool cloth over your tingling womanhood before swiping delicately at your thighs.
You're practically mush, pliant and supple as he pulls you into his arms and curls you to slink against him. Your head is resting on his shoulder, nose brushing against his jaw when he presses a kiss to your hairline and rests on his back. His hands span your lower back and the curve of your hip, holding you in sensual repose against him as you get lost in the feeling of being his again.
"Are you ok?"
Javi snaps out of his dazed, lulling stare of the ceiling to hum against your forehead. You manage to tilt his features to glance at you, and your soft, warm gaze disarms him.
"Nothing I can't handle, preciosa," he mumbles and kisses your cheek, trying to gently dismiss it.
"That's not what I asked, babe," you murmur and cup his cheek so he can't turn away from you. "You don't have to tell me a damn thing if you don't want to. But…if you do, I'm here."
You feel him slacken at that, as if tension fizzled right out of his being at your pressing. "It's just something that Carrillo said that's fucking stuck with me and I can't shake it off. I-" Javi pauses, trying to gather his thoughts. "I don't know if the end to all this is going to be justified by all the shit we've done… all the blood and misery."
You listen and feel your heart sink, knowing how overwhelming and devastating such thoughts can have on ones convictions – on the drive to keep doing what needs to be done, and the fact that this irrepressibly strong and tenacious man could feel shaken has you aching.
"What is the goal?"
Javi tenses and turns his head to stare at you, unsure he heard you right. You adjust so you can fold your arm over his broad chest and prop your chin on it and stare openly into those dark-brewed depths.
"The goal," you murmur, and add softly, "Is to end the cartel. The truth is, even if the DEA wasn't down here, helping, the matanzas would be just the same."
Javier stares at you, his expression flintily bemused by the rationale, not having expected it from you. His lips part, as if he's going to reply, but he comes up empty, and just presses them together.
"I don't pretend to know anyone's burden," you continue in a whisper and kiss his lips before murmuring firmly, "But you do not have to carry it alone, Javier."
He's taken aback, and when you caress your fingertips along his brow and brush his still-sweaty tufts of hair back affectionately, Javier dissolves, melting into a suppliant tangle of muscles that pull you close and clutch you like he'll cease to exist without you anchoring him. You kiss him soothingly and murmur to him sweet, doting things – like 'You're not alone' and 'You have me' – that stoke the surly embers in his chest to combust into an inferno of want and pining for more of you.
Pretty soon, you're holding him in your arms, and letting the usually flippant, terse, swagger-rich stud press into you with longing, arms encircling you and muscles flexing as he cuddles so fiercely into your loving embrace.
Just as you're getting lost in the tranquil feel of his body relaxing into you and his breathing softening, you hear him mumble low and muted, as if to himself in his semi-dozed state, "Too good for me…"
You press your nose at the top of his head and breathe him in, hands settling around his shoulders as you let your head lull back and rest into the propped pillows, finally succumbing to exhaustion.
When you start to stir hours later, just before dawn, you feel Javier's gentle breathing puffing against your chest, his broad body still nestled against you and feeling wonderfully heavy in your arms.
You lie there and just bask in the feeling of him being yours, and don't trust yourself not to get overcome with the feeling cresting boisterously in your chest.
He murmurs your name drowsily and nuzzles his face into your chest, snapping you away from falling into the quicksand of your pensive distress to focus on the feeling of his features using you as a pillow. His moustache tickles you, and you suppress a little sound, but it's enough to tug at him, stirring him to grumble and curl you open and onto your back as he lies on top of you. Now blinking around while pinned by his sleeping form from the chest down, and you can't help but snicker lovingly. There are worse ways to spend the initial waking moments of your day, right? Having Javi Peña using you as a body pillow is not one of them.
With a mumbled rumble, Javi wakes to your hand combing your tapered fingers through his dark, dense tufts of wavy curls at the back of his head while the other hand traces the contour of his shoulder. Drowsily, he stretches and rolls onto his back, pining your arm under him puckishly as he glides his hand down your side to rest at your thigh.
"Shit," he grunts and yawns, unfurling more before he sits up and looks at the clock on your nightstand.
"Oh no, you get back here," you quip and pull him back down, manhandling him to flop onto his back so you can slink up against his side and use him as your body pillow now.
He chuckles, but is happy to lie there, in no rush to leave your side.
Of course, he can't keep his hands to himself for long, though, and pretty soon after your languid make out session becomes torrid, Javi's rolling you onto your side so he can cup your pussy and press his fingers into your soft, still-aching sheath while he sucks hot, possessive kisses into the supple sloping muscle connecting neck to shoulder. When you buck your ass against his cock, Javi bites and suckles that muscle hard, and you whimper throatily, "Ah, Ja-Javi!"
He revels on watching you come undone by his hand, gets high on the feeling of you writhing, enraptured and pleading his name over and over again while your cunt greedily clenches around his digits.
"You look so fucking good coming on my hand," he murmurs against you as you're pulsing and coming down from the orgasm. "Wish I could make you come all day—"
"Mmm, Javi, please—" you begin to whine, when he recedes his fingers and you tremble from the loss of the stretch of them. You roll over and pivot to pin Javier down by straddling his hips as you kiss his gruff grunt to catch in his chest.
"Querida—" he attempts between your kisses, and when you whine for him, Javier groans tensely and seats his hands at your hips. "Oh fuck, let me get—"
You don't want to wait for him to reach into the nightstand drawer, so, you don't. With sultry practice, you roll your hips over him and grip his chest as you slot the head of his cock to notch at your tight entrance before you buck and press down. Javier jolts and digs his fingers into the curve of your ass just as you seat him all the way home inside you and gasp a cry against his chest from the delicious effort.
"W-want you now, please, Javi—" you keen as you kiss his pecs and start to fuck yourself onto his cock. "N-need you—"
The primal, animalistic urge unfurls from his gut at your heady pleas, and the heavenly silken vice of your cunt is too much for him to keep his composure, forcing him to snap up and wrap his arms around your waist as he growls against your breasts and fucks up into you as he starts slamming you down onto him. Without a rubber, the sensation is decadent, divinely wrought between you as he nestles deep and savors your hungry walls dragging him along every ridge, the swell of his cock rubbing greedily and kneading its veins against your rippling sheath. It's wondrously ruinous, and sensationally devastating as you both reach scorching bliss at the same time, lighting your nerve endings with blistering heat that singes into your cores and wrings fire into your suppliant flesh.
Javi ruts into you and shouts in feral approval as he feels you climax and spasm around his pulsing cock just as it spills his hot spend in you. The feeling is so incredible, and you're mindless with your pleasure as you dissolve in his arms and whimper his name. He can feel your core shivering around him from the force of his orgasm, but nothing leaves him proud and buzzing more than when his cum drips in his wake after he pulls his softening cock out of you and your tight channel leaks his pearly essence. The sight has him shuddering, and you're a trembling wreck – on your back now and between his outstretched legs, with yours splayed open and exposed to his voracious, molten gaze. Your head is craned away from him, face burning with overwhelmed shyness.
You literally jumped his bones, and while you're usually shameless when he's making you feel so good, this was wanton and depraved of you. After all, he'd given you so many orgasms the night before you couldn't remember the count, and he'd just plucked another free from your aching core, so how could you be this insatiable?! Before you can continue to stew in mortified unease, Javi finally realizes you're suddenly demure, and it enchants him.
"Querida," he murmurs and squeezes your thigh as he adjusts to curl over you and kiss your stomach. "Look at me," he murmurs, and you exhale and meet his gaze, expecting him to look bemused, but instead, your heart does a summersault in your chest at the hungry heat that fogs his dark eyes, his expression riveted as he catalogues your flushed cheeks and swollen lips. He actually gathers you up into his arms and slinks you to the top of the bed where he nestles you down into the pillows and begins to worshipfully kiss you, lips paying tribute to your heated skin and hands petting your mussed hair reverently as he melts you into a tangle of joy.
"You're so beautiful, it hurts," he huffs gruffly, gravel-pitch honeying over as he murmurs, "Don't ever be shy, mi amor."
Yep, you feel yourself die and go to heaven at that, but Javi lassos you down and back into your body when he wraps you in his arms, and whispers ardently, "You're mine," then kisses you with gusto.
Needless to say, you're glowing as you sit in his jeep in the middle of rush hour traffic while you both drive to the embassy together, having spent so much of the morning coupling that you had to rush into the shower and into your clothes to make it for your first meeting. Javier is settled and feeling good, proud but not smug. He feels gratified to be anchored after feeling adrift, and while he knows only more shit awaits him, he is unburdened with the stress of it right now.
"You gonna let me drive you the entire way there?" he broaches, glance trying to look aloof, but the set of his jaw made it obvious that he was expectant – hoping you'd say yes.
Butterflies flutter in your womb at the suggestion. "With how bad this gridlock is, I might have to jump out and run to make my meeting," you remark instead, catching your reflection in the rearview mirror and gaping at how tussled your hair looks. As you try to tame it, you miss Javier's longing glance. "Will I see you…? At my place, later tonight?" you ask, tentative as you sit back in the seat and glance sidelong at him.
He looks so handsome that you get distracted when he smiles. That dimple in his cheek teases you, boyish lips quirking warmly at you. His hair is finger combed, shirt buttoned to show off a tease of his clavicle, and forearm adorned with his watch resting over the wheel idly as traffic moves lethargically. The span of his shoulders always titillates you, and makes it hard to feign coyness when he catches you staring. "I should be able to, yeah…unless you want to come over to my place?" he muses, eyebrow quirking inquisitively at you.
Suddenly, your mind tries to imagine what his place would be like, and places you in it, but something needles your recollections until it aggressively shoves all whimsy away and slaps you in the face.
"Is that woman there?"
Javier's expression shutters in, soulful gaze sobering as he stares at you when you cross your arms reservedly and turn in the seat towards him, expectant.
The impulse to obfuscate is there, but something in him immediately sweeps it away.
"Nope," he answers flippantly on an exhale, glancing back to the traffic in front of him and ruminating on what to say next. This was dangerous territory, and he hadn't bothered to think on the ramifications of what he'd done after you'd already blown him off. He doesn't realize that flippant was not the right tone to use with you right now.
"Tan frívolo," you clip, brows narrowing and arms tightening, causing your mandarin-styled blouse to cinch tight around your shoulders and earn a wince from the hickey he left on the tender sloping muscle near your collar. Annoyed, you mutter cavalierly, "So then, it was what I thought and you were bullshitting me—"
"No, it wasn't," Javier cuts in firmly and takes the wheel with both hands, back straightening and scowl threatening to tug his boyish lips had he not pressed them tensely together. "I wasn't bullshitting you. She was just an informant. I can't tell you details, but we had to chaperone her until we could move her to a secure location—"
"So what arrangement was she referring to then?" you posit, tone vacant of feeling.
Traffic starts to move better, so Javier sets his jaw and glares as he drives and wars with how to answer you without incurring your wrath. "Fuck if I know," he finds himself grumbling tersely, and he feels you rile at that, so he adds firmly, "Nothing happened that night, and had I secured her papers as planned, I would've been with you, like I wanted to be—"
"That night?"
Javier pauses, turning to quickly gauge your expression. "What?"
You're at critical mass with seething fury right now, and to the untrained and uninitiated, you'd just look icy, but to Javi? He sees the flash of something rancorous in your eyes as they narrow exactingly and you tilt your head imperiously. "Nothing happened that night. Meaning something did happen, just not that night," you state, no hint of a question in your sharp tone.
You can practically see him harden at the accusation, eyes searing as he flints them over at you and his grip on the steering wheel tightens until his fists are white knuckling. He's swearing in every language he knows inside his head as he realizes he has no fucking recourse but to be honest. That had been his plan when he rushed over to your place after you'd ignored his calls, but that was before he'd ended up in his bed with yet another informant.
"It didn't mean anything."
Four words. You weren't sure what you'd been expecting, but it definitely wasn't those four fucking words to leave you reeling as if struck. Javier glances at you when you don't say anything. He knows that is very bad.
"Cariño," he murmurs, and you recoil, anger winding in your spine as you now openly stare at him. "She was a fucking informant, a burden I had to take care of. She didn't mean a goddamned thing—"
"But you still fucked her," you blurt pitilessly. "Pull over."
"Querida—" he attempts, and you're irate he would keep calling you anything of endearment when all you want to do is implode.
"Pull over, now!" You furiously slam your fist into the paneling of the passenger door.
Javier's shoulders square and he does as he's told, pulling off to a side street and rolling to a stop at the curb in front of a little park. However, your hand doesn't get to wrap around the door handle before he grabs your upper arm to stop you from storming off. "Yes, I fucked her, but it was after you didn't believe me and just shut me out!" he growls tersely and levels you with a frustrated, angry look. "It meant nothing to me. If she couldn't tie Escobar to the fucking siege, I would've had nothing to do with her."
Your expression is disarmed the entire time he vehemently explained himself, so he thinks maybe it's struck a chord in you and you won't storm off now.
Eyes narrowing, you inhale a readying breath.
"So. You only fucked her AFTER I cut you off?" you dangerously rail – your tone as sharp as a crack of thunder to him, your expression free of the icy façade now as you harangue, "Or you fucked her because she had the leverage you wanted?! Which. Is. It."
For the first time, Javier is lost for words. His brown eyes stare plaintively at you, but his expression remains etched in tension – ambivalent on what to answer, so you scoff and yank your arm away from his grip, hastily grab your things and storm out of the car, slamming the door shut with enough force that it reverberates.
You stalk off and don't look back, because you're afraid if you do you'll be swallowed up by your regret, and you don't want to give Javi that power. By not looking back, you don't see him slam his palms into the steering wheel in a flare of temper, or read his mustachioed lips when he swears at himself. Instead, you focus on chastising yourself as you stride like a woman ready to pummel your path. Your entire body aches and protests sorely at you as you stalk in long, merciless strides to rush to the embassy, almost as if punishing yourself.
Your vision is trembling with your impotent rage, throat parched and tension knotting in your stomach as you suddenly realize you'd had unprotected sex several times this morning and you'd still have to see Javi Fucking Peña around the embassy after this. You feel like a stupid, insipid fool, but coax your expression into stoic disinterest as you near the embassy security gate.
Body protesting as you rush up the front steps, you're suppressing every feeling in yourself when you hear someone shout your name. "—Hey! You look like you're off to oversee a death squad," a friendly tenor calls out and you turn to see Luke catch up to you at the top of the steps. "Shit, don't tell me Nador is being an ass about the tutorials again—"
"Hah, no, not yet anyway. I was just worried about running late," you explain and lamely shrug, but the way his eyebrows quirk at you makes you snicker. "All you Mil Group guys are so vain. You think everything is about you, huh," you joke.
Luke gives you that winning smirk before feigning like he's completely innocent of your assessment. "Isn't that the hook of a popular song, miss?" he quips and puts his hands in his trouser pockets, smirk charming on him as you laugh and roll your eyes. "Speaking of which, you're still coming to happy hour tonight, right? You'll have to pick the songs for the jukebox, and it's your last chance to use me as your meeting prep guinea pig before I cajole the guys to feed you misinformation as practice."
While you and Luke chat, you have no clue that Javier's watching you from the parking lot after having spotted you at the top of the steps once he'd parked and gotten out of his jeep. He slips his sunglasses on to shade his smoldering stare as he bores it across the way at you. "Who the fuck is this cabrón," he mutters to himself and broods, watching Luke make a 'after you' gesture and fall into step next to you as you enter the building together.
He doesn't have time to investigate – or yes, follow you – right now, so he huffs and stalks into the embassy and expects to have a real shitty day when Steve catches him before he's even finished striding into the bullpen. "Hey, man. We gotta go. We're catching a ride to Medellín —"
"What the fuck? Why?" Javier grumbles as he lets Steve nudge him into a secluded corner.
"Avianca bomber? We might have a lead. Carrillo called and has a chopper waiting to take us. They checked the flight manifest for all the passengers, and one popped as a kid from one of the comunas," Steve explains in a hushed tone, and Javi exhales, nodding curtly and following him back out to the hallway and heading for the elevators.
When the elevator dings and the doors open, a familiar dude walks off alongside one of the Centra Spike guys. They're in rapt conversation as they breeze by.
Javier and Steve get on, but not without him glaring after the guy. "Why's that asshole look familiar?" he mutters to Steve once he clicks the button down.
"Huh?" Glancing quick as the doors close, Steve shrugs. "That's Samson, one of Lou's guys. Field operations, I think? He got assigned here around the same time I did. Why?"
Javier crosses his arms and grunts. "No reason," he rumbles and changes subjects.
To be continued…
Spanish-English Glossary:
Me lleva la chingada = Akin to "God dammit" or "Fuck me"
Hijueputa = Son of a bitch; sunovabitch
Malparido = Bastard
Pendejadas = Bullshit; stupid shit
Puñeta = Puerto Rican slang for "Fucking"; very bad word
Putas = Sluts
Pendejas = Dumbass women; aki to "Dumb bitches"
Imbéciles = Imbeciles; Idiots
Mamonadas = Akin to saying "Fucking whiny/pussy/dumbass stupidities"; by comparison, being called a mamón, mamado, or mamao is an insult
Canela = Cinnamon
Pinche = Fucking
Asesino = Murderer; killer
Dale promo = Give 'em lead; shoot 'em
Buen trabajo, agente = Good job, agent
Cariño = darling/sweetheart
Querida = Affectionate term for a female, akin to expressing one's want and desire
Hermosa = Beautiful
Mi amor = My love
Preciosa = Gorgeous; precious
Matanzas = Killings; slaughters; massacres
Tan frívolo = So frivolous; so flippant
Cabrón = Asshole
Comunas = Neighborhoods; communes; municipalities