Chapter Text
His place smells like smoke, but it’s warm and decently lived-in, at least compared to yours.
He welcomes you in, clears a worktable for you to set your case on, and walks you through what he wants from you.
“How’d you get this tangled up with a brothel girl, anyway?” you ask, sketching out a diagram for a potential set-up.
“I am somewhat of a frequent flier.”
“Oh, I know. But you have to be in decently deep if you’re dragging your coworker into this, don’t you?”
“Ah.” Javier huffs. “She, uh-- she gave me a tip about a client of hers. She’s been a good help, and I’m worried she might-- she might have put herself in danger for it. Probably not, but you don’t take chances with these guys.”
“Yeah, I guess not,” you say. You toss your notepad on the table, face up. “What’s the time frame for this?”
He leans over your shoulder to inspect your diagram, even though you’d bet he can’t make heads or tails of it. You won’t complain for the opportunity the proximity allows you to inspect the lines and edges of him, though. His faint cologne is fair, and you have half a mind to ask him what he uses. “I only need it for a few weeks while I figure out if she’s safe.”
“A few weeks? ”
“Well, she’s inbetween housing and he’s not coming often enough for--”
“Wait, wait, you want to bug the whorehouse ? No, let’s-- do you have his address?”
Javier blinks. “Uh, I can get it. But that’s not-- that’s not safe for you to… I don’t want to be dragging you into danger, sweetheart,” he explains slowly, brows drawn tight, as if he can’t fathom asking this of you. “It’s safer to have you set this up at the brothel.”
“Yeah, and listen to her and a dozen greasy scrubs a day--” Javier gives you a half-offended look-- “bang for three weeks straight. No, no, it’s fine.”
Unconvinced, he looks you up and down with worried consideration.
“I’m not a civilian, Peña,” you insist. “I can handle bugging a place in a bad part of town. Hell, I do it all the time.” That’s sort of true. You’re usually more involved behind the screen, but occasionally you draw one of the short-straws and have to be involved with the on-ground operation.
Javier starts to protest.
“This’ll be quicker anyway,” you insist over his flustered excuses. “If he’s suspicious of her, we’ll hear it from bugging his place a lot sooner than we’ll hear it when he’s already confronting her.”
He falls silent, because you do have a point. Not that he looks very happy about it.
He glares down at the table, but you get the feeling his frustration is more introspective than he’s willing to voice. He glances furtively at you, once, with this keen, sensitive glint, and then turns away again, chewing his lip.
He cares a lot, you’ve noticed. Enough to go out of his way to protect this woman. Enough to feel bad about putting you in risky spot.
His hero complex is a little endearing, if not a little sad. A little… telling . Is this why he’s a discount casanova, because he’s afraid the minute he’s too involved, he’ll be putting someone he cares about in danger?
It must be hard for someone who feels so much.
“Hey,” you say, and he looks up at you. You are taken aback for a second for how intense his gaze is. Something’s changed, but not in a bad way. “Don’t worry about it, Peña. I can do this for you. I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll be there with you,” he promises quietly, and with conviction. There’s a warm light reflecting in his eyes, and it is probably just that that makes his stare look ablaze. With the limited space between you, his voice is low so as to not be jarring. “While you set it up. And obviously we’ll do some-- reconnaissance.”
“I know. It’ll be quick, though, in and out,” you say. The executive nature of the conversation is strange in comparison to the hushed way in which the words are spoken, and the curve of his body towards you. Like a suggestion. Like a proposition.
He nods. Chews his lip again flashing his teeth, and then lets it go. “Thank you. This is-- You don’t owe me anything, but you…” He leans in, glancing fleetingly at the collar of your shirt, and you can see his jaw flex as he clenches his teeth. “If there’s any way I can… I can thank you…”
Your next exhale comes in a rush. You think-- you believe , that you catch his meaning, and you--
Well. You weren’t sure he swung that way, to be totally honest.
From the way he can’t hold your gaze, you get the sense he’s not so sure you do, either.
You put that uncertainty to rest as firmly as you can, bringing a hand to his jaw to tilt his face back as you inspect him. You keep each other close enough to feel the heat of each other’s bodies seeping through the air. “You sure?” you murmur, soothing at the wrinkles of his expression.
He swallows, and gives you a look that really does look like a puppy pouting. Begging. You were right. He does feel so much. Too much. One good deed, and he’s head over heels.
“ Sí .”
You turn in your seat, guide him into your lap, and taste that cigarette smoke on his breath firsthand.
Neither of you kiss softly, but you’re probably rougher than you need to be. Probably linger longer than you need to, too. You pull away slowly and find that his arms are around you, one hand digging into your shoulder, and the other grasping your tie like he needs something to ground himself. He leaves his lips parted, an open invitation.
“Brave of you, Peña,” you admit against his mouth. You drag one hand to the buttons of his shirt. You can feel his pulse beneath you as you work to undo it, taking it slow because his heart is racing . “You’re getting up to all sort of illicit activity today, aren’t you?”
He shakes his head, groaning softly as he starts to move in your lap, back and forth. The simulation of it is barely anything, but the suggestion of more has heat pooling in your core. “It’s legal in Colombia.”
“What if you weren’t my type?” you ask, even as you spread your hands to play with his half-exposed chest, betraying your words. He shivers.
“I was-- I was nervous, but--” he gasps when your hands dip lower to undo his belt. “I trusted you not to be an asshole about it even if you didn’t--” he has to cut himself off to temper his breathing when you grasp at his ass, urging him to sit up a little so you can pull his pants and boxers down just enough so you can make a grab for him. When you do, he whimpers delightfully, then stills. He probably meant for that to come out as more of a groan, because he goes red.
“You were saying?” you prompt, stroking him.
“I-” he huffs, hips following your touch. “I mean, no offense, but you look a little queer anyway-- mmph-- ”
He’s being cheeky, so you kiss him with passion, and then nip your way from his jaw to his neck, which is openly bared for you.
You had expected him to be a little more assertive, just based on the way that he is . He’s not shy, and you’re well aware he gets around. But maybe he’s just out of practice with guys . You can’t imagine he sees much of that type of action in this setting-- after all, neither do you.
When you part, he’s panting open-mouthed against your lips, eyes simultaneously focused on yours and on nowhere at all. With each tug of your hand, his breathing finds a new jagged pattern to adopt and abandon.
It gets worse when you start to loosen your grip on the downstrokes, and tighten it on the upstrokes, catching the skin of the lip of the head. His hips are practically jumping in your grip, but the position doesn’t allow for much upward movement.
He looks up to the ceiling, and you can tell he’s biting his cheek. Hard.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” you murmur, and he groans low-- a growl, almost-- when both your hands move to hoist him on the table in front of you. He aids you with the use of a hand braced behind him, pushing himself up.
You tug his pants lower, below his knees but not all the way off-- they bunch up at around mid-calf. It’s just enough so that they’re not in the way between your own hips and his.
Speaking of, Javier huffs, pulling you close by the tie for the second time that day, “Why the fuck is your cock not out?” all in one breath.
Your mouth has been reassigned to his collarbone, so you can’t reply, but as you’re sucking and pulling his skin between your teeth, he’s working at your pants with enough fervor that he tugs you flush against the edge of the table.
You start to reach down, but he bats your hand away. Now you see a glimpse of that assertiveness you’d been expecting, as Javier takes you both firmly in hand.
At first, the risk of friction burn keeps his grip loose, but he quickly slathers his hand in his own spit and, readjusts, scooting forward a bit so your cocks are pressed against each other base-to-tip. The two of you share a groan.
“Fuck,” he says, breathing heavily. He looks up at you as his fist picks up speed, and his gasps for breath pause when he has to swallow, his Adam’s apple dipping up and down in the warm light. The skin of his neck and open shirt are just glistening with the sheen of sweat.
His grip is perfect and hot, and he’s making nonstop little noises. Every one sends fire through your nerves. From the way he’s shaking in anticipation, you can tell he’s closer than you are. You hadn’t expected him to be so vocal, so expressive, but he’s practically whimpering for you.
You watch his eyes flutter when he comes, all over his hand and your dick (dripping onto the table, which he’ll have to worry about later), body jerking minutely like he wants to curl in on himself.
His frantic pace immediately slows to stilted, stuttering movements that coax more pulses of come out of him as he dives headfirst into overstimulation rightaway, but you don’t complain when he looks so pretty like this, his body all drawn up and tensed to the point of trembling.
And besides, he doesn’t waste much time. As soon as he’s come down from his high, he fixes his grip to wrap around you alone, drawing a surprised moan from you.
The slide is slicker and slicker with you leaking like you are. It’s too good, but when you reflexively buck your hips into his hand, it throws off the rhythm, so you have to strain to control yourself.
“Come on, beg for it,” he urges you in a low groan.
Your first try comes out as a wordless noise when he licks into your mouth, but you pull away a centimeter to whisper, “Please, please.”
It’s enough for him. He starts pumping furiously. You clutch him closer, head half-resting on his shoulder as you watch his hand moved, slickened as a result of your own dripping cock and his cum. It’s starting to froth up with the movement, creating sinfully wet sounds that only get wetter, especially when you can’t resist bucking up into his grip, even though it fucks with the tempo.
You’re right on the edge, and he’s determined to push you over. “Come on, baby. Come for me.”
You look up to find that his own gaze is fixed on your weeping cock, but you bring up a hand to reroute those eyes to you and smash your lips together. You’re far past losing your composure, so it’s less than graceful, but that matters little when you latch onto his lower lip with your teeth as you come with a groan.
Unlike with himself, Javier doesn’t think to slow his pace until you physically still his hand to make him stop. For a minute, you just share each other’s breath.
Finally, you pull away, and then immediately notice blood on Javier’s lip.
“Shit. Sorry,” you say, turning his face a little to inspect it. It doesn’t look too bad, but you imagine it stings.
His tongue darts out to lick at the shallow wound, and he swallows. “Don’t worry about it.”