#latina ofc

[furious-rogue-stuff]

Heat Chapter 45: Deserving - Part 2

Here's the next installment! Hope you all enjoy 😊

Pairing: Javier Peña x OFC | Javi x Querida

Disclaimer: Written in 2nd person narrative, you can safely assume our heroine and love/lust interest is a Latina, written by a Latina. Here's my philosophy on my writing, for further context.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 24,000+

Summary: After a shocking occurrence, everything between you and Javi comes to a head that foists your relationship into a defining moment. Will the truth cause a rift, or strengthen the bond between you?

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of sex, including oral (m + f receiving) and unprotected sex. Mentions of raunchy sexual acts, angst, longing, stress, and fertility worries. Descriptions of power play, praise kink, and dirty talk. Allusions to jealousy, animosity, foreboding threats, and emotional distress. Some Worried!Javi, Protective! Javi, Upset!Reader. In the vein of Narcos being a bilingual show, and Javier Peña being fluent, I felt it was apropos to include Spanglish and Spanish throughout.

Heat Masterlist

Previous chapter - Chapter 44: Deserving - Part 1

Chapter 45: Deserving - Part 2

When you finally make it home to Javier later that evening, it's with another handful of groceries you purchased from the colmadito just outside of the gated neighborhood, and a head full of thoughts running rampant with worries that had no suspected foes.

The call kept looping like a record in the proverbial player of your mind, but every time it tried to source a possible explanation, it would draw a blank like a skip in the vinyl, and you'd be back to ruminating – trying to decipher the missing grove. Still, you found yourself feeling uncertain and unmoored to what your options even were, with nothing but a startling experience and the conjecture regarding its cause before you.

Hell, you hadn't even told Javi about the incident, and now? What are you even supposed to say?

Possible foul play is suspected?! Even in your head, it sounded ludicrous and overdramatic. After all, the investigator, the insurance rep, and the assistant manager at the dealership all conceded there was no definitive evidence that the tire was tampered with.

You were on autopilot as you came into the kitchen with the groceries and started putting everything away as your mind kept trying to rationalize the entire thing. The most likely explanation is the simplest, is the mantra that suddenly vies for influence in the swirl of what ifs and worst-case scenarios. You can hear your father's voice echo in your mind.

"Think logically. No point in getting hysterical. Be reasonable, and the answer will become obvious."

Sighing, you finish storing things in the fridge and only then notice that the stove is clear of the pots from earlier. They're actually soaking in the sink, along with the serving tray sitting clean and folded up next to the dish rack. The dinner plate that's wrapped up and placed under the stove lamp is the meal Javier served for you to have once you got home, and the sight of it makes you smile.

While dinner heats up in the microwave, you switch out the laundry loads and set the dry clothes in the basket to be sorted and folded later. You then head down to check on Javi, and find him fast asleep under the comforter while the ambient light from the TV screen casts a dreamy glow in the room. Not wanting to wake him, you tiptoe back out and go eat dinner while you stand in the kitchen. The sounds of the early twilight are filled with the trilling of the coquí and the breeze sifting through the trees and fronds outside.

Javier's house is tucked on the corner of a dead-end street in the northeast quadrant of the urbanizacíon, and behind the cement walls bordering the boundary lines of this corner of the gated neighborhood was a protected strip of land not zoned for construction, so it was often tranquil and quiet, even during the day. You found yourself thinking, This isn't a bad little bungalow at all. Just needs some TLC.

Once you've finished eating, you make quick work of the dishes and then decide to take a shower so you can make it an early night. After all, you're feeling drained, and still have a full workday left to grind through. So, you lock up the house, turn out the lights, and go into bathroom's hall entry.

The eucalyptus stems are still hung from the showerhead, and the hot, steamy water helps diffuse the scent of it soothingly over your senses.

Feeling refreshed and relaxed, you wrap the towel around yourself and shut the light off before opening the bathroom's bedroom door and tiptoeing around to your side of the bed.

The glow of the TV helps you maneuver soundlessly, and as you go, you see that Javier had turned over onto his side in order to cuddle your pillow. Tangled under his arm and over said pillow, is your nighty.

Smiling at the sight, you lean over and try to carefully tug the silky garment loose, but Javi ends up stirring awake.

"Mmph…Celina?" he sleepily mumbles.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," you murmur and sit on your side of the bed, stretching over to caress your hand along the length of his upper arm pacifyingly. "Go back to sleep, babe—"

He yawns like a lion and stubbornly embraces the pillow to his chest, taking the nighty along with it as he rolls onto his back and grumbles groggily, "M'awake now."

You can't help scoff at your luck. "No, doesn't really sound like you are. Now, drift back off, mi cariñito," is your soft coo, as you simultaneously pinch the strap of the nighty that's dangling loose and try to ease it out of his embrace so you can shed your towel and slip it on over your head.

Ever the contrarian, Javi drowsily rolls onto his side again so he can gruffly protest with surly grunts as he reaches out with his right hand and tries to heard you closer, but only comes up short. "Hmph, c'mere," is his raspy whine when he shuffles closer in order to lasso his arm around your waist.

"Ay, Javi, I'm still in a towel and I've been trying to get the nighty out from your clutches without stirring you awake," you irreverently huff as you wriggle away to the edge of the bed so you can go discard the towel and hang it back up in the bathroom. But Javi snags the back of the fluffy material and hauls you back, so you squeal, "Javier!"

His husky chuckle makes it clear that he's just been feigning being drowsy for the last few seconds. "Just come snuggle, preciosa. Nighty's optional," is his sexy drawl as he tows you closer until you're tucked against him.

"Someone is feeling better," you muse saucily before maneuvering around to face him so you can press your palm to his forehead. "Ah, you don't feel as feverish. Good," is your lilting observation before wriggling to get the pillow and nighty out from beneath you so you can shift up on your elbow and smile down at him as you taunt, "But you're still supposed to behave. No te he dado de alta, chavón."

He smirks at your bossy, 'I haven't discharged you,' and surrenders, flopping his arms above his head so that you can shimmy up and grab the nighty before untangling it and pulling it on over your head. With a cheeky tug of your towel, he pulls it loose from your hourglass figure and tosses it in the corner next to the dresser so you can easily scurry under the comforter with him.

"You took more of the medicine?" you ask as you cuddle up against him, smiling when he grunts in the affirmative. "I saw you polished off the rest of the leftovers from lunch. Thanks for setting a plate aside for me."

"You're welcome. Least I could do when you've taken such good care of my ass," he quips, and you snicker and relish how he squeezes you affectionately in his arms.

"Ah, you've taken care of me just as good," you sincerely assure and nuzzle his neck. His skin is warm, and his manly, spicy scent is peeking through the lingering fragrance of the Vicks vaporub.

With a pleased grunt, Javi noses into the top of your hair. At your hearty, albeit tired sigh, he hums before murmuring, "You feeling alright?"

"Yeah. I'm just tired," you mumble as you stifle a yawn. "Last two weeks have been exhausting."

Frowning, Javi is reminded that this is not the first time he's heard that – that you've had a tough time recently. He wants to ask what's been going on, but he feels you begin to relax against him, and frankly, he's still a bit run down himself. So, he kisses you on your temple after snuggling further under the covers with you, figuring he can ask tomorrow.

You're both able to drift off into a deep sleep, so much so that the TV is left on playing the late-night show, but it doesn't stir either of your slumbers.

No, it isn't until early the following morning that you slowly wake to Javier clearing his throat over the sound of the sink running in the bathroom. You can make out the ambient light from the TV screen from just beyond the shelter of the covers, and shiver at the chill in the room. Tiredly, you roll over and peer through heavy lids to see the door is ajar and Javier is at the sink. You can see part of his reflection in the mirror above the sink vanity.

He's dutifully shaving his face, and even though you want to bossily admonish him, you end up yawning and tossing the comforter over your head to get a few more winks of sleep in.

It must be a short while later when you hear him moving around the bedroom, so you shift under the covers in order to peer over and see that indeed, he's in his white skivvies and rifling through the closet for something to wear as he tries to clear his throat quietly.

"Javi, come back to bed," you whine, having peeked at the alarm clock and confirmed it was still much too early still.

Pausing, he glances over at you and sees you cutely curling up under the blanket from the chill in the room, so he snorts and lopes over to toss himself onto the bed before stretching out next to you.

With a kiss to your forehead, he rumbles, "Morning, mi amor."

"Don't 'morning, mi amor,' me. Get back under here," you boss, but with your tousled hair and scrunched pout, your command doesn't have the usual gravitas.

Still, Javi takes pity on you and tucks his legs under the covers before pivoting onto his side and scooting you closer. You happily curl into him and cling to his warm torso with a satisfied sigh.

"Where you going so early?" you mumble, feeling his skin slowly seep his body heat into you.

"The field office. I wanted to get ready early so I could call Kike to get picked up—"

With a snippy hum, you sass, "I haven't declared you completely cured, tough guy—"

He scoffs amusedly, "I feel fine, mandona."

Pouting stubbornly, you shift to take his temperature with your hand at his forehead. "Hmph…we'll see what the thermometer says," you argue, and shuffle up in bed in order to reach it where it sits on his nightstand.

Humoring you, he scoots to sit up and lean backwards into the headboard as you retrieve the thermometer and sidle close before placing it under his tongue. He bounces his brows at you, and you snicker, "Hey, you have proven you cannot be trusted when it comes to your own wellness. I don't want you rushing back to work if you're still sick."

He rolls his eyes, but obeys, waiting the allotted time required for his temperature to register. Satisfied that enough time has lapsed, you take the thermometer and hold it up to the light coming from the bathroom to see the reading.

Javi peers at it himself and smiles broadly. "Ah-hah, see? 98.7. No more fever," is his triumphant drawl before he kisses your cheek and croons, "Now, the only thing getting me hot, is you—"

You blow a raspberry at that and set the thermometer aside. "Alright, beyako. But you still have to drink lots of fluids, ok?" you muse and give him a haughty look before Javi ruggedly pulls you against him and onto his lap so he can shower you with relentless kisses until you crack a smile and giggle at his ticklish moustache.

When he ends up pulling back so he can cough and clear his raspy throat, you hand him the glass of water before going to make him some hot tea.

He's just set out his white dress shirt and dark suit onto the foot of the bed when you come back into the room with a mug filled with tea and a teaspoon of honey.

Drinking a long sip, he savors it while he sits with you on the rumpled covers. "Mmm, thanks."

You kiss his shoulder before chiming, "You're welcome," and settling in to lounge comfortably while the early morning news is playing on the TV.

The serene moment of just being with each other is something you both are leaning into, and are in no rush to leave the bubble of contentment.

He nurses his tea while you languidly caress your hand along his chest whilst you both skim the chyron to see the headlines.

With your head on his shoulder, you try to relax completely, but can't help the needling worry from yesterday begin to creep up.

"I called Kike already. He's picking me up around 8," Javi volunteers as he sets the mug aside on the nightstand, and you snap out of your faraway ruminating to hum in acknowledgement. "You got a busy day?"

Sighing, you wilt against him as you gripe, "Yes, and all I can think about is being back here after work and just lazing into a stupor."

"That sounds good to me," he drawls, before purring, "Can I join you?"

You laugh, "Of course, you dork," and sit up to goofily nuzzle his cheek.

Not to be outdone, Javi starts to rambunctiously fondle your curves, getting nice handfuls of your round ass while he suckles kisses along your neck. That soon gives way to you both fooling around, and the lust that had been dormant in you the last couple of weeks you've been apart sears up in your core. And when Javi's arousal presses against your lower belly before grinding against you, making your pussy throb? It takes everything in you not to become ravenous with need.

You manage to roll him onto his back so you can straddle his lap and kiss a luscious path from his jaw, down his neck, to his chest, all while Javi arches under you and groans – hands pawing to slip under your nighty and grip your hips so he can rut against you.

"Want you," he growls when he tries to sit up and pull you closer, but you shy away. "Querida—"

Sighing as you hold your ground and push him back down so you can resume your path down his torso, you murmur against his chest, "We don't have enough time, Javi—"

"I'll make time," he defies, trying to sit up again, but you nudge him back again.

"I don't want a frantic quickie, babe," you counter before trailing the tip of your tongue down the center of his abs, cause him to gasp and stiffen under you. "I want you in my mouth—"

His groan is starved, but his tone is hard when he grouses, "Come ride my tongue, and you can put it in your mouth, guapita."

How are you supposed to argue with such a salacious compromise?

Javier feels exhilarating urge flare in his apex from how swiftly you tugged his underwear off before yanking your nighty over your head and clambering to go reverse cowgirl so he can pull you down on his face. He slots his mouth to your eager cunt and licks into you just as you wrap your lips around the tip of his throbbing cock.

You both are so fine-tuned to each other's desires – know what turns the other on and how to pluck pleasure at such a viscerally sensual level – that it's intoxicating how quickly you're reaching bliss.

He loves it when you rock against his tongue to prolong your ecstasy, and you can't get enough of how he moans in completion into your quivering center when you hollow out your cheeks and stroke him into spilling his climax in the clutch of your mouth.

Needless to say, Javi is dopily sated as he's finishing getting dressed for work a short while later, just as you come out of the shower. You pause at the doorway and watch him swagger about whilst he pulls on his belt and loops it in the buckle before he starts fiddling with the ends of his green and blue-checkered-pattern tie tucked around his collar. Seeing him so relaxed and content is endearing, and you are struck then with how much you admire him, and how happy it makes you to know he's yours.

The sound of your feet padding over the tiled floor towards him makes that silly palpitation flutter in his chest, just before you encircle your arm around his waist and hug him from behind. He can smell your shower-warmed skin and the clean fragrance of your hair as he leans into you and reaches his hand backwards to cup your towel-clad lower back once your other hand caresses up to squeeze his deltoid affectionately.

"I love you, by the way," you flirtatiously sigh, as if it's a silly reminder you were compelled to voice just now.

Grunting gloatingly, he turns and wraps his arms around you before playfully hoisting you up against him so he can easily pepper soft kisses across your cheeks before purring irreverently, "And I'm madly in love with you, by the way."

You giggle and press your lips to his in a silly way and hum dramatically for him to let you down so you can stand on your tippy toes and grin up at him whilst you busily loop the ends of his tie into a perfect knot for him. At his confident smirk when you bat your lashes up at him, you chime, "Good. Because I just want to spend all weekend with you, to the risk of you getting sick of me."

Javi exhales a gruff scoff before snickering, "That's never gonna happen, corazón. Well, maybe the other way around—"

With a bossy tug to his tie, you purse your lips imperiously at him before cutting in with impish authority, "I haven't gotten sick of you so far, so I doubt I will, galán. So quit talking nonsense—"

"That goes for you too, then, malcriada," he ruggedly interjects and gives your waist a playful squeeze before nuzzling bossy kisses into your cheek, making you laugh brightly until that discordant little sigh flits out of you.

The sound of the SUV Kike drives pulling up to the front of the house has Javi exhaling huffily, so you sigh and cup his face with both hands before crooning, "No pouting, boss man. Go have a great day."

"Fine, I'll try," he grumbles, but his soulful eyes are warm and his smile is easygoing before he leans down and gives you a soft peck on the lips.

After tugging on his socks and black leather boots, he shrugs into his dark blazer, pockets his belongings from the dresser top, and steals one last kiss before rushing out to his ride.

Swooning onto the bed, you dreamily pine over how effervescent and tingly Javier made you feel. It truly eclipses anything else you were stressing or fretting about. So much so, you compartmentalize it all so you can focus on only the good feelings.

Discarding the towel, you hustle up to quickly dry your hair and get dressed for work. Once you're satisfied with your look, you turn everything off in the bedroom, open the windows, make the bed, and sprint out on your kitten heels to grab your purse and keys before heading down to the laundry room and out the marquesina door to get in your car and start the short commute to the Federal building.

While you're striding through the entry to head directly up to your office, Javier is coming off the elevator at the top floor of the building they've leased out to act as the DEA field office.

It's a nondescript building accessible off of a side street from the major avenue, and less than a mile from a principal artery of the nearby expressway. It took a lot of jockeying, but he and Steve were able to make the case to have the field office off of the federal campus, with close access to the main routes. The underground garage was secure, and the DEA agents on-site could make the office building their base of operations for surveillance, wiretaps, and old-fashioned detective work. CI's were met with off-site at another satellite location in the warehouse district that looked out on Puerto Rico Highway 22.

As he walks in his purposeful stride through the bullpen-styled office space, he can feel some of the personnel notice him and quickly find something to busy themselves with while junior agents greet him with varying degrees of enthusiasm. He curtly nods in acknowledgement to each as he goes, intent on getting to the conference room he and Steve have designated the "Case Room" for the time being.

His former partner and current co-SAC was in said room, listening while Segarra and the main senior agents on the case argue about the latest intel, when he glances up and sees Javi making his way over through the narrow sidelight in the corner of the room.

"He has risen," Steve jibes under his breath and relaxes as Javier opens the door and breezes in. "Nice of you to join us, Jav."

Cocking a glib brow at his friend and confidante, Javi goes to sit in the available desk chair someone had rolled in previously, recycling back in it with his arms crossed as he drawls, "Looks like I walked into the middle of a squabble session. What's the latest?"

"Basically, we think we have a solid lead on a distribution hub used by the main gang syndicate in the metro-area, but Segarra here is telling us we can't move on it," Lopez deadpans, but his sharp stare communicates how vexed by the ASAC he really is.

Javier can't help roll his eyes before shifting in his seat, resting one hand on the knee of the leg he just crossed while scrubbing his other palm impatiently across his mouth and idly along his cheek. The scent of cigarette smoke permeates the air stronger than everyone's cologne and the whiff of stale coffee, giving him an instant headache. Followed by a strong craving for nicotine.

"It's good intel, Jav. But we're being told our hands are tied here," Duffy chimes in gruffly as he leans casually in his chair and flicks the ash from his cigarette into his used coffee cup.

The constant static and tension between the agents and Segarra? It was something Javier had no patience for, and that was clearly becoming more palpable the thinner it wore down.

"Sir, that kind of operation would require us to execute it in coordination with the FBI. But Agent Bozzi's office has denied the request," Segarra argues, clearly tired of being the punching bag for the other agents.

"Duffy, you know a bunch of the guys over there. What do they got going on that would be more important than this co-op?" Javi asks the other man sat across from his partner, who was always better at keeping a poker face than Lopez.

"FBI has a lot of fingers in different pies when it comes to investigations down here. I heard they're working on a lot of financial fraud cases – that they staffed up their tax fraud personnel to go through tons of paperwork, but I haven't heard of anything big," is Duffy's reply before he lets loose the exhale of smoke from his cigarette. "I can ask around some more."

"Alright," Javi retorts before glancing over at Steve. "Wanna catch me up?"

"Sure," Steve responds as he gestures 'good luck' to the other men in the room before heading for the door.

Once he and Javier are in their shared office, Javi goes to his desk drawer and retrieves his backup pack of nicotine gum, popping one out of the tray and tossing it brusquely into his mouth.

"You should really try the patch," is Steve's aloof suggestion as he sits in the cushioned couch that's backed against the wall and faces the side of Javi's desk.

"I did, but the damn thing was itchy," Javi gripes as he chews on the gum and rubs the tension between his brows moodily. In a grumble, he adds, "This takes the edge off instantly, at least."

Humming, Steve segues topics with, "Anyway, as well-meaning as Segarra is, he's not endeared himself to the agents at all. Duffy and Lopez are stubborn, for sure, but he just doesn't have the authority to get much done."

"I know…" Javi mutters as he rubs the tension from his temples with his hand before dragging his palm down his face in frustration. "Still. That prick Bozzi shouldn't be shutting shit down like that without talking to one of us—"

"You, more precisely," Steve corrects, shrugging when Javi glowers at him. "Hey, you're the one in charge of coordinated operations with other agencies here. That means you gotta work with the guy," is his laconic retort, to Javi's added chagrin.

He stews about it for a few seconds before remarking dryly, "Besides that, we got plenty of stuff from CBP for these guys to start running down…"

While they continue to hash out the upcoming game plan for all the work happening in the agency and to come, you're deep in an auditing review for all the digital data processes requiring upgrading to the new standards at the other federal satellite sites on the island.

Your team had done a great job compiling the data, so while it was busy work, it really helped you diagnose what the next steps should be for each site, and come up with an automated plan that could be shared out with each specialist in charge of the upgrading.

Just as you're finalizing some notes for your report, your cell phone rings. You answer it and are surprised to hear from Jodalys.

"Hola, I'm not interrupting you with anything?"

"No, I'm just finishing up something at the office. How can I help you?"

"I wanted to let you know about a gala WAPA-TV is organizing. We have several big marketing sponsors, and I know local government officials are going to be in attendance, so I wanted to see if you think the Giving Back program would want to be a sponsor? You'd last mentioned how the Federal office wants to foster a tighter camaraderie with the locals, so I thought this could be a good way to do that?" she pitches enthusiastically.

"Yes, I think that would be something the program manager would definitely agree on! I'll speak with him, so give me the details?" you respond as you grab for your planner and find a blank page to scribble the date, time, etc that Jodalys dictates to you.

After running it by the program manager and his lead, who really likes the prospect, he starts making the arrangements, assuring you it might be just the kind of event even the Chief Executive Director, Mercer, would encourage the federal office workers to attend.

As you're feeling accomplished at the end of the day while you walk out to your car, Javier and Steve are hopping into the SUV with Kike to start the slog home through Friday rush hour.

Thankfully, Kike knows every shortcut and back route in the metro area, so they both settle in for the drive and continue their brainstorming session.

"—Maybe you can have Segarra oversee the rundown of those CBP sources. It'll keep him busy while the guys keep crackin' along with the ops prep," Steve is suggesting to Javi from the front passenger seat.

"…I guess," is Javi's lukewarm mutter, shrugging before propping his elbow on the door panel to rest his cheek in his palm. "Frankly, I'm at my limit of giving a shit right now."

Steve grunts and busies himself with the cuff of his shirt sleeve. "Yeah, I'm there with you. Definitely looking forward to relaxing. Which reminds me: Connie's wanting to spend the next few days just us and the kids, so hope it's ok if we skip dinner this weekend," he drawls coolly and peeks at Javi in the rearview mirror as he adds, "I got a lot of making up to do for being so busy while she's been stuck with Olivia, sick and all."

Nodding, Javi leans back in his seat and crosses his arms as he confides, "Celina said she wants to spend the weekend just lazing around together, so no worries. She's had a hectic couple weeks too."

Humming, Kike remarks conversationally while driving down a particular shortcut, "Yeah, Celina had a stressful time! That car accident, getting sick and all that. She said it couldn't have happened at a worse time with how busy she's been with work—"

Brows shooting up in surprise, Javi shifts forward and asks, "What car accident?"

Keeping his attention on the aggressive drivers ahead, Kike answers, "Oh, early last week. Her car hit a pothole and it messed up the wheel. She had it towed to her dealer. After, she called to see if I could give her a ride to work."

Steve can feel Javi bristling in the backseat, so he turns and shoots his friend a glance. "I take it she didn't mention it?"

Features hardening, Javi tucks his chin against his chest and leans back, but his shoulders are squared with tension, even as he tries to obfuscate, "It must've not been too serious—"

Unaware of the unease the other man is trying to bottle up, Kike beeps the horn at a rude driver before zooming around him, managing to multitask and cut in, "She said the hit was so hard that the tire came off. Luckily she wasn't on the autopista when it happened. The potholes in town are no joke."

"Shit. Was she ok?" Steve asks before Javi silently spirals in the backseat. "Well, she must've been—"

"Oh yes!" Kike assures, navigating the SUV down the intersection with confidence now that the main pockets of traffic have been traversed. "She was mostly worried about how it happened when she was very busy."

Before Javier let's his emotions swirl up, the rational side of him cleaves through with reasonable observations. Well she was busy, and then sick, and you were away so she likely didn't want to make you worry. It must've not been really bad, since her car is already fixed…

"She's clearly fine, Jav. Especially after nursing your overgrown ass back to health," Steve razzes, snapping Javi out of his internal ruminating. "Lord knows she's a saint for putting up with your shit. Even if you are a reformed and sweet-talkin' asshole now."

Giving him a snarky deadpan, Javi drawls, "Damn straight I am, and you better never motherfucking forget it, pendejo."

Kike chuckles at the exchange, always thoroughly amused by the frat-like banter between the two senior agents.

As they traverse the gated neighborhood and the SUV cruises down the street in order to drop off Javi first – prolonging the witty trash-talking session – a short while later, the rookie officer rounds the vehicle into a U-turn on the street in order to pull along the curb up to the blue-and-white bungalow.

"—I'm going to take her out for a nice dinner, as a matter of fact."

"With or without the kids?"

"I'm getting a babysitter—"

"You should, then you should romance her, for once. Try to remind her why she married your ass in the first place—"

"She remembers just fine, bud. What you need to worry about is finally getting your shit together and making Celina your wife already—"

"Sonuvabitch, you're fucking relentless—"

"Because I'm right and you know it—"

"And you know I'm working on it!" Javi scoffs wryly before patting Kike on the shoulder. "Thanks for being there for her. I really appreciate it."

"No thank you needed, sir! Siempre a la órden," Kike exclaims jovially before putting the car in park so Javier can slide over to the door nearest the curb.

"Say 'hi' to Celina for me, puto," Steve cheerfully rasps.

"Give my love to Connie and the girls, hillbilly," Javi counters glibly right back before wishing Kike a good night and exiting the car.

As the SUV drives off to Steve's, Javier strides up the sidewalk towards his driveway, where your car is parked right behind his in the open-air garage. He can't help round the sleek sedan, scanning it to see if there was any remnant of damage from the accident, but finding none under the early evening light. Grunting, he lopes to the garage door entry and let's himself in with his key.

"Is that you, Javi?" you call out from the bedroom.

"Yeah," he calls back before coughing, clearing his throat and absently twirling the keys in his hand while already striding through the laundry room, tugging the knot loose on his necktie as he treks across the living room.

When he comes into his bedroom, he finds you in semi-undress.

You'd just been stripping your blouse when you heard him come in, having fussed with rolling the portable TV out of the way to be tucked into the recessed corner by the window on your side of the bed. And now you were shedding the sateen tank underneath to place it onto the dry-cleaning pile just when Javier walked in, so you were in just your white lace bra, navy blue trousers and kitten heels.

"Hey," you greet as you flounce over and kiss him hello.

He smiles and tows you closer when you attempt to waltz off to the laundry basket sitting on the bed. "When you get home, hm?"

Smirking, you loop your hands around his nape and slink up against him, smelling the cologne on his skin and the sweet smell of the nicotine gum on his breath. "Not long ago. Like ten minutes or so?"

"And you're already doing busy work," he points out amusedly, before nuzzling your jaw.

"No, I just took out the load that was left in the dryer from last night," you reply while trying not to swoon at his lips grazing down your neck. "I-I forgot to take the dry-cleaning to get dropped off, so I was pulling them together—"

"Leave it. We're having a lazy weekend now, remember?" is his honeyed baritone rumble before he kisses a path back up your neck, leaving ticklish goosebumps thanks to his moustache in his wake.

"I do, b-but I just wanted to tidy up before I started dinner," you sigh dreamily as you practically melt in his arms from how he suckles that erogenous pulse point just below your jaw.

"Let's go out for dinner," he suggests in a low baritone that makes your toes curl. "Mmm, we had these great Cuban sandwiches for lunch from a place on the Roosevelt. You in the mood for anything specific?"

You know he's buttering you up with sexy kisses and caresses, so you nudge your temple against his cheek in a playful show of dominance before encircling his waist and leaning into him. "I could go for Cuban, actually. It's been a while since I've had congrí," you purr before pulling away to coquettishly finish stripping out of your work clothes, adding over your shoulder, "I'll put something on and we can go to a place I know."

Grunting in agreement, Javi leers as you slip your heels off before shimmying out of the fitted trousers while he distractedly empties out his pockets and sets his keys on the dresser. He ogles your bare skin while shedding his blazer, fantasizing of all the things he'd love to do to you after stripping you out of your undergarments.

Picking out a pretty yellow gingham dress from the closet, quickly pulling it on and fastening the front buttons, you slip on the closest pair of open toe leather sandals you have before snickering knowingly over your shoulder, "You better hop to it, guapetón."

He snorts and picks up the pace of changing out of his work clothes, smirking when you breeze by him and pat his tush on the way to the bathroom to brush out your hair.

Soon, you're both walking down the driveway to your car, getting in and backing out onto the street. As you drive, he asks you about your day, and you tell him about the proposed gala, unaware he's paying attention to how the vehicle handles to see if he can gauge any issues with it. When you're pulling into the parking lot tucked behind the Cuban cuisine establishment on the corner of the intersection across from the city park a short while later, he's weighing his options whether to just come out and ask you about it.

But then he admonishes himself for worrying to begin with, so he reconsiders asking, for the time being.

After you've parked, Javi rounds to your side to open your door and help you out, which you still find charming and chivalrous. And with his hand to the small of your back, he escorts you around to the front entrance and takes your lead when the hostess greets you and you ask to sit on the outside terrace.

Once seated, Javi admires the pretty hanging flower pots and decorative planters that keep the terrace cozy and cool under the early twilight. Across the way is a grassy lot that looked like was used during the day for a food truck spot, and there were a few stray cats hanging out in the shade of the building.

You strategically sit adjacent Javi instead of across from him so you could lean over and reach him easily for kisses, which he's more than content to shower you with. When your waiter takes your orders and returns shortly with your drinks, you take a nice long sip from yours.

Smirking, Javi croons, "I guess there's no better place to get a Cuba Libre than at an authentic Cuban spot, hm?"

Sighing contentedly, you nod and simper, "That is correct, agente."

He chuckles and sips his own whiskey while reaching under the table to affectionately squeeze your knee. "So, besides helping organize the feds to get in on another ritzy party, how else did the rest of your day go?" is his quipping question.

Scoffing, you sneer goofily, "Hey! I did no such thing. And anyway, it's always good for the locals and the feds to find camaraderie somehow." At his wry grunt and lopsided smirk, you roll your eyes and yield, "And, any excuse for a party is something they tend to jump at here. But at least it was a decent distraction from the busy-work I did most of the day."

Swirling the amber liquid in his glass idly, Javi asks, "That upgrade program you were telling me about?"

"Yeah. All the leads had to do diagnostics of their designated sites. Going through it all to allocate the hours and funding for the upgrading has been a pain," you respond and brush the few stray strands that fluttered up across your cheek from the soft breeze wafting through the terrace. "Eventually, I'll have to make a trip out to St. Thomas to help the team lead there—"

You pause when the waiter returns with your meals, and you both thank him before you place your napkin in your lap and wish Javier a 'Buen Provecho' as you're eagerly taking a bite.

"Buen Provecho," he offers back before digging into his arroz con pollo and carne con papas. "So, you were saying something about a trip?"

"Ah, yes – to St. Thomas. Things have been so hectic I haven't had much time to plan for it," you reply smoothly before eating the tender sliver of pernil with gusto along with your forkful of rice.

"Speaking of hectic, Kike mentioned you had an issue with the car last week?" Javi remarks in a casual tone, knowing not to fish too obviously.

Internally groaning, you realize you should've expected the young officer to mention it to Javier, so you dramatically sigh as you admit, "Yes, I was driving to work after an early appointment in town and I hit the mother of all potholes after an intersection. I had just gotten the car serviced, remember? So it looks like they didn't tighten the bolts or something well enough on one of the tires and it went flying after hitting that pothole."

Javi balks, "Jesus Christ, what kind of a fuck-up was in charge and didn't check to make sure—"

Your hand clasps at his forearm reassuringly as you rush out before he can get worked up, "Mistakes happen. I'm just glad it was fixable and no one got hurt. Don't get all ornery about it, babe."

He huffs out of his nose and scowls, but at your irreverent look and patting of his forearm for him to loosen up, he grunts laconically, "You didn't mention it."

"Javier, you were busy! I didn't want to tell you while you were away. You were stressed out enough, so I didn't want that looming in the back of your mind, making you worry when there wasn't anything you could do anyway," you insist, adding, "And with everything going on this week, it kind of fell off the list of things that were front of mind."

Knowing you had a point, he relents with a nod, "You're right," and continues eating.

You enjoy the validation of being told you're right by your typically stubborn lover, so you smile around your next bite.

"How's the field office coming along?" you ask him after you've sipped your drink.

"It's finally up, and all the field agents are working out of there now. We got Segarra posted there. Steve and me will rotate being there and at our clerical office in the Federal building," he explains before taking another healthy forkful into his mouth.

"Good. And did CBP help you guys with what you needed?" is your next query as you scoop your next bite of congrí up.

"…We got some leads, but I honestly don't know if it'll amount to much. I just have this inkling that no one is really close to cracking things at all. Just treading water," he answers you candidly, giving you a one-shouldered shrug as he adds, "But then I'm used to having a clear target, and that's not how things are here, so far."

You hum at that as you chew. Once you've swallowed, you dab your lips before remarking, "Well, I'm selfishly glad you're not going to be personally in the field anymore, and that you and Steve have a team down here that is capable of all that—"

"I wasn't in the field during the Cali case," he muses, and at your sarcastic stare, he modifies, "Not as much as I'd been on previous cases, anyway."

"Javi, are you trying to forewarn me here that you're going to go on raids and extract informants personally again?" you imperiously deride as you cross your arms and lean back in your chair, gaze sharpening on his expression.

"No, I was just clarifying that I wasn't in the field much during Cali, is all. And I don't plan on being in the field at all this time around," he assures as smoothly as possible, and at your unconvinced stare, he takes your hand and squeezes it. "It's different this time, querida. The way we're structured down here? I have plenty of senior agents who know what they're doing, and all I gotta do is help cut through red tape, schmooze the local government, and coordinate the inter-agency ops, when needed," is his confident reassurance, adding sardonically, "Plus, I'm too old for chasing fuckers across rooftops and down balconies. I'm more than content to oversee the investigation and make decisions over being in the field."

Your eyes twinkle in the waning daylight as you tilt your face towards him with a coy smile. "Are you sure?" you find yourself asking, and at Javi's curious look, you give his fingers a squeeze before folding your hands into your lap, wringing them together as you're elaborating, "I've been thinking about it. You always preferred to be out front. Sitting back and relaxing in your position of authority drove you stir-crazy. I—I guess I'm just worried that you won't be able to keep yourself from getting invested. No matter how much you don't plan to or even want to."

His features etch soberly at your words. Leaning forward, he murmurs, "I meant what I said, mi amor. All the chasing – the frantic hunting for pinche asesinos is over for me. I always felt like it would only count if I was the one to nail them, but what you said? About things not going down the way I dictate or believe they should? It stuck with me, for a long time. I realized my priorities were, well, fucked up."

Surprised to hear this, you ask, "What do you mean?"

With a cleansing breath, he utters his answer with unwavering certainty.

"I wanted my life – what I did with it – to matter, and getting justice consumed all my priorities. But it wasn't until I brought it all down and ended up feeling no different – that nothing had changed but me, that I realized I had it all wrong and had lost myself to it. I don't ever want to end up there again."

He finds it liberating when it comes out of his mouth. It was a burden he didn't know he was holding onto until it was said.

"Oh, Javi," you murmur and lean close to brush your hand lovingly over his cheek. His dark, soulful eyes are gentle, and your heart aches as you whisper, "I'm sorry for ever making you doubt yourself—"

Javi gathers your hand in both of his and tells you decisively, "You didn't, cariño. What you said was a wakeup call. You made me doubt what I was doing, and why. Having to sit with that and work through it was something I'd avoided. But once I did, I realized what mattered to me was making a life, and doing the best I can to make it a good one I can be proud of."

Your features blossom into open admiration, making it easy for him to cup your cheek and brush a covetous kiss to your lips before he stares into your eyes and declares, "I want to make a life with you. And that matters to me more than anything else."

The emotion that wells up in your chest at his words steals your breath, making you want to express it the only way you can.

You scootch out of your seat so you can kiss Javier passionately before hugging him tight.

He pulls you to sit on his thigh so he can easily hold you to him, feeling relief and pride radiate through him as you nuzzle his neck. His hand cradles the back of your neck when lean back to gaze lovingly at him, and his heart skips when your eyes shine with devotion at him. Then, as if the world around you came back into focus, you girlishly slink back into your chair when you remember yourself and your surroundings.

With a sweet smile, he winks at your sheepish exhale when another dining group comes onto the terrace to sit at a larger table across from where you're both sat close to the veranda.

There was so much spinning up excitedly in your heart at his words, leaving your thoughts skipping along scenarios you both still needed to discuss and plan for, expectations you had yet to share, and desires unstated between you both. Just as you feel unsettled by thought of, What kind of life will he want to make together? You jolt at the sensation of something butting against your ankle.

You look down and realize one of the cats has come onto the terrace and is begging for food.

Javi watches you smile, then covertly glance around before shredding the rest of the roasted meat on your plate and piling the minced morsels on the floor for it.

"Come, gatito," you whisper to the orange cat, and watch it do just that, eagerly gobbling up the meat before scampering off back to its shady area on the other side of the veranda.

"That reminds me. You didn't get an annoying cat down here. How come?" is Javier's irreverent query as he nurses his drink.

Idly wiping your fingertips on your napkin, you tilt your head drolly at him as you retort, "My landlady didn't allow pets. And I didn't think it would be fair to have a cat, with how much I'd be working and traveling."

He hums, tempted to remark, 'Well when we move in together, it'll be a place we can have an inside-outside cat,' but decides against it. Instead, he muses, "Olivia has been trying to wear Steve down about getting a puppy. She didn't get one for Christmas, and got Isabel as a sister instead."

You laugh, delighted by the anecdote, and fall into banter about your now-comingled group of friends.

After sharing a flan de queso for dessert, Javier pays the tab and escorts you to the parking lot, holding your hand as you cross towards the car. He opens the passenger door for you, and you amusedly hand him your keys when he gets in on the driver's side. As he navigates out to the main intersection en route for home, you fiddle with the radio before setting it on the Magic 97.3 station, and smile as the late 80's single plays.

Snickering, he steers the wheel with one hand while he props the other behind your head rest. "We gotta go out dancing soon. When're you gonna show me the nightlife scene here, eh, dancing queen?" is his playful croon, winking at you when you give him a coquettish smirk.

"Well, that gala sounds like it'll have music and dancing. And if that's not enough, I'm up for dancing anything you want, anywhere," you flirt right back.

Pursing his full lips intriguingly, he drawls, "Square dancing?"

You snort, comically rolling your eyes as you lilt, "Ok, fine, maybe not anything. But salsa, merengue, bachata, cumbia, vallenato—"

"Lambada, perreo," he continues impishly, giving you that teasing, smoldering glance before bouncing his eyebrows suggestively.

You snicker and squeeze his jean-clad thigh, razzing, "Alright, fresco. Whatever one you're up for, I'll gladly be your dance partner."

"Good. But tonight? We're rollin' around the sheets," he cockily declares, grinning when you girlishly laugh.

You're gleeful that he's true to his word once you both get home.

It's actually a breezy night out, so you're happily cranking the bedroom windows all the way open when Javi walks in from locking up. He surprises you when you turn back from slipping off your sandals into the closet and are unfastening the first three buttons of your dress.

Encircling your waist, he holds you close while taking over unbuttoning your dress open for you while rocking you in a slow waltz-like sway. Titillated, you lean into his broad frame and nuzzle his jaw, caressing your hands up his back and smiling into his yearning kiss.

Your soft perfume and warm skin have a shiver skittering through him as you let his hands maneuver the dress off your torso and pool at your feet while his mouth sets a worshipful path along your flushing features and jaw. Sighing wistfully, you bury your fingers in the back of his hair when he trails his lips covetously down the column of your neck while his hands unclasp your bra.

"Mmm, you need to strip too, you know," you dreamily chime when you shed your bra and tug naughtily on the front of his caramel-colored button down before plucking the first few buttons open.

Scoffing ruggedly, he showily kicks his boots off and unbuckles his belt while giving you a molten look. "I'm trying to pace myself," is his husky murmur as he pauses in unzipping his jeans to let you tug his shirt's hem loose and resume unbuttoning it for him.

"No one told you to pace yourself, chulito," you tease in a sultry purr as you push his shirt off of his shoulders and pluck his jeans open before unzipping his fly.

It turns him on the way you sensually stare up at him through your lashes while shoving his jeans down before kissing along his bare chest.

Making short work of kicking them off his legs, Javier whisks you up against him and takes you to bed, where you both peel the clothes left between you off and amorously kiss and caress each other until you're salaciously fooling around.

The ceiling fan undulates the cool air over your heated forms as Javi rolls you under him while you cling to his body and giggle effervescently from his mustachioed kisses to your collar while he fidgets from your ticklish touch along his sides.

You're both content to canoodle and tease each other with nuzzles and caresses while your hips carve into each other, prolonging the delicious foreplay out while making desire stoke swelteringly where his arousal and yours press up.

Rolling to straddle him, you lusciously capture his lips with yours while gliding your palm to grind the underside of his cock along the silken heat of your cunt, relishing his groan and how his grip on your hips becomes possessive.

Breaking the kiss and nudging your nose into his cheek to get his obedience, you alluring whisper, "All I've wanted all day, is to make love with you, hermoso."

The lust in his dark eyes is scintillating as he husks, "Yeah?"

Humming sexily, you kiss him before susurrating against his panting lips, "Yes."

Javier rolls so you're on your back and he can nestle his ramrod erection into your clenching heat after hiking your leg over his hip just as he rocks forward.

You moan and arch up into him, and end up snickering breathlessly when he swears huffily, "Mmph, love, not fucking."

"It's really sexy that you know the difference, bebito," is your cheeky lilt when he clearly is trying to rein in his lascivious libido. At his haughty stare, you simper, "It is!"

Huffing amusedly out of his nose and shaking his head, Javi cracks a lopsided smile before sighing hoarsely, "Luckily for you, I've wanted to love you up all day too," as he shifts so you're both lying on your sides, facing each other while he's still inside you.

Your smile is radiant when he works his hips in that exquisitely ruinous undulation that lights you up with pleasure, leading into the passionate kisses and salacious clutching of your bodies as ecstasy pulses through your center while he groans sweet filth and earns your breathy praise and supplications for more.

And when he seats the pad of his thumb against the hood of your clit and grinds delectable pressure into it while stroking his throbbing cock deep inside your sheath, you cry out a rapturous sound and dig your fingertips into his lats, toes curling in bliss as you reach climax. Javi prolongs it by swirling circles over your pleasure point while thrusting at that angle that has him brushing against the bundle of nerves nestled where you can't reach, relishing your whimpers and mewls as you dissolve under him.

He nudges a gloating kiss into your cheek and keeps nuzzling you impishly when you sigh and smile dazedly at him before petting his brow and cupping the side of his neck lovingly as you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him down to meet your insatiable kiss.

Shifting you both so he's on his back, you take the reins of the lovemaking by grinding down on his cock and clenching your floor muscles around it while showering kisses along his cheeks, brow, jaw and neck. Your hands are braced to his chest, keeping him pinned to lie back and let you untangle the lascivious urge loose from his core as you ride him the way he loves. The sexy sight of you – skin dewy and warm, breasts bouncing from how hard and fast you're fucking yourself on him, features rapt with ecstasy while your gaze remains fixed on his – is the thing of Javi's dreams, and when your mouth falls open on a whine of his name, it's what sears him through with his release.

His gruff moan catches in his chest when you mewl and curl into him, reaching bliss and writhing in the throes of sensational gratification together.

The enchanting glee of being ravished and full hits you like a wave as the post coital haze buzzes through you. It isn't until you've melted back into yourself that you realize Javi has rolled you onto your back and is pulling out of your tingling heat.

Quivering, you whine for him to stay in bed, thinking he's going to go retrieve a washcloth. Instead, Javi hushes you with a possessive kiss that has his tongue marking its territory in your mouth before he maps a salacious path with it down your neck, the valley of your breasts, the line of your stomach and the crest of your sex.

With the flat of his tongue, he gives you gentle aftercare, careful not to lick or nuzzle your tender pussy too eagerly that would overstimulate and hurt you.

"Oh, Javi…" you hiccup airily before shivering from him blowing cool air over your scorching center before he hums and brushes a soft kiss to your womb.

His eyes gleam with contentment when he stares down at you, so you reach for him and lure him to lie on top of you, held in your arms.

Javi feels serenity fill him as your hand brushes over his hair while he rests his head on your chest, content to stay like this with you forever, if it were possible.

You feel him relax in your embrace and let out a sated exhale, the warmth of his breath puffing against your breast seeming to be a tired one, so you don't expect him to mumble in a honeyed purr, "Te quiero, mi amor."

Feeling elated, you continue to run your fingers through his hair soothingly as you whisper, "Te amo con todo mi corazón, Javier."

It's the greatest way to fall asleep – being told you love him with all your heart, while held in your arms.

So much so, Javi sleeps soundly through the night, and would've slept long into the late morning if not for the sound of loud revving of a car engine out on the street in front of the house.

Startling awake, Javi shifts up in bed and finds he's alone. Concerned, he clambers out from the rumpled covers and retrieves a pair of sweatpants from the dresser before hastily yanking them on.

"¿Querida?" he calls out as he peeks into the bathroom and finds it empty before walking out through the hallway door towards the main living space.

As he approaches the laundry room's entry, he realizes the loud car engine is coming from a vehicle idling in front of his driveway, so he goes out to see what's going on – and finds a mint-blue Bronco beach cruiser parked at the curb, with you in the driver's seat.

You beep the horn with a spritely smile before sitting up on your knees in the seat so you can shout, "Ready for a beach day, stud?"

Incredulous, he pads over barefoot down the cement drive to the sidewalk when you shut the engine off and retrieve shopping bags from the backseat. He sees you're wearing a halter top-styled peach cover-up dress and watermelon-colored two-piece bikini underneath it.

"Where'd you get this from?" he asks, holding the car door open for you so you can hop out with the bags.

"I rented it," you declare brightly before handing him the bags. "Now, these are for you, so go inside and change," is your wily command before cupping his cheek and kissing his stupefied expression off his handsome face.

Pinching his waist affectionately, you nudge Javi along back up the driveway and into the house while he peeks into the shopping bags and finds several swim trunks, flip flops, and beach shirts – all of which looked like would fit him perfectly.

"What the—I thought you wanted to spend a lazy weekend in?" Javi chuckles as you both make it into the living room.

"Well, I woke up early, and watched the news while I folded the laundry, and they said it's supposed to be a balmy, sunny day," you retort as you follow him into the bedroom, adding, "So I thought it'd be a good excuse to go for a nice seashore excursion. I can't believe you didn't have any bathing suits!"

He laughs, then coughs before answering, "I probably haven't worn one since swim team in high school, guapita."

"Alright, pick one, put it on, and let's go!" is your wily exclamation as you change your own sandals for white hibiscus-patterned flip flops you pulled from the bag.

A short while later and Javier is locking up the door before following you to the beach cruiser, rounding it to get in on the passenger's side after your climb into the driver's seat.

"—Do we need to stop anywhere?" he's asking as you turn the car on. "Any beach snacks? Towels?"

"Ah, I got a cooler filled up already, and I thought we could stop at kioskos for snacks while on the way," you tell him as you reach into the space behind your seat and pull out the lovely beach tote Javier surprised you with. "And, I got the beach towels and necessities packed in here already. So, ready to head out?" is your spunky query, winking at him.

Sitting in the seat next to you, in the light blue beach shirt and navy swim shorts, Javi smirks proudly at your dazzling smile.

"Fuckin' A, I am, bravita. Lead the way."

It's been such a long time since you both spent the day out together, that you're each appreciating every single moment while on the road, at the kiosko pit stops, and even in the stop-and-go traffic on the beach route off of the highway. The sun is out, the breeze is cool, the radio plays the pop station crisply, and the frituras are delicious as you both cruise down the northeast coast of the island, all while you and Javi laugh and banter about.

The scenery becomes more and more lush, tropical, and rural the further you cruise towards the hidden gem of a beach you're telling Javi about, wind in your hair and excitement filling your eyes as you gush, "We're gonna have a bit of a trek on foot, but I promise it's going to be worth it."

"I trust you. I'm just surprised anything is secret, with tourism being as big as it is here," he remarks good-naturedly.

"Ah, true. But there are so many little nooks along the shoreline and people tend to go to the bigger, well-known beaches across the island. My father loved exploring secluded spots, and when I was little, he'd take us to the hidden beaches he'd found growing up," is your exuberant explanation as you pull off the rural backroad onto a rough-trodden path.

Javi is impressed with your knowledge and navigation skills as you steer the beach cruiser over the terrain until you hit a slight hill that flanks a thicket on one side and more lush trees on the other. Maneuvering the vehicle around so it's already pointing back the way you drove in from, you park and put the brake on before reaching in the backseat for the tote. While you do so, Javi gets out and goes to the trunk to grab the little red cooler.

"Ok, it's gonna be about a 10 minute walk this way," you're telling him after you get out of the car and round it to the lush tree line, smiling when Javi chivalrously takes your hand and helps you step around a mucky spot that's in the path.

"You know, this kind of reminds me of that time, in Cartagena," he rumbles ruggedly while you both walk side-by-side, holding hands through the hidden footpath.

"That was just as naughty as this. Even naughtier, even," you snicker and squeeze his hand goofily.

"Shit, is this illegal?" he laconically grumbles, quickly glancing around to see if there are any 'Do not trespass' signs around, posted somewhere amongst the foliage.

"There's no such thing as illegal access to a beach, silly," you tell him, and Javi is about to point out how that doesn't answer his question, when you quickly add, "It would only be illegal if this was a naval-restricted zone, and it isn't. It's naughty because we're going to have the beach all to ourselves, which feels kinda wrong."

Grunting, he rasps, "We could've gone to a regular beach, you know. I was only teasing about lounging on a secret playa just the two of us—"

"Hey, I promised you a seashore adventure, so quit being a modest suavón," you heckle irreverently and tug him along to follow you down a veer in the path.

He chuckles, and decides to do just that, and soon enough you're both stepping around some tall, thick-leafed, cactus-like bushes between a smattering of palm trees to emerge onto the secluded beach shore that looks out on a crescent-shaped cove of turquoise, rolling waves beyond the warm, tan sands. The breeze is placidly swaying the foliage and the cawing of birds in the sunny sky add to the picturesque ambiance of the water lapping up along the coastline.

"Holy shit," Javi gapes, in awe of the beautiful seaside oasis.

Exuberantly, you tug him by his hand along towards the nice spot on the soft tan sands of beach under a shady canopy of palms, telling him, "Watch your step."

Maneuvering over some fallen palm trunks and husks, you both make quick work of staking a favorable spot.

The beach blanket is a big square Javi pins from flopping in the breeze with the red cooler and your tote at the strategic corners, and once you've both gotten down to your swimsuits and folded your clothes to stay warm in the sunny corner of it, you pull out some towels and Javi unrolls them over the blanket while you rifle through the tote.

As you do so, you coquettishly cajole him into sitting with, "C'mon, we have to wait a while before swimming," smiling when he does so before casually reclining back with his arms propped backwards.

His broad shoulders are relaxed as he stares out at the tropical water, making for a delicious sight as you distractedly retrieve the sunscreen from your tote. This hunk is all mine.

With delight, you dutifully rub sunscreen into his shoulders and back, and intend to put the lotion on your own arms and shoulders when Javi plucks the bottle from your hand and has you crawl over to sit in front of him on the towel that he'd draped down for you.

"You know, I could get used to this," Javi muses as he massages the sunscreen into your back, mindful of the bikini straps in his way. When you hum curiously, he elaborates, "Enjoying the sun and sand, staring out at the waves, lounging around with you. Going on getaways together."

"Is that so?" you singsong as you turn and smile at him over your shoulder. At his cocky smirk, you turn completely around so you can lean forward and purr teasingly, "So my plan to romance you into loving island life is working, hm?"

The way the sun catches in his dark brown eyes have them shining like copper when he grins brilliantly and leans back on his elbows so you have to loom over him sexily. "As if it took any real effort. I really like it here, preciosa," is his debonair murmur as he reaches up to tuck some rogue strands of hair behind your ear. "And, I really like my view right now."

You prop your stance with your arms draping around his shoulders and lean closer so you can kiss him tenderly on the lips, before lilting, "Good. I want this to be a place that feels like home."

The way your eyes shone with dazzling delight while the sun's rays frame you, making him feel punch-drunk, bewitch him for a second, so he's disarmed when you suddenly ruffle his hair daringly before hopping up and running down to the shore while shouting over your shoulder, "Now come catch me if you can, special agent guapito!"

Scoffing comically, Javier scrambles up and runs over the hot sand to go in after you.

The afternoon is filled with you both swimming and splashing each other, goofing around and floating in the shallows while the waves lap warmly at the surface, and canoodling buoyantly while you cling to him as you chat and he treads water for you both.

Once you're each tuckered out by the waves, you'd headed back to the beach blanket, toweled off, and lounged together under the sun, laying over your towel while you let the warm rays dry you. He retrieves beverages from the cooler for you both to enjoy while relaxing on post-swim-tired muscles.

Javi's sipping from the ice-cold can of Medalla while you set your soda aside so you can untie the straps of your bikini top before laying out on your stomach.

Staring at the expanse of naked skin exposed to the hot sun now, Javi asks, "You want me to get your back?"

"No, that's ok. I just want to even out so I don't have tan lines," you reply as you fold your arms down and rest with your head pillowed by your pile of clothes.

He hums, and you feel him shift from the spot he'd been sat, before there's a light tug on the strings of one hip on your bikini bottoms. "You forgot about these tan lines," is his rugged drawl as he unties the other hip's strings.

You giggle before sitting up on your folded arms and sassily chastising, "Only you see those tan lines, fresco. So I wasn't planning on going Blue Lagoon out here—!"

"Never saw it," Javi drolly retorts, earning your comical scoff. He mischievously continues, "You said this is a secluded spot, so…" and deliberately tugs the undone bikini bottom off of you.

Laughing, you reply, "Well, the nearest community from here is over a mile away, and the fisherman don't tend to come this way," and roll sidelong to give him a sultry look as you tease, "You really never saw that movie?"

"No way," he snickers, fanning his fingers along the curve of your buttocks to brush off the sand sticking to your cheeks. At your amused, albeit dubious hum, Javier concedes, "My cousins did, though, and talked about how cheesy it was. And, it just seemed weird to have such a young girl prancing around naked like that in a movie."

"Ah, good point," you chime before going to stretch out onto your back, as if you're not completely nude and under the warm rays of the sun. With your eyes closed, you relax and let out a cleansing sigh.

Despite his coaxing, Javi looks around to make sure no one is peeping from the trees at you before asking, "What's the movie about, again?" and resumes drinking from his beer can as he shuffles towards your sunbathing form.

You're basking in the warm heat of the sun and the tranquil breeze as you sense his form sidle close to you.

"It's about two kids who get shipwrecked on a deserted island in the South Pacific during the Victorian era. They grow up together, hit puberty, and start fooling around—"

He watches your breath hitch when his fingertips cooled by the condensation of the beer can skim teasingly along your lithe belly to brush off some clinging sand grains from your skin. "Ah, ok yeah, I remember Carla joking about that," he remarks smoothly while trailing his touch in lazy circles up your midriff towards your breasts, skimming a path up the valley of your sternum before tracing them along your collarbones. "Don't they start fucking like animals in heat?"

It's taking everything in you to keep your eyes closed and not sit up and pounce on him right now, especially when his touch skims back down to map your left areola before he pinches your nipple. Biting back a gasp, you answer tightly, "Y-Yes, and then she gets pregnant but they don't know what's happening to her because they never got the birds and the bees talk."

With an intrigued hum, Javi admires your naked form, relishing how it looks under a sunny sky. The way your nipples hardened even with the heat of the sun keeping your skin warm and dewy. How your tummy tensed with excitement at his touch. You clench your thighs together now, and it draws his gaze to the chalice of your pelvis and the soft curls at your mound, so he swipes more condensation from his can onto his fingers and guides his cooled digits to trace at the heat between your thighs.

Your eyes open as you stifle a mewl and blush furiously under his handsome stare. "Does it have a happy ending?" is his cool query, while his fingers rub delicious pleasure into your now throbbing clitoris, making your cunt drip with need.

Not trusting your voice, you nod and bite your bottom lip as to not whimper too loudly, one hand gripping the towel underneath you while the other clutches at his elbow.

"Maybe we can find a deserted island and spend all our time fooling around," is his canela-roughened rumble in your ear as his fingers work to get you off.

Arching, your thighs clamp around his hand when you orgasm, hearty cry of, 'Javi!' getting muffled against the back of your palm while Javi watches you ride out the waves of pleasure, feeling content and accomplished.

The tingly bliss that settles in as you lay sated and naked under the sunshine fills you with splendor, making you sigh and stare up dreamily at Javier while he licks his fingers clean of your climax before using the edge of the towel to give you aftercare.

Pleased with himself, Javi was about to pick up his can to finish the beer, when you surprise him by taking it from him, draining it with one long drink, and then setting it aside before nudging him to lean back so you can straddle his hips as you slip your hands down the front of his swim trunks.

His erection is thick and throbbing in your palms, and Javi swears hotly before gripping your waist and hitching gruffly with warning, "Q-Querida, we shouldn't—"

"Shh, lay back and let me make love to you, sweet boy," you purr sensually at him before nuzzling his cheek and capturing his lips with yours.

Savage pride flares up in him at your words, so he obeys and lets you push his swim trunks down to free his rock-hard cock, and keeps his hands on your waist while you plunge yourself down on it with slow undulations that have your sheath squeezing and gripping around his length.

Truthfully, if anyone had come upon you and spied from the tree lines, neither of you would've noticed. Not with how fixated on each other's pleasure you both were.

It feels surreal. Being outside, under a tropical sky, the scent of salt, sunscreen, sweat and the heat of the sun above and the sand beneath the blanket mingled with the cool air from the sea and the sounds of untouched nature mixing with your comingled cries of pleasure. It's all a sensory overload. And the sight of you in your naked glory, rocking up and down on his throbbing arousal, is enthralling. You are intent on giving into the need you feel burning under his skin – in the desperate grip of his hands as they clutch your curves with every buck and roll of your hips over him.

Having this little moment of paradise with each other only stokes the blazing desire to quickly sweep up between you, and you can feel Javi's muscles begin to tense under your palms – see how lustrous and dark his eyes have gone with lust.

So, you mewl, "Dámelo, mi amor," as you start to ride him hard, the way you know drives him wild. "I want it, Javi—"

The world spins when Javi sits up and rolls so you're on your back while he looms over you and seats his thumb over the hood of your clit, grinding the thrumming pleasure point deftly and getting you there with him just as his cock starts to swell inside of you.

Your cry of ecstasy is pitched and airy as you come, walls fluttering around him just as he feels the tether of pleasure snap loose in his center. Rapt with delirious bliss, you watch Javi pull out of your drenched heat and stroke himself off to spill his release over your womb and taut tummy as he groans hoarsely from the dizzying effort of staying propped above you while his senses buzz.

When he curls down to sidle next to you with a husky, "Oh fuck," between panting breaths, you smile and cuddle close. "That…that was fucking hot, querida."

Letting out a pleased grunt, you absently trail your fingertips in the pearly essence he left on your skin, before lulling your head to nose into his neck and tut, "It's a naughty getaway. Of course it'd be hot, chulito."

He snorts at that and kisses on you dotingly before shimmying his trunks back up and using the damp towel he'd dried off with earlier to wipe up his cum, then swiping the terrycloth material between your thighs gingerly. You gorgeously smile up at him from heavy-lidded eyes and blushed features as he tends to you, so he kisses your cheek and whispers tenderly, "Wanna lounge for a bit?"

You nod, close your eyes and sigh whimsically, completely uncaring that you're still in the nude. Javi gives a cautionary glance around before laying on his side in a strategic way that allows his broad frame to keep you blocked from view before he stretches out next to you and rests his head on his folded arm.

Thanks to the sun moving in the sky, you both end up napping in the heat-kissed shade, lulled into relaxation by the sound of the waves and the rustling of the palms from the tropical breeze.

When he wakes a short while later, he ends up appreciatively staring at your placid expression. He wishes he could take a picture, and snickers at the thought of your appalled reaction of being snapped in the nude like this.

Your skin is warm as he drapes a towel over your form, which stirs you awake. And when you stare up at him with a sleepy smile, he leans down and kisses you tenderly on the lips before helping you sit up to cuddle into his side as you get your bearings.

Seeing the sun beginning to wane towards the horizon, you both decide to throw your clothes back on and pack up everything so you can make the trek back along the path to the car while it's still light out. You're both pleasantly tan and content as you walk through the lush greenery, and once you're back at the beach cruiser, Javi stores the cooler in the trunk and helps you climb up into the driver's seat before getting in on the passenger's side.

It feels wonderfully surreal that you got to spend the day with him like this, and the giddy contentment of it flutters up from your tummy as you drive and banter in flirty repartee – with every smile and laugh he lets loose.

After getting back to the metropolitan area, you drive to the rental shop, drop off the beach cruiser and get everything into your sedan before Javi chivalrously offers to drive you both home.

The sunset has already come and gone by the time he's pulling up into his driveway and parking behind his car.

Once you've both exited and tend to the beach items in your care, Javi stretches his back as he remarks, "Shit, I am beat."

"It was all the swimming against the waves," you reply while pulling out the blanket from the beach to shake it loose of any sand over the grassy side lot of the fenced in yard from the inside of the marquesina.

With the cooler in his hand, Javi shuts the trunk and rounds the car to walk up to the interior of the garage as you continue shaking out the towels of sand before following him up once he's unlocked the door.

Smugly, he drawls, "That, and all the sun. Not to mention the hot little number—"

His charming gloat becomes a grunt when you pat his tush for him to quit talking filth so you can take your tired self and mosey into the house.

"I'm going to run everything in the wash, so make sure to drop your trunks in too," you tell him with the blanket bundled in your arm and the beach tote on your shoulder, spritely look in your eyes teasing.

"Alright. I'll do that after I dump the ice out of this," is his baritone rumble as he holds the door open for you.

"Ok. I'll run the shower too once I'm done, if you wanna join?" is your flirty invitation as you prep the washer with everything from the beach day.

"Like you need to ask," he chuckles, pinching your side affectionately before loping down the hall towards the kitchen.

Smiling, you quickly set the machine on its cycle before retrieving your other belongings from the tote and taking it down to the bedroom. Once you've slipped them back into your purse and stored the beach tote on a shelf in the closet, you head to the bathroom to run the shower.

You'd just finished getting the eucalyptus stems down from the shower head to be set aside on the vanity, then started reaching behind yourself to undo the halter drawstring of your dress when you feel Javier come up behind you and caress his touch up your bare back before pulling the fastening loose for you.

His lips graze a teasing path from the back of your shoulder up the slope of your neck as he works the dress down your body to pool at your feet, earning a breathy giggle and for you to take his hands and loop his embrace around your waist.

It's then when he presses flush against you from behind that you feel he's already naked, so you snicker, "Did you strut in the buff through the house?"

"You said to put my swimsuit in the wash, mandona," he purrs puckishly into your ear as he starts herding you towards the shower stall. "C'mon, let's get the saltwater out of our hair."

You merrily oblige your brazen hunk, and soon are under the hot cascade, rinsing the soap and suds from your hair while Javi works his fingers through your waterlogged tresses for you.

"Mmm, your turn," is your blithe sigh as you turn and maneuver around him so he's facing the showerhead. His chuckle is warm as you lather the shampoo into his hair, so you deride, "What's so funny, chavón?"

"I just pictured how silly we probably look right now. With you on your tippy toes, washing my hair for me," is his humored retort, and he makes his point by standing on tiptoe so you have a hard time reaching the crown of his soapy curls.

Scoffing, you playfully swat his bicep and grunt for him to stop being silly. "Pórtate bien, fresco. Or else you're getting a spankin' before bedtime," is your saucy threat.

With an amused snort, he resumes letting you wash his hair, and ends up smirking into the showerhead's spray after you daringly nudge his head into the cascade.

Not to be outdone, Javi shifts carefully around and shakes the excess water logged in his thick hair to splash about, wetting your face and earning a squeal of laughter from you as you try to pinch his sides for him to stop.

"You dork!"

"You missed some suds, baby."

"You're incorrigible!"

"You love it, bravita."

With a haughty huff, you roll your eyes and slick his hair back from his forehead before pouting goofily and conceding, "Dammit, I do."

His laugh fills your chest with joy and makes you wrap your arms around his shoulders so you can kiss his cheek and nuzzle his jaw cutely.

He lets you put conditioner in his hair, but while you slather some into your own, he tries to stifle a yawn as he soaps himself up.

"Alright. My hair's gonna take a while, so you finish up and get the room ready for bed?" you suggest as you dutifully maneuver around again so he can face the cascade.

"Yes, patrona," is his crooning musing as he turns so the water can rain down on the crown of his head before washing down his shoulders and back. "Air on tonight?"

"Yeah," you retort and smile when he slicks the water back from his hair and cups your side so he can lean down and kiss your lips before shimmying by you to open the glass stall door.

"I'll lock up the house too," he remarks as he towels dry before wrapping the fluffy terrycloth around his waist and exiting through the bedroom door of the bathroom.

You're smitten as you luxuriate in the shower for a little longer, and after getting out and combing your hair, you day dream about all the fun spent at the beach with Javi. By the time you're finished blow drying your luscious hair, you are fantasizing about more little getaways with Javi. Driving up to el campo and having a picnic? Would he want to chinchorrear down to the western coast? Oh, maybe we could stay at a bed and breakfast on the beach in the south?

Whimsically thinking of all the possibilities, you hang up your towel and go into the bedroom, expecting to find Javier with a whiskey, lounging in bed while watching the evening news.

Instead, you find him passed out in bed, lying on his back with one arm draped over his stomach – TV remote in hand – and the other jammed behind the pillows his head was propped up against. He didn't even bother with boxers or sleep bottoms, instead looking like he sprawled out on the bed in his birthday suit and tossed the comforter over his lap before exhaustion took a hold of him. The air conditioner's ambient hum and the undulating current of cooled air clearly lulled him to sleep, and you can't help fawn at how peaceful he is in his well-earned slumber, albeit snoring with his mouth open.

You turn off the light of the bathroom before shutting the door and tiptoeing soundlessly to your side of the bed, where he'd left the lamplight on and had a nice glass of water waiting for you.

It makes your heart summersault in your chest. God, I love this man so much.

Slinking into bed with him, you turn off the lamp, gently grab the remote, and shut the TV before pulling the comforter up to cover you both.

With your head resting on his chest, you cuddle into him and melt when he shifts in his sleep so he can wrap his arm around your back and nuzzle the top of your hair. It feels like sheer bliss fills you up, and it's easy for you to relax and fall asleep, heart feeling full and settled.

You both spend Sunday in bed, with meals shared over the covers breaking up the moments of carnal delight underneath the covers.

By the time the work week begins, you're both refreshed, albeit suntanned, when you return to your hectic schedules.

Javier gets razzed by Steve for looking like he spent the weekend 'canoodling under the sun' with you, and he tells you about it while he makes dinner later that night.

Once midweek comes around, you're telling Javi about the barbecue plans for Saturday, and he passes it along to Steve the following morning while they're walking back to their office. Since work travel was over for the next few weeks, and everyone was finally recovered from the flu, you, Anita and Connie had agreed that it seemed like the perfect time to all get together and socialize around a grill in a shady backyard, with drinks and delicious dishes.

"That'll be nice. I'll get Connie to make her famous mac n'cheese, and I got my mom's succotash recipe," Steve volunteered to Javier, looking forward to unwinding over good food and drinks with Connie and other adults without chatter about work or reruns of Barney the Dinosaur for a change.

Making it to the end of the busy week, you don't even realize you've put all previous worries and stresses out of your mind completely. Instead, you're looking forward to asking Javi if he got the email invitation to the gala you'd mentioned the week prior.

After you both get home to his place, you go to his bedroom to get out of your work outfit while you eagerly tell him about the details for the ritzy shindig.

"—Oh, I don't use that thing. I have my admin or Segarra review messages and let me know."

"Ugh, really? You have a state-of-the-art laptop, Javier. Don't tell me you're gonna keep dodging using it—"

"Maybe I'd bother with it, after some tutoring from the sexy director who makes it look oh-so-easy to use—"

Exhaling dramatically to keep from laughing while you're unbuttoning your blouse, you prod, "So? Does that mean you weren't informed of the gala's details?"

Rolling up his shirt sleeves before plunking himself down on the bed, he knowingly asks, "You really wanna go to that?"

Pausing in undressing the rest of your work ensemble off, you frown. "You don't want to?"

"Oh, I do. I'm just surprised you want to go together. Making it public and all," is his smartass, albeit goading purr as he reclines on the bed with his hands folded behind his head. "We haven't told Mercer—"

Deciding two can play this instigating game, you scathe smoothly, "We haven't had a chance to, seeing as you're the one that's been busy and traveling."

Javi's lips snap shut into a pout, brows knitting together peevishly, because you are absolutely right.

"And anyway…we don't need his permission or blessing. Telling him would be a courtesy," you state charmingly as you finish stripping out of your fitted slacks, tossing them aside in the hamper with your matching blouse before going to the foot of the bed and crawling over to prowl towards him in only your black bra and panty set. His pout melts into that chiseled expression of want when you loom over him before plucking one of his shirt buttons undone as you chime, "That's if he hasn't heard any rumors already."

Humming, Javi sits up so he can tow you to lounge next to him as he pivots onto his hip.

You smirk coquettishly at him as he possessively caresses his hand along the curve of your derrière before grumbling, "The rumors from before, or are there ones about us being together now?"

"Well, definitely about us being secretly together back at the embassy. I'm actually not very sure if there are rumors about us being together currently," is your frank retort as you toy with undoing the rest of his shirt's buttons.

"I know one asshole who knows about us and doesn't care," Javi grouses in a surly tone, and at your curious hum, he huffs, "That Bozzi guy, the head of the FBI down here?"

Expecting you to tut and chastise him for being unjustifiably jealous, Javi's instead surprised when you scoff and ridicule, "Ugh, he is so insufferable! Is that why he's been laying it on so thick? Some macho bravado thing where he's trying to woo me or something?"

"…Wait. He's tried to flirt with you?" Javier growls, expression etching with aggravation.

You sigh, knowing he's going to get ornery now, but figure it was your own fault for even instigating the conversation. "Yes, but he's been overly friendly since I started working at the federal building," you tell him, seeing his nostrils flare crossly from his exhale as his temper starts to boil, so you quickly redirect, "Wait, how do you know he's onto us and doesn't care?"

Glowering, Javi admits, "That prick was overheard telling Vernon, from the ATF, that you'd caught his eye and he'd be trying to romance you. When Vernon told him you were already spoken for as far as he'd heard, Bozzi told him that there wasn't a ring on your finger so you were fair game…"

At hearing that, instead of being outraged, you burst into laughter. "What?! I'm "fair game"?! What a chauvinist," you heckle humorously and shake your head before noticing Javier's not amused. "Ay, Javi. You're really jealous over that fool?" is your sassy huff before you nudge his shoulder and bossily assure, "Quit being surly and listen! Now that I know he's flirting me up for sport and to be disrespectful of our relationship, I'll put him in his place the next time he tries to fish and banter."

Cracking a smile, Javi gruffly drawls, "It might be safer to just put a ring on your finger, guapita."

Mirthfully, you laugh – obviously not even reading much into the ring suggestion being anything more than repartee, and snicker with effervescent charm, "And miss out on the satisfaction of wiping that cocky smirk from his face?"

"I'd much rather be the one to do that, with my fist," he counters with a rugged baritone that makes a little thrill skitter up your spine, combined by his dark brewed eyes pinning you with a purposeful look. "Anyway…next time I'm in the federal building for the week, we'll go meet with Mercer."

Smiling, you fold your arms along his shoulders and lean into him as you purr, "Ok, gruñón. Sounds like a plan," before kissing him sultrily on the lips.

The next morning is spent running around doing errands before heading to your apartment after spending the whole week at Javier's. You both lug everything up from your carport spot and stop at the lobby so you can pick up any deliveries from your unit's mail slot, then head into the elevator together.

"—We don't have to spend the whole week at my place, babe. I just want to tend to things I neglected," you're telling him after the elevator doors open to your floor and you both exit with everything in hand.

"I'm fine with alternating. Plus with that gala at the end of next week, it'll be easier to go there from here," Javi is assuring as you unlock the door and enter your apartment.

You put the two grocery bags and stack of mail you were carrying onto the kitchen counter. "Yeah, it's going to be at El San Juan Hotel," you tell him as you start to put away the perishable items and leave out the ingredients for the food you'd be making to take over to the barbecue in the afternoon. Rounding the counter, you kick your shoes off next to the stool and pad barefoot over to play the messages left on your answering machine before going back to the kitchen to get the big pitcher you use to water your plants.

Javier dutifully carries the big bag of toiletries he bought at the grocery store so he didn't have to keep living out of his travel bag at your place, and lopes down the hall with it. His duffle is filled with new clothes to leave at your place in hung on his shoulder, and he's carefully carrying the dry-cleaning you picked up on the way over while balancing the shopping bag. He tosses the duffle onto the bed and shifts the bag in one arm as he's hanging the dry-cleaning up in the closet, all while listening to your answering machine play through the messages down the hall.

"—Mija, hope all is well. I should be home in a few weeks, but was hoping to check in and see how you're doing. Give me a call when you can," he hears your father's deep baritone voice echo from the living room, along with your musing sigh as you close the sliding door after watering your plants in order to go into the kitchen cabinet for the pots and pans that you'll need.

"You gonna call him back?" Javi calls out as he carries the bag into the bathroom in order to unpack the toiletries.

"When are you going to call your father, mister?" you razz right back, but he can hear the grin in your voice.

"Maybe tomorrow," Javi answers, smiling at your musing singsong of a hum as he opens the medicine cabinet and places his shaving cream, razor handle and replacement heads in, followed by his aftershave. "Probably call him in the evening, since he'll likely be coming back from Sunday dinner at my aunt's," is his remark as he continues storing his shampoo and soap on the rack in the shower stall, then goes to store his cologne and deodorant on the vanity before opening the small drawer next to the sink counter in order to place the set of clippers he'd bought to trim his moustache with, along with the second hair comb that came in the packaging with the main comb he'd just placed in the cylindrical holder with your hairbrush.

But then his attention pauses on the item that's already in the drawer, making all thoughts skid to a halt.

"That sounds nice. I might wait to call mine, though," you remark out loud after the answering machine starts playing the next message.

While it does so, and you listen to the caller hesitate before hanging up – which triggers you to remember the same thing had happened weeks ago, Javier is picking up the circular plastic case from the drawer before opening it to look at the birth control pill pack within.

His heart skips a beat and adrenaline races through his bloodstream at seeing the month supply of pills was intact, save for a week and two days' worth of pills missing; the plastic confines of which were popped empty. Javi wracks his brain, trying to remember the last time he saw you reach into your purse for your contraceptives, or whenever you'd taken one of the little rounded pills with a glass of water.

Dimly, he realizes that he cannot recall a single time seeing you take the pill since he'd been on the island.

"—Hola, nena. Call me when you get this. Rafa wants our help ring shopping for Naida! Let me know what day works for you. Llámame, bye!" Zoraida's voice chipperly directs from the answering machine, which makes you smile and disregard the message before it, and for you to ignore the telemarketer message that starts to play next while you start to prepare the dishes for the barbecue.

"Oh, I forgot to ask! Do you like your potato salad with mayonnaise, or without it?" you call out as you begin to peel the potatoes while the water pot heats on the burner.

Javier is so gob smacked by the discovery of the birth control case and his fruitless attempt to find a date or label that could answer when you stopped taking the pills that it takes his brain a moment to register your question.

"Uh, without! B-But, whatever you feel like making—"

"Ellis likes his with mayonnaise, so I'll just make two; one with, and one without," you assure as you run the sink tap to rinse the potatoes.

Javi nods vacantly, still staring at the birth control, as if the little, different shades of blue pills will reveal to him the answer. She hasn't been here in over a week, so at the very least…

He gulps, realizing that didn't mean you'd forgotten to take them. After all, you'd always kept the case in your purse. The fact it was in the sink vanity's drawer meant something very different.

"Did you find enough drawer space for your stuff?" your voice calls out from the kitchen, snapping Javier out of his ruminating to hurriedly return the birth control case back to the drawer and shut it soundlessly.

You do hear the sound of his footsteps moving in the back of the hall, as if from one room to another, so you deposit the potatoes in the boiling water before striding down to check on him.

"You need me to move anything?" is your query as you round into the doorway of your bedroom and find Javier sorting through his duffle, with a few items set into stacks on the bed already.

He clears his throat before replying, "No, no I think there's plenty of room still in the drawer."

Briskly walking towards your dresser, you open the top drawer and arrange a few items more neatly so there's more storage space. "Just go ahead and use any of the empty space in these to put your folded stuff, and leave any of your shirts on the chair so I can iron them later," is your jovial instruction as you grab a hair scrunchy and quickly twist your hair up into a bun so it's out of the way while you cook.

Javi grunts in acknowledgement and hurriedly dumps the rest of the items in his duffle onto the bed so he can duck out into the closet to store the bag before you turn and notice how addled he looks. "So what time are we going over?" he asks, weighing his options on whether to confront you about the birth control pills now, or later. Or should he bring it up at all? Should he wait for you to tell him what's going on?

"I figure as soon as the food is ready and I can pack it for the drive over? So, about an hour or so?" you reply as you go to open the windows in your bedroom to have the air flow increase and cool the space. "I just want to stop at Sweet Ann Cakes to pick up a tarta de frutas on the way. Oh! That reminds me, I have to call ahead for it," is your rushed remark as you run to grab the phone from the console in the living room and do just that.

Internally swearing, Javi decides he can't bring it up. Not before the barbecue. If at all today.

So, he stews about how to eventually broach the topic while he stores his clothes in the dresser, and his mind spins up with what ifs.

Maybe she's taking a different medication…Or she just takes it at a time I'm not around?

He gulps as the next thought barrels over them all.

What if she's just afraid to tell me…that because of everything that's happened between us, she's scared to tell me she's pregnant?

Just when he feels like he's going to gnaw a raw spot into the inside of his cheek from absently worrying it between his teeth, he hears your footfalls return from the hall.

"Oh, by the way, here."

Javi turns and is surprised to see a set of keys on a hibiscus-shaped keychain ring you hold up and dangle invitingly for him to take.

"Long overdue, especially since I got your house keys without your permission, technically," is your flirty musing, expression open and expectant for his wry comment.

That warm feeling that itches behind his breastbone has him proudly taking the keys before pulling you into his arms and kissing you amorously.

You kiss him with gusto before leaning back and snickering, "Mmm, quit wooing me! I got food on the stove," and affectionately squeezing his waist before rushing to sprint back down to the kitchen with, "Keep unpacking, guapetón."

He manages to keep his anxious thoughts guarded after that, easily maintaining them while you're busying yourself in the kitchen. Then, whilst he dutifully carries the packed dishes down to the car for you while you rush to finish getting ready, he focuses on feeling proud that you trust him enough to give him the keys to your place. It helps stopping his thoughts from getting preoccupied with the what ifs stampeding through his mind while he drives you to the cute artisanal bakery so you can hurry in and pick up the cake.

"Cooking three dishes should be more than enough for your barbecue contribution, no?" he can't help ask as you unfasten your seatbelt and shoulder your purse.

"It is, but I thought it'd be nice to have something for dessert," you chime lightly before leaning over the center console to kiss his cheek. "Be right back!"

He watches you stride up to the entrance, checking out your denim short-clad ass and the way your hair sways in the wind, black tunic top with red embroidery fluttering with your movements as you go into the shop, and he lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

You'd been looking forward to the gathering for weeks, and when you'd come down to the car in the flirty ensemble, wearing one of your favorite tunic tops? Happy and vibrantly chatting away? His stubborn will cemented his decision, so he internally insisted that he keep it all in check.

Fuck's sake. Do not ruin this day, you jackass.

The mantra is on loop in his head once you come back out with the cake, and the entire drive over to the suburban neighborhood Ellis and Anita live at.

It's a quiet suburb within walking distance of many of the parks in the area, and about twenty minutes west of Javier and Steve's gated neighborhood, and as you direct him down the avenue to turn into the main entrance, he wonders to himself if soon you'll both need to go house hunting for a bigger abode.

"There, that's their place. You can park right behind that car. That's Anita's, and I'm sure she's not going to be driving out," you point and tell him, balancing the boxed-up cake on your lap.

Doing as you directed, Javi quickly parks, turns the car off, and helps you retrieve the food from the backseat.

Anita's already opening the door and hustling out to help before you've both finished closing the car doors.

"Hey, guys! Hold on, let us help. Ellis! Come out and help with the food. Oh, is this the arroz con pollo?! I told you not to go through the trouble, Celina—!"

"Ah, stop. It's no trouble at all!" you convivially dismiss as you kiss her hello on the cheek.

"Score! You brought that delicious cake too?!" you hear Ellis cheer affably as he comes over and grabs one of the totes housing the two versions of potato salad before clapping Javier on the shoulder in greeting. "You spoil us."

"Nah, that's all her," Javi chuckles and nods towards you before kissing Anita hello on the cheek and grabbing the boxed cake from you chivalrously so he can carry it in for you.

You can't help check him out as he chats with Ellis and walks towards the entrance, loving how those blue 'fuck me' jeans sculpt to his ass and his long legs, and how the soft yellow button-down shirt clings to his broad shoulders while the sleeves hike up his muscular biceps.

Anita catches your eye and wiggles her brows knowingly at you, so you stifle a giggle and nudge her to walk ahead of you.

Once you're all inside the air-conditioned single-story home, Javier is offered a beer and ushered out to the back patio where the grill is and the adjacent sitting area where Anita's parents are. After you and Anita store the food to stay warm on the stove and put the cake box in the fridge, you go out and join the boys as Javier is politely shaking hands with Anita's folks.

After greeting them as well, you dramatically turn towards your friends. "And where is the cutie?" you inquire and make grabby hands, as if to say, 'I want to see the baby.'

"Oh, come inside. She's down for her nap," Anita cheerily replies and gestures for you and Javi to follow her. "Steve and Connie should be here soon with the kids. Do you think Olivia will like the swing set?"

"I guess we'll find out," Javi drawls irreverently as he puts his beer down on the patio table, cups your lower back and ushers you through the sliding door while you both follow your friend towards the side of the house with the bedrooms.

As you walk by a credenza that's against the wall across from the space between the living room and kitchen, you notice the big flower arrangement you'd let Ellis take for Valentine's was set behind some framed photos among the pretty artisan crafts from Colombia that decorated the table top.

"Wow, those flowers are pretty," you point out, admiring how many of the blooms from the original bouquet were still thriving.

"Aren't they so lovely!? Ellis surprised me with that arrangement for Valentine's Day," she practically swoons, smiling brightly as you expertly feign like it was the first time that you'd seen the lavish bouquet.

Javier realizes that is the arrangement that was sent to you anonymously at the office, and it makes his hackles rise, knowing someone was vying for your affection with such an ostentatious gift. But, before he can comment, he notices one of the picture frames houses a photo of you and another man, stood side-by-side under what looks like the crossing of a church – with the altar in the background, and an adorable looking baby dressed in white cradled in your arms.

"Who's that?" Javi finds himself asking as he points at the tall, dark-haired and blue-eyed attractive man.

Anita squints knowingly over at you while she answers, "Oh, that's Ellis' little brother, Trevor. He and Celina are Delilah's godparents."

"Hmph," Javi hums tactfully before grunting at your wry elbow to his side.

"No te pongas celoso, querido."

"He's got his arm around you, though."

"For the picture, obviously!"

Laughing, Anita assures, "Don't worry, Javi. Trevor was interested, but Celina turned him down—"

"Anita!" you exclaim admonishingly and scoff when she innocently shrugs.

Javi showily puts his arm around your shoulders and puckishly mutters, "See? I'm justified."

"Hush, chavón. You're holding up the tour," is your quippy lilt as you loop your arm around his waist and squeeze with mischievous affection.

Getting to the end of the hall and opening the door quietly, you both follow Anita into the darkened bedroom towards the baby's crib. Javi smiles warmly when you lean down and brush the wispy curls framing her ear, smitten with how your eyes fill with nothing but doting sweetness for the little one. It makes heat bristle in his apex and something fledgling quiver in his chest.

Cautiously exiting the bedroom to not stir the baby, you all walk back to the patio while you and Anita gush about how cute Delilah is.

"—She's finally sleeping better, which is a relief. Ellis wants to take her to Sears and get her pictures done, but I think she's still too small for all that," Anita is telling you both as you walk out to rejoin the others.

"Give it a month or two, and then she should be big enough to pose for a photoshoot!" Ellis insists affably as he hands Javier back his beer before tending to the grill while remarking, "Got about an hour on the drumsticks, but the ribs are almost ready. I got a few steaks we can throw on later, too."

The doorbell chimes from inside the house, so Anita rushes to answer the front door, and returns a few minutes later with the Murphys in tow.

"What, you running on Puerto Rican time now?" Javier can help razz as he sets his beer aside and says hello to Connie before pulling out a patio chair for her.

"Yeah, right. Isabel spilled a whole sippy cup's worth of juice all over herself right as we were getting her in the car seat," Steve laments while the baby in his arm happily tugs on the front of his red polo's collar.

Since he had the baby's carrier in his other hand, Connie was carrying the diaper bag and a tote with all the potluck dishes she'd made, while Olivia carried her latest favorite dolly.

"Aww. Well you made in just in time," you chime as you kiss Steve hello on the cheek and smile at the baby before greeting Connie in the same fashion.

Ellis greets them in turn before Anita helps divest them of the dishes and sets up a spot for the carrier while you and Javi introduce the Murphys to Anita's parents.

"Mami, can I go on the swing?" Olivia asks, big brown eyes pleading as Connie hurriedly tries to brush her hair from her face after placing the heavy diaper bag down on the patio chair for now.

"Have you said hello to everyone first?" is her motherly retort as she pulls her periwinkle blouse's hem down and smoothens out her light wash jean shorts from rolling up her thighs.

Dutifully, Olivia goes up to Javi and waves for him to lean down so she can kiss him on the cheek. "Hi!" and then scampers over to do the same with you before going to the other adults and waving hello. "Can you push me on the swing?" she asks Javi after scampering back towards him from placing her dolly on a patio chair.

"Sure thing," he warmly retorts before gesturing for you to come along as he offers, "I can push you both. As high as you want."

Snickering, you joke, "Only if I get to push you later."

"Fine by me," Javi drawls charismatically.

"Sit and take a load off, you two," Anita insists amiably to the Murphys, setting out the appetizers and refreshments for everyone to enjoy.

"I wish I had a swing set at home."

"I thought you liked going to the park?"

"I do, but I wish I had a swing set and a playhouse. Some of my friends at school have them in their backyard. Do you have a swing where you live, Celina?"

"I don't, so this is fun," you reply to the little girl as you both swing along while Javi pushes you both gently, at the same time.

While you three are at the swing set, you don't realize Connie has pulled Steve's camera out from the diaper bag and silently cajoled him to switch giving her Isabel for it so he can snap a few pictures of you three having fun.

Just as Anita and Ellis are answering questions about where they got the backyard set, the sudden sound of staticky crying filters over from the baby monitor they'd set out on one of the outdoor accent tables by the sliding door. Anita goes inside to check on the baby while Ellis keeps the conversation going.

"—Lucked out today. Just sunny and breezy. Perfect grillin' weather," is his musing, sipping from his beer before asking, "Oh, does Olivia like hot dogs? I have some I can throw on the grill."

"You hungry, Olivia?" Steve shouts over at the precocious girl who is swinging a little higher than he expected. "Take it easy, Jav!"

"What? She asked to go higher," Javier retorts while Olivia lets out a conspiratorial giggle.

"Javi, más suave," you amusedly tut at him, so he chivalrously guides Olivia's swing to slow its momentum a bit, before naughtily pushing you higher. "Javier!"

He laughs and quickly takes hold of your seat to help slow the momentum for you, and you have to try to look rueful instead of exhilarated when you turn and glower at him.

"Que malo eres," you snipe humorously under your breath as you leave the swing and pinch his arm lightly.

Olivia parrots, "Javi es malo."

Grinning, you triumphantly watch Javier pout as he litigates to the little girl, "No soy malo de verdad."

"Um, what's that mean?" she pipes as she hops down from the swing seat.

"He's just saying he's not really bad," you answer for him and lean up to kiss him on the cheek. "But he was being a silly brat."

"Hmph," he grumbles wordlessly and pulls a mock frown, which only makes Olivia laugh. "Alright, let's go have snacks."

The little girl marches over to the patio table to do just that, so you flirtatiously wink at Javi and hold your hand out for him. Smirking, he takes it, and you tow him down to join everyone around the table.

Anita emerges from the house with Delilah held in the crook of her arm while she swishes the bottle of baby formula. "Amá, can you take her for me? I want to make drinks for the girls," she asks of her mother.

"Let her madrina have some face time," you volunteer and go over so Anita can hand you the baby and bottle before you sit in the vacant chair adjacent Connie.

"I'll help you with the drinks," Anita's mother offers while she gestures for Javier to sit in her seat. "Do you want anything stronger than beer, you two?" she asks of him and Steve.

"I'm fine with a beer, thank you," Steve assures, and Javi seconds with a nod before reclaiming his own and drinking from it.

"Ellis, I'll grab the hot dogs from the fridge. You watch the grill," Anita's father remarks as he follows them into the house.

While Olivia enjoys the little cheese and crackers from the snack dish, the adults around her chatter conversationally.

As everyone talks about local events, Javi watches you from across the table while you listen and simultaneously feed Delilah her bottle.

Seeing you hold such a small baby, glancing down at her every so, and smiling? It makes something primal and nurturing bloom in his chest. The back of his neck gets hot when he glances over and realizes Steve's caught him staring at you, so he sits up straighter and drinks a long pull from his beer.

By the time the hot dogs are on the grill and the tray of frozen drinks has come out to the table, you're already burping the baby, gently patting her back while cradling her to your shoulder.

"Oop, 'scuse you," you mumble sweetly to the baby when she lets out a hiccup of a burp and yawns against your shoulder. When Anita sits next to you and slides over the frozen cocktail to you, you reluctantly hand Delilah back. "Dito, she's already sleepy."

"Yeah, but trust me – it won't last for long," Anita sighs as she rocks the baby in her arms. "I made you a daiquiri, but let me know if you'd prefer a margarita—"

"Ah, no way! No tequila drinks for me," you exclaim and shake your head before sipping from the fruity daiquiri.

"Are you allergic to tequila?" Connie asks before thanking Ellis for the plate of hotdogs she begins to dutifully cut into smaller morsels for Olivia.

"No, I don't think so, but the last time I had it, I got so sick, I couldn't get out of bed for almost two days," you explain, grimacing at the mere recall. "I swore to never have tequila again after that."

Cataloguing that in his personal record of knowledge about your likes and dislikes, Javier remarks coolly to the group, "She's a Cuba Libre gal, anyway."

"Hah, remember when the fellas at Mil Group used to call you Miss Cuba Libre?" Ellis chuckles as he rotates some of the drumsticks.

"Actually, that was you and Samson who came up with that," you counter aloofly before realizing you've mentioned the former field operations analyst in Javier's presence.

"What's a Cuba Libre?" Olivia pipes up before eating a piece of hotdog she's just dipped in ketchup.

"It's a tropical drink only for grown-ups," Javier answers as he steals a piece of hotdog from her plate, popping it in his mouth and chewing with gusto while he squints goofily at her.

You internally breathe a sigh of relief at Javi's unruffled demeanor.

Since there aren't enough seats around the patio table, you get up and offer yours to Ellis once the ribs are ready and he's serving them.

"I'm going to pace myself for the barbecue chicken," you tell him as you go sit on the swing.

Javier gets up from his seat, remarking, "And I'm leaving room for the steak," as he goes over to sit on the swing next to you, eyeing you charmingly as he croons, "Still up for pushing me?"

Snickering, you go to stand behind him, and with all your might, you push him by the center of his back to get the momentum forward to swing.

The swing set protests with squeaks the more Javi gains speed, and you can't help deride, "Uh oh, I think you exceed the size limit for this, chulito."

As he swings backwards, he deliberately leans back so he can taunt in a gravelly pitch, "Wouldn't be the first time, preciosa."

You laugh in that scandalized, yet tickled way he loves before swatting his shoulder and hissing conspiratorially, "No seas fresco."

Digging his boot heels into the soft grass, he stops swinging and sits on the seat before guiding you to move around in order to swoop you into sitting across his lap.

Holding you to him, he kisses your cheek, and whispers in your ear, "I'm already doing a lot to control myself, guapita. But you're making it very hard."

The apples of your cheeks heat up at the double entendre, especially when all your friends are not even ten feet away.

You turn your head and angelically smile before pecking him chastely on the lips. "Behave, or else you're getting punished when we get home," is your murmured whisper, seductive tone not matching your serene smile.

You stand and strut back to the table, leaving Javier to pine for you before going to join Ellis and Steve by the beer cooler.

Once the rib appetizer has been partaken in, Ellis gets back to the grill to work on the next round of meat while you go with Connie inside to help retrieve all the side dishes.

Taking the baby so Anita can help hand out plates and cutlery, Ellis holds her in the crook of his arm while Steve and Javi go to the cooler and crack open another round of beers for the men.

The breeze in the shady backyard has dissipated by the time Ellis is planning on throwing on the seasoned cuts of steak to the grill, and just as he's about to ask Anita to take the baby, she's come out with them on a glass bake dish and sets it on the grill's side table.

"Ugh, the bugs are coming out now. Come, let's eat at the table inside," Anita directs, so you all collect the plates and platters to do just that.

"Ah, crap. I forgot to bring back out the barbecue and steak sauce," Ellis grumbles, quickly turning to see everyone but he and Javier have moseyed into the house already. So, without batting an eye, he pivots towards the other man and practically bestows the docile baby at a surprised Javier, who clumsily takes her in a broad-armed cradle as Ellis rushes out, "Here, hold her for a sec while I run in and whip the sauce up for the drumsticks. I'll be right back!"

At being in an unfamiliar hold, Delilah squirms and looks up at Javier, almost questioningly.

"It's ok. I got you," he tells her in a soft, cooing tone to quiet her fussing while he carefully rocks her.

Inside the house, you're just finishing pointing out to everyone which of the casserole dishes is the potato salad with mayonnaise when you hear Steve chuckle as he steps back out through the sliding door, and jokes, "She's looking grumpy there, Jav. Maybe don't hold her like a bomb that's about to go off."

You look in direction of the patio and see Javier holding Delilah while shooting a laconic look at Steve before he adjusts the way his arms are cradled to better hold the baby, nestling her close to his chest.

The sight of him standing broad-shouldered and tall, with the gentle smile on his face as he looks down at the baby when she grabs a little fistful of his yellow shirt? Watching as the nervous tension melts from his posture as he rocks the baby and chats with Steve? It makes a fluttering ache fizzle up in your core before your heart winces at the thought you've tried to bury deep.

He'd make a wonderful father. But you won't be able to do that for him.

The sting of tears threatens to crest up in you, but you take a cleansing breath and distract yourself with cleaning up the kitchen counter while everyone else is busy serving food and settling to sit at the table, chatting away.

Meanwhile, Javier is keeping his attention on the little baby while Steve peppers him with questions.

"—So you're definitely going to that gala together?"

"That's the plan."

"But you haven't disclosed it to Mercer yet."

"Nope."

"Do you plan on doing that before the party?"

"I was planning to the next time it's my turn to be at the building."

"Hm. You ever gonna get around to putting a ring on her finger?"

"…You're lucky I'm holding this baby, and can't swear at you right now."

"I know. That's why I brought it up."

Sighing, Javi glances at his buddy. "I've been thinking about it. But I told you – I've got no clue what to get her. And I feel like I gotta do a few things first before I can make the move," is his honest retort.

"Like what?" Steve asks before drinking his beer.

"Get things on solid ground between us. There's still a lot of making up I gotta do after Colombia…" is his musing, pausing before adding, "I also want to ask permission."

"…From who?" Steve grunts before asking, "Her dad?"

"Yeah. Before, when they weren't on speaking terms still, I had wanted to ask her grandmother for her blessing…but I didn't get a chance to. Now, that they've mended their relationship, I feel like I should go to him and ask," he explains, and at Steve's quirked brows, he grumbles, "It sounded like it was important, within the family. I don't want to cause friction between them, and my track record isn't great—"

"Getting the presumptive father-in-law to like you, you mean?" Steve rasps in a knowing drawl, hand shoved into his pocked while he swigs his beer with the other one.

Delilah yawns and wriggles in his arms, so Javi quips, "Even she's bored of you, Captain Obvious."

Ellis returns with his secret barbecue sauce then, so they drop the topic and strike up convo with the man as he works on the grill.

When the boys come back into the house with the tray piled high with meat a little while later, they find everyone merrily chatting while Isabel sleeps in her carrier and Olivia is wrapped in her coloring book, sat on the stool at the counter.

Anita takes Delilah from Javier and goes to check her diaper before putting her down for a nap while the buffet-style dinner commences. By the time she comes back, she sets the baby monitor on the kitchen counter and joins everyone in food and banter.

Eventually, with the kids preoccupied, the adults talk about current world events, and during coffee and dessert, the conversation turns to 'the trial of the century,' of which you hadn't been paying much attention to.

"—Whole new meaning to 'the Juice is loose,' I say. The guy is totally guilty," Ellis is wisecracking, to Anita's wry chagrin.

"Ay, you and that trial," is her chastising huff before she takes a bite of the delicious cake you brought over. "You all haven't been watching it, right?"

"Only the nightly news recaps, after we put the kids to bed," Connie replies as she sips her coffee.

"It seems like a pretty open and shut case," Steve remarks conversationally as he contemplates having another slice of the scrumptious cake.

"Do you think so?" Anita's father asks Javi, glancing at you too as he remarks, "We've heard a lot of people believe otherwise."

"Honestly, I don't know enough about it. When we get home, we're usually so preoccupied with other things that we usually only have enough energy left to watch local news together," is Javi's loaded, smug comment, to which you scoff and swat his thigh haughtily while he cockily stays reclined in his seat, with his arm along the back of your chair.

Everyone exchanges chuckles before changing the conversation to other topics.

By the end of the early evening, you're all packing up leftovers to take home before exchanging praise over the food shared, and thanking the Roses for hosting the barbecue.

"—Wanna go shopping this week? I don't have a dress I can fit in for the gala," Anita asks you and Connie as the men stow things in the cars.

"Sure. I have a dress in mind for it already, but I was thinking of getting a different pair of shoes for it," you tell them, and after some more chit chat on the way to the front yard, you all make shopping plans for after work later in the week.

Saying goodbye to everyone, you and Javier drive home to your place, warmly chatting about how nice the gathering was, and how you should all make future plans to hang out like that again.

By the time you get to your condo, you and Javi are getting a second wind, so when you walk in, you're tossing your purse on the counter and kicking your strappy leather sandals off, padding barefoot to the sideboard as you chime, "—Ah, it's still early. Want to have drinks on the balcony? It's so nice out."

"Sure," he retorts as he locks the door and slides the keys onto the bartop counter while going to store the leftovers into the fridge. As he does so, he watches you retrieve a bottle of his favorite whiskey and your preferred rum, placing them on the glass table so you can push the vertical blinds aside to open the sliding balcony door and let the cool evening breeze in. With a wry smirk, he irreverently asks, "Want me to make yours, Miss Cuba Libre?"

Biting your bottom lip and coquettishly looking back at him, you drawl coyly, "I was worried that might've annoyed you. I didn't mean to—"

Frowning, Javier walks over and cups his hands at your hips. "Hey, it didn't bother me. I was only teasing, querida," is his earnest insistence. The genuine concern in his eyes makes you pout, so he kisses your lips before taunting, "And I remember a time you swore you didn't like apodos."

Scoffing girlishly, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him back before grousing, "Yeah, well, you had your own nickname, Mister Guapo Descarado."

Chuckling ruggedly, he squeezes you affectionately before grabbing the bottles of liquor to go make your drinks in the kitchen. As he grabs two glasses from the cupboard, he glances over at you while asking unabashedly, "Who came up with that one?"

Smiling, you slide the screen door open and lean against the frame as you answer, "That was what Marisol and the girls called you. And based on all the gossip I'd heard? It seemed quite fitting."

"Great," he laconically drawls as he walks over with your drinks. "I swear. Half of the rumors were bullshit," is his glib aside, handing you the glass and fighting to keep a straight face, especially when you give him that discerning stare. "They were!"

"Ah-hah," you deadpan waggishly before sipping your drink and taking his hand to lead him out to the balcony so you can both enjoy the breeze and the tropical twilight sky over the bright Condado skyline across the laguna.

It felt nice, looking out at the view, with the whiskey warming his bloodstream, and you lovingly embraced against his side. So much so, that when the intrusive thoughts from earlier stumble up into the forefront of his mind – Shit, she wouldn't have a drink if she knew she was pregnant! – Javier almost vehemently dismisses them.

But then, the vision of you, holding the baby – of how sweet and doting you were with her nestled in your arms – digs loose that anxious pang from earlier.

"Celina…" he begins, and when you turn to stare with open attention up at him, he wavers. "I—I uh…"

Blinking curiously, you set your drink aside on the small, circular, mosaic-tiled patio table tucked in the corner of the balcony where you're standing so you can place your hands reassuringly at his chest as you ask, "What? What's the matter?"

Fuck. Real smooth. Javi grouses at himself before exhaling noisily. Deciding he has to just come out with it, he downs his glass of whiskey before setting aside on the table. Steeling himself, he breathes out through his nose before resting his hands at your waist in order to ground himself.

"Earlier today, while I was putting my stuff away, I went to put something in your vanity drawer," he tells you, and at your expression shuttering in from the mention of the drawer, he continues, "I saw the birth control case. And I looked inside…"

Your heart drops.

Instantly, your eyes begin to well with tears, and Javi is startled by your reaction, so he quickly comforts, "Mi amor, don't get upset. I didn't mean to snoop, but I couldn't help looking. It's alright. We've talked about it, remember? We'll figure it out together—"

Realizing what he's saying – that he thinks the pills were discarded in the drawer because you're secretly pregnant? It hits you hard.

You bite your lip to stop it from quivering before forcing the tears back down and out from the knot in your throat.

"Javier…it's not like that. I—I have been having problems. Since before we got back together. I…I haven't been menstruating, and for the last few months, I've been doing blood work and check-ups. The doctor told me to get off the pill, to see if that was the cause—if being on it had just prolonged a hormonal imbalance or something, but…I haven't been ovulating. It's still too early… it could be a lingering case of amenorrhea, b-but, there's a possibility that I could be…that I could be infertile."

You brace for his reaction, terrified and ashamed. So much so, you can't even hold his gaze when you say the last part.

But then, Javi cups your cheek and tips your face back up to him.

His dark brown eyes are resolute and filled with composure, and his expression chisels into that semblance that so rarely comes over his countenance, save when you're both in bed, in post-coital repose.

"Querida, I'm so sorry you've been dealing with this alone. Why didn't you tell me sooner?" When you hesitate, and your eyes fill up with tears again, he realizes why. "You thought it would change how I feel?"

The tears overflow past your lashes, unbidden, and you nod before stifling a sob into the back of your hand.

"Celina," he husks and hugs you, overcome by your reaction, and holds you tight, nuzzling the top of your hair and trying to regain his composure. As soon as he does, he finds the steady voice he needs to declare, "Nothing will ever make me change the way I feel about you. I love you. I just want us to be together, whatever way possible. Being with you, and making you happy is everything I care about. All we need is each other. To love each other, nothing else."

You sob and melt into his embrace at his words, feeling like you've been delivered by his unwavering love and grace.

"I love you with all my heart, Javi. I j-just want to m-make you happy—to make a life with you. To g-give you love and a life you want, and t-that matters—" you stammer through tears, and Javi derails your cracking admittance by tipping your face up to him.

"I have it. Right here and now. Whatever happens, we have each other. All that matters to me, is what we have," he passionately conveys, voice going hoarse as he proclaims, "I love you. Solo te quiero a ti por toda mi vida. And all I want is to be with you."

He wipes the tears away from your cheeks, his expression open and genuine as you breathlessly smile before hugging him with palpable yearning.

Feeling you tremble, Javi effortlessly picks you up and carries you into the apartment and down the hall to your bedroom.

Wanting to comfort you, he intended to just lay you down and cuddle close, but you're raw with emotion, and longingly kiss him, mewling softly into his mouth. When he claims yours rapaciously while stripping your clothes off, piece by piece, your hands hurriedly unbutton his shirt, tug at his belt buckle, and unfasten his jeans while he kicks his boots off and clambers with you onto the bed.

His warm skin and spicy scent have your senses buzzing, making you needy and wet before he's even bared you completely and settled between your welcoming thighs.

Javier shudders as your hands cling to his back while your teeth graze down his shoulder, making lust and savage desire burn through him and throb beseechingly to be inside you.

With how emotionally raw and hyper-aroused you are, the feeling of his cock notching at your dimpled entrance makes you quiver and whimper, nipples taut and tingling as he suckles hard on one and then the other. His mouth is hot and possessive as he rakes it up to trail dizzying desire through you as it charts possessively up your neck while his cock punches a deep thrust into your molten sheath before stroking all the way out and slamming back in to the hilt.

Your cry of pleasure is devoured by his mouth claiming yours, and the more he fucks into you, the more ravenous and besotted his pace becomes, until it steals his breath and he has to growl your name against your neck.

"Celina—!"

Spun up by the onslaught of sensations and feelings, you cling to him and beg, "Please, Javi. P-Please!"

The tears in your wavering whimper snap him back into control, and he slows his rapaciousness, focusing on taking you apart with the fill of his cock in your fluttering cunt while caressing your flushed features and kissing the tears away.

Voice hoarse with emotion, Javi croons softly, "I got you. Just you and me. Let go, cariño. You don't have to hold onto it. Let me have it. Nothing else matters. It's just you and me. I love you—"

That's when you do, letting go of all the angst, fear, shame, and heartache of possibly losing him. Of losing a life you didn't know you wanted for him – that you were not be able to give to him. To mourn the possibility of a life you'd never known you wanted for yourself.

When you have no more tears, he rests his forehead to yours and lets you get your bearings, focusing on your calming breath and easing trembling.

"Javi."

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

He opens his eyes and stares deeply into your glossy ones, and sees the palpable feeling you just professed shining in them.

You make love to each other, carnally honed into everything you can only say to each other physically.

The throes of pleasure speak volumes for how you feel, and when you both reach bliss together, you're unable to do anything else but curl into each other and kiss before Javi protectively wraps you up in his arms.

His heart beats strong with yours, and everything in him is at peace, knowing there's nothing else that can hurt you. That you love him enough to want to protect him from even the perceived thought that you couldn't give him a life that neither of you even knew you'd wanted until the prospect showed itself looking up at you both, with sweet innocence, earlier that day.

Knowing that you're enough – that Javi wants a life with you, regardless of any obstacles, was a salve to your raw psyche after harboring the fear for so long.

It's just us. Our love is all that matters.

As you both drift to sleep, only serenity and love fill the atmosphere for you, and the tethering feeling that settles between you helps keep hope grounded in your hearts for all that there is still to come.

The turmoil that awaits you both is nothing either of you see coming, however.

  ________________

Read Chapter 46: Chisme

Spanish-English Glossary:

Colmadito = Grocery shop; similar to a bodega; community foodstuff store

Coquí = Puerto Rican tree frogs; they croak 'coquí', hence their name

Urbanizacíon = Urbanization; housing development

Mi cariñito = My sweet little darling

Preciosa = Gorgeous; precious

No te he dado de alta = I haven't discharged you

Chavón = A man that's pestering you

Mi amor = My love

Mandona = Bossy lady

Beyako = Puerto Rican slang for horny/naughty guy; akin to "horn dog"

Querida/querido = Affectionate term, akin to expressing one's want and desire

Guapita = Sassy/foxy/daring/testy lady

Corazón = Heart; pet name to signify how deeply you love someone

Galán = Handsome gent

Malcriada/malcriado = Brat/spoiled

Marquesina = Open air garage or carport

Autopista = Freeway; highway

Pendejo = Dumbass/Jackass

Siempre a la órden = Always at your service

Puto = Fucking; male whore; slut

Congrí = Cuban dish made of black beans and rice with bacon and fragrant spices

Guapetón = Super handsome, good-looking guy

Buen provecho = Bon apetit

Arroz con pollo = Rice with chicken

Carne con papas = Meat with potatoes

Pernil = Roast pork shoulder

Pinche asesinos = Fucking murderers/killers

Cariño = Darling/sweetheart

Come, gatito = Eat, kitty

Flan de queso = Cheese flan; Latin American dessert

Perreo = Dance style associated with reggaetón; doggystyle, twerking dance

Fresco = a guy who's being 'fresh', or naughty/pervy

Chulo/Chulito = Cute guy; little cutie

Hermosa/hermoso = beautiful (female); beautiful (male)

Bebito = Little baby (male)

Te quiero, mi amor = I love you, my love

Te amo con todo mi corazón = I love you with all my heart

Bravita= Tough girl; feisty girl

Frituras = Fritters; tropical turnovers

Playas = Beaches

Suavón = Smooth talker; Smooth guy

Medalla = Popular beer found in Puerto Rico

Canela = Cinnamon

Dámelo, mi amor = Give it to me, my love

Pórtate bien = Behave

Patrona = Madam; boss lady; mistress

El campo = The countryside

Chinchorrear = Slang for going bar-hopping; a chinchorro is a kiosk or dive bar you go to have a few drinks before moving on to the next establishment

Gruñón = Grumpy man

Nena = Girl

Llámame = Call me

Tarta de frutas = A vanilla cheesecake-like cake covered in tropical fruit slices

Más suave = Gentler; Softer

Que malo eres = You're so bad; You're so mean

Javi es malo = Javi is bad

No soy malo de verdad = I'm not bad for real

Amá = Medellín way of referring to 'Ma' or 'Mamá'

Madrina = Godmother

Dito = Short for 'bendito', which is a phrase conveying hopeful lamentation

No seas fresco = Don't be fresh

Apodos = Nicknames

Guapo Descarado = Handsome Cad

Laguna = Lagoon

Solo te quiero a ti por toda mi vida = I only want you for the rest of my life

Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving a comment and sharing your feedback. I would be eternally grateful. 

[rae-gar-targaryen]

darling, how could i fear any hurricane? [qimir/the stranger x force sensitive!reader]

Summary: Neither the backwater planet you’d chosen for yourself, nor the sanctity of your own mind, is safe from the nightly visitations of your dream stranger. Is he real, or just another trick of the mind? And what of the power he promises? Desire, he’d spoken of. Desire, desire, desire…

Pairing: Qimir/The Stranger x Force-Sensitive!reader [my reader is written ambiguously, but as with all of my reader inserts are written with a Latina!reader in mind]

Warnings: 18+ please – fingering, dry humping, the brief mention of choking, Qimir being a seductive motherfucker, relatively minor smut, all things considered. The briefest descriptions of violence; reader has female anatomy.

Word Count: 5.7k of sinful soliloquy and definitely no manipulation. No, you want this power, don’t you??

A/N: Breaking my writing drought with this. I don’t know if it’s any good, and no one asked for it. But I’m glad to be sharing my writing again. Please be gentle!! Also, if you’ve ever read my Mandalorian x princess!reader fic, there’s an easter egg in here for you!

--

The verdant planet of Vorduun was known for very little – A small, outer-world, far from the shiny Core planets that boast chrome, progress, and bureaucracy. Lush plantlife, a fertile place with brimming riverbanks, and jungles teeming and thrumming to life with flora and fauna at the turn of the seasons. Off the edge of the map. Off the edge of the world. A perfect place to hide.

To lose yourself. 

And the night is stifling, to say the least. Of all the Vorduunian summers you’d endured in your self-isolation, this one had to be the worst. The months’ long deluge of spring rains had made for a stiflingly humid summer, the green jungle steaming with sticky heat. If a saving grace was to be found in the swelter, it was that the night skies were unlike everything you’d ever beheld – a far cry from the fluorescent pollution endemic of your years on Courscant. 

Tonight's Vorduunian sky is no exception – a clear expanse of rich velvet, stars like diamonds crushed into the smooth folds of the expansive sky. Twinkling and winking richly down at you through the gaping slats of the shack you now called home. 

You twist, a serpent in your own threadbare bedsheets, attempting to find comfort in the sticky summer heat of the planet, chasing the elusive promise of coolness as you flip your pillow to the other side with a huff. 

Kind of a sick game, if you thought about it. That if you weren’t running from something, you were chasing something else. 

At present? Chasing a good night’s rest. Preferably dreamless, if you were honest. Your dreams of late are plagued with all sorts of incomprehensible flashes, feelings of being watched, feverish and hazy. Your subconscious’s foreboding certainty that if you’d only just turn around, you’d be met with a face that was not your own -– the disquieting sense of something, or someone, lurking just around a corner. Sprinting down echoing hallways with promises, greatness, a warrior's oath, all just out of reach, certain that if you’d slowed your pace, whatever was pursuing you might just snatch you, an unseen stranger.

Other nights, the dreams were different – the unflinching and unchanging grin set in a mask of metalloid teeth, baring themselves at you . Of ever-watchful eyes judging, as you forced yourself through training drills. The disapproving shake of your Master’s head, his disappointment palpable and always, always directed at only you . The seizing terror of being dropped into combat with no saber – of being skewered through by an unseen shadow with a red plasma blade. Of walls closing in on you. Of the Knights whom you had once considered your friends turning their backs on you while you fought tooth and nail. Of your lungs filled with your unreleased screams – of terror or frustration, you weren’t sure – pulling you down beneath the surface of your failure until you drowned in the disappointment of others’ unfulfilled expectations. Of hands on an unseen body tinkering with phials of something, producing poisonous concoctions of sickly green that the unseen stranger dripped down your throat, pouring them past your lips with sure, warm fingers pressing on your tongue. You swore you could feel the poison upon your waking, the phantom feeling of liquid shredding your veins with horrific heat, your heart thundering. 

Other nights the dreams were different yet, still. Of shadows shedding their inky cloak to reveal hands that caressed. Of hands that held you and wiped your tears. Of thorns falling from vines – leaving what once had pricked and scratched you to now soothe with velvety softness as the vines wound their way around your wrists, tugging you into an unseen embrace with whispers of promises humming in your ears like the tufty wings of insects. And you would go willingly. Of the warm breath of another in your ear, their body warm behind you, distinct in its softness from that of the sunwarmed cliffs the two of you would watch the sunset from, just you and your unseen stranger. Of those same metalloid teeth melting into a radiant smile of brilliant white, beheld in a sharp jaw – the critique of disapproving masters replaced by his balmy, sublime approval. 

Of the tease and taste of his cinnamon lips brushing your own, the fluttering fan of lashes along the peaks of your cheekbones. Of warm, wan whispers of want , desire , soothing your ears. Of warm, fine-boned, assured hands atop your own, guiding yours in a sensuous glide along your own skin. Promises of m ore, more, more as silken lips slipped their way along the column of your throat – your hitching gasps met with his rumbling hums of satisfaction that lasted in your ears for the duration of the following day. Of the gentle lapping of water over smooth-rocked shores, a hand grasping yours with a promise of power. Yet again of more, more, more, if you’d just … Well, you weren’t sure. 

What you were sure of was that it had been weeks of these dreams. Your exhaustion was tugging at the corners of your reality, manifesting itself into silly mistakes – a slipped knife while cutting your meals, or the prickling feeling of someone watching from the dark corner of your room. At times, you weren’t sure what was real and what was dreamscape. A slow descent into madness, torment that felt justified, somehow –-

This purgatory was clearly your penance for your failure. To atone for the fact that you could never be more than what you are now – a former padawan cast out of a renowned Order, thanks in part to her own passions and propensities, roiling rages, and lilting lust. A warrior stripped of all pomp and credential. A blistering reminder of something never to be, of someone you could never be. 

And so here you were. Piteous and exiled in the jungles of Vorduun with no one other than your occasional unseen dream stranger for company. And what of tonight? Had you slept? Were you asleep? The hazy jungle heat made it impossible to tell. When your days consist of the same, tedious routine maintenance to your little corner of jungle, purely isolated, save for irregular treks to the nearest settlement to barter … And when you tossed and turned your nights away in fitful fugue states of half-awake melded with oppressive dreams – well, who was to say what was really real?  

The ghost of a touch along your exposed shoulder didn’t merit a response … Until it happened again. Causing you to sit bolt upright in bed, eyes tracking the room for any disturbance – seen or unseen. 

That prickle, so like static rippling across your skin couldn’t be the Force. No, no. It was the trickle of sweat down the back of your neck, and nothing else. What reason would you have to feel the Force here, now? 

Just another heated night, just another heated dream….

And now, were your eyes deceiving you, or were the shadows in the corner of your room were moving, swirling into shape as a well-toned arm emerges from the darkness, raised in a gesture of … peace? And the rest of him follows, stepping into the muted illumination from your single gaslamp that sputters in the corner of your room, casting his shadow along the opposite wall, sinuous and slinking as he slowly approaches. 

You spring from your bed, eyes darting to the loose slat in your floor where you housed your ill-used saber, quickly considering the relative size of your room and how many steps it would take him to reach you, arms outstretched, to snuff the life from you before you could call the blade to your hand . 

His eyes track yours, clocking the floorboard, before placing both hands up in front of him now, a plea – 

“You don’t need that,” he murmurs, taking a tentative step toward you. And whether it was the room that shrank around you both, or that was just his presence in your space – so unused to anyone but you – you weren’t sure.

“Need what?” Play dumb, and he won't have any reason to harm you, leaving you an opportunity to strike. Your favorite trick, a minor deception for a tactical advantage.

He steps into the dim, flickering light of the gas lamp, a mild smirk blooming along his full lips, the lamplight warming his skin.

“Your Jedi weapon.”

You glance once more between the loose floorboard and the man slowly approaching you, cocking your head as his features became revealed to you, your mind tickling with recognition as you noted the sharp angle of his jaw and the baleful, syrupy darkness of his eyes –

“You,” you breathe. “I know your face.”

“Do you?” His eyes meet yours, searching. 

Yes. You had a good memory for faces, and his you had seen a few times before. Your trips to the nearest settlement every tenday for the open-air market to barter what you had cultivated from the land around your ramshackle home for fruit, thread, and other goods you didn’t often come by on your own. You had seen him at a stall selling tinctures and other apothecary-type goods. You’d never approached, of course. Hadn’t had a need for burn creams or toxins. But there was no denying the swooping lock of hair that would curtain over his eyes, the sharp angle of his features. The way his eyes would track the movement of the market, hawkish, despite the seeming ineffectual haze in them…

A minor deception, you now realize. But for what tactical advantage?

“The chemist from the bazaar,” you reply.

His lips quirk at your realization – the bud of the smirk now unfurling into a full smile. 

“You’re more observant than I gave you credit for, warrior,” he stands before you now, hands still lightly held up in a gesture of peace. “That’s good… A nice surprise ,” his voice taking on an almost-purr of satisfaction.   

You pause, lips parting lightly. What could he mean by that? 

“Qimir,” he gestures to himself by way of introduction.

Qimir. Likely not his real name. Still, you ponder, an interesting choice. Qimir. Like Chimaera, something ancient and unknowable. A monstrous creature signifying the parable of illusion – the promise of something only too impossible to achieve. You wonder if he knew what his “name” sounded like when he’d picked it.

And you hope your face hasn’t betrayed your whirring thoughts as you continue your assessment, hoping to keep a sweep of neutrality across your features as you address him again.

“If you say so. Business must be slow if you’re here to rob me, poisoner. I’m afraid you’ll be sorely disappointed,” your eyes flit around the relatively bare bedroom, gesturing with your chin to the equally Spartan main room of your little ramshackle cabin. “Not much here of value.” 

He crosses one foot over the other as he takes a step to orbit you, almost swordsmanlike. As though he were preparing to duel. You mirror his step, your back to your bed now, facing your doorway. His body between yours and your exit. 

“I wouldn’t say nothing,” he brings a finger to his chin as if in ponderment. “You’re here, after all. And why would I give you my name, show you my face, if I intended to rob you?” 

“Why you do anything means nothing to me,” you bite, “and you’ll have to forgive my manners if I don’t feel like giving you my name. Leave, now , while I let you leave, Qimir.” 

His eyes sweep your form, note your weight on the balls of your feet, bracing for a fight. You probably have weapons other than your laser sword stashed away, if he had to guess . He takes a tentative step toward you, a low chuckle escaping him at the fire in your eyes, trying not to smile any wider than he has already, to give away his pleased impression of your fury. 

“I know who you are,” you blink at his statement, trying not to let the surprise show on your face. “You don't have anything to fear from me, little Jedi.”

“I am no Jedi,” you snipped, rolling your eyes at the insolence of the man before you. If he cared at all about your rude display, Qimir said nothing.

“I am more than aware of that, too,” he murmured, his voice like silk in your ears as he takes yet another small step toward you, invading your space, close enough to breathe your air, a hair’s breadth from touch.  

Too close. You flex your fingers, calling your lightsaber from its hiding place under your loose floorboard into the palm of your hand in a flash, the cool metal meeting your palm like an old friend, a sense of relief. You surge forward into Qimir’s space, pressing the hilt of the saber into his abdomen.

“If you know so much, then you also know you shouldn’t have come,” you snarl. “I don’t know if you didn't take the hint, here at the edge of the world, but I don't take kindly to uninvited guests.”  

“You did invite me, little viper,” he insists, his voice never losing its even, dulcet quality.

At your furrowed brow, he gently brings his fingertips to brush the bare skin of your wrist that’s pressing the hilt of your lightsaber into his stomach. A familiar, prickling ripple bursts across your skin, causing goosebumps to stipple your arms. So familiar. So like the feel of lips from your unseen stranger. So like the Force. 

The dark eyes that met yours in the low light of your room were familiar for more than just an observation in passing at the market. 

“Y-you,” you gasp, the realization causing your chest to seize, to clench your teeth in the wave of seething anger. “You’ve been … in my head … for months …” 

He cocks his head at you, watching the emotions process along your face. He had seen your fears and failures, your heart’s greatest desires. He had seen it all …

“The quickest way to your heart,” he reasons. “Through your head. So you’ll have to forgive my intrusion. I wanted to know you.” Sweet words meant to soothe.  

You aren’t sure if that makes it any better. Perhaps the reasoning makes it worse.

“So like a poisoner,” you level his gaze with a steely one of your own. “To try to slip through the cracks unseen. But I know the quickest way to your heart.”

“You do?” He seems surprised at your rejoinder. As if he hadn’t expected you to play. To be so quick of wit as you were of reflex.

“Between your fourth and fifth rib,” you hum, your voice taking on an almost-seductive tone – a contradiction to the reminder of you pressing the hilt of the saber into him, precisely where you mean to. 

“I appreciate a good threat. Clever,” he smiles, placating. “But there’s no need for that, little warrior. After all… I wouldn't leave you to the dark, not like they did,” he assures, brushing his fingertips against the bare skin of your wrist, so lightly you would’ve thought you’d imagined it. Using the contact to connect to you through the Force once more – your shared memories dancing behind one another’s eyes. Of your fellow Padawans succeeding while your Master only saw failure. Of the dazzlingly white smile of your classmate with the bronze skin and twists in his hair, his yellow lightsaber flashing as you drilled together, his smile fading to frown with the rest of his features as you had used the Force to push him away a bit too hard – rage bubbling to the surface – in direct violation of your training ordinances. Of your departure from Coruscant, no one to bid you goodbye, not even your training partner who had once called himself your friend.

You make to turn your head, to break contact with his dark, glimmering, all-seeing eyes. Like tar pits, drawing you ever deeper. His other hand catches your chin between thumb and forefinger, drawing you back to his gaze, an orbit you cannot escape. Would you even want to?

“And do you believe you would have belonged? The Jedi are deceivers. They deal in abandonment … cloaked in empty platitudes,” he trails his index finger along the curve of your  jawline, an almost illusory brush of his skin against yours – the whisper of a touch, as though to illustrate the point. “The wisp of a  promise, like spun sugar. Sweet, but false, their promises of righteousness. Of importance.”

Your lips part, catching the barest bit of his thumb as it does so, your eyes now searching his, seeking motive.

“And what do you offer instead? That's what this is, right? An offer?”

He smiles wider now, nodding in the barest acknowledgment. As though you’ve finally asked the right question.

“I … make the intangible tangible.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning …” his hand leaves the curve of your jaw to touch his fingertips to your temple, pressing, rendering a vision to your mind. And what Force magic was this? To make you see beyond your own eye’s sight. Foresight? An illusion? A vision? A memory? A promise or a deception?

Whatever it is, you see it so clearly – an uninhabited plant roaring with ocean as far as your eyeline can perceive. Waves lapping gently along grey-stoned shores. Moss-covered alcoves where you sit with him, your stranger, the sunset warming your skin as he caresses your face, your hair, whispering praises just beyond your mind’s own comprehension into your ear – the tone sinful, syrupy. His arms securing you in the night as you rest, no more dreams of abandonment. 

Warmth, endless warmth… as his lips trail the shell of your ear, down your neck, bestowing belief of besotted brushes of lips. Adroit affection aimed right at the heart of you. 

“Hmmm … meaning …. Your feelings, your power, your talent all working, to manifest toward something real. Something you want.” His hand leaves your temple and rests on your shoulder, taking advantage of your state of ponderment to gently guide you, ever mindful of the still-unlit lightsaber pressed to his stomach, leading away from your bed to the wall just next to the adjacent doorframe, the patient waltz of a waiting predator. He brings his hand to rest on the wall, next to your head.

“Something I want,” you reply dreamily, coming back to yourself just enough to realize what he’d said, exhaling through your nose in an indignant little huff. “In exchange for … ?”

“Tell me something,” he replies, lithely lilting around your question with one of his own, flexing his fingers where they rest on the wall. “Why are you no Jedi?” 

“I … abjured,” you admit, a bit too primly, the lightsaber now feeling like an unbearable weight in your palm at your words, the weight of choices – both your own and those of whom purported to teach you. To guide you to something greater. Was it as he said? Were their promises so meaningless? “Broke my oath,” you suck your lower lip between your teeth, pausing before daring to meet his gaze again. “I couldn’t … suppress how they wanted me to. I didn’t want to fail anymore. I was so tired of failing. So, I … abjured. I was weak.” 

Your eyes meet his once more at your admission, yours shining with unshed tears waiting to fall like stars. Shimmering promises to slip down your cheeks, unkept and unchecked. Your fingers fumbled, seemingly of their own accord, unwilling to hold the weight, the threat, of the saber against him any longer. The hilt clattered to the floor, a clanging finality to punctuate your words. And when was the last time you had been so honest, so vulnerable with another?

How … unlike you. 

“Not weak,” he cups your cheeks with both hands, fine-boned thumbs tracing the peaks of your cheeks, as though to wipe away your unshed tears. “The same as me. Power searching for its other half. An unwaning, unflickering flame.” 

Your unseen stranger, now seen, takes your hands in his, the buzz of the Force still tingling across your skin at his words, at the recognition of his power.

“You asked what I want. You want the same as me, and I the same as you. A companion . A partner. Unlike them, I won't judge you for your feelings. Won’t judge you for your power …  You want – I can feel it rippling across your skin,” he closes his eyes, cocking his head, shivering as though to illustrate the point. “... Mmm, and I want,  too. We can want together. If you'd let us.”

The flickering light of your room seemed to dim in tandem with his syrupy words, cloying and dripping like honey into golden nettle tea. The swirling honeytar of his eyes appraising you as the Force connection prickled with hazy heat between your bodies and the damnable musk of the jungle air.

You press yourself further into the wall he’d leaned you against, tilting your chin to appraise him in kind, searching for veracity in his words. Something more substantial than the “spun sugar” he’d accused the Jedi of weaving. 

As though he could sense your trepidation before it could cross your face, he placed a hand on your hip, the contact searing you through the thin fabric of your tank top.  

“They kicked you out because you feel. I'd never do that. I want you to feel … to feel power. To feel what you’re capable of. Of what it can become. Rage. Fear. Loss. Desire. Train with me, you’ll feel it all. I want you to feel it all … to feel me.”

Desire, he had spoken of. The gentle roll of his low voice over the syllables echoing perfectly in your ears. Desire, desire, desire. That desire, so  like venom snaking its way through your blood, hot and purposeful. An all-consuming burn through your blood, befitting of a poisoner as he. 

“You felt it, didn’t you? When I came in,” he iterates, somewhere south of a plea. “All. That. Power.” The hand not resting on your hip comes to cup your face once more. “I can teach you.” 

You had read somewhere once, in the Archives, about creatures on long-abandoned planets with the ability to draw their prey in through vanity. The flash of feathers. Or shiny scales. Big, baleful eyes, perhaps. Only to sink their teeth in once their intended had come too close. 

You draw in a breath, searching his pleasing face for any sign of a tell. Of the flicker of eyes that would signify deception. Of hidden fangs beneath his beautiful, full lips. Of anything that would bely his true intentions behind your Force connection. You swept your eyes across broad, defined shoulders, down toned, muscled arms exposed through his sleeveless shift. A warriors’ weapon wrapped in a pleasing package, to be sure. But … with no discernable hint of false suggestion. 

You shift your weight once more onto the balls of your feet, away from the wall and into him . Continuing your appraisal as you tilt your head, allowing the scent of his skin – the tang of sweat from the humid jungle air commingling with something sharp and clean – to wash over you. 

You invade his space now, leaning into the hand that grips your hip and the other that cradles your head, boldly brushing your lips along his with the barest hint of touch, feeling his lips smile against yours.

You whisper, your lips silken against his, “Tell me, poisoner … You seduce me with lies, is that it? You wish for me to call you Master? Forsake all else to worship at your altar?” 

You catch the flash in his eyes as the word “seduce” leaves your lips.

“I haven't lied to you,” his voice is a hum. An attempt to provide reassurance as he couples them with what he hopes is a comforting gesture. His fingers travel from your hip to trail your ribs, a partial embrace.

“Do you consider not telling the entire truth to be a lie?” 

“Have I shown you any lies? No. Just dreams. The promise of what could be. What I –,” he pauses, “– we could be. I cannot fabricate the Force, little warrior. Everything you feel tonight is you . It’s me. What more could you want? ” 

Your once-steely resolve is crumbling under the weight of his insinuation … "everything you feel tonight” –  the honey in his words sweet to your ears, you wonder fleetingly if he'd be even sweeter on your tongue. 

And he knew you, didn’t he? By his own admission, he’d seen your faults and flaws for months … your desires. And he had shown you promises, premonitions, predilections… a future of power. And if there is power in two hemispheres – one of sweltering heat, one of blistering ice. Which were you? And which was he? 

Together you would surely melt…

“No more rules, little warrior,” he sighs, “just the power of two.” He slides his lips across yours, purposeful, before capturing your lower lip between his teeth, nipping once before releasing, admiring the way your expression flickered from defiance to desire before surging forward, pressing you back into the wall as his lips capture yours.

He swallows your gasp, bringing his fingers to wrap loosely around your neck while his other hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt. 

You break from his kiss with a gasp between swollen, bitten lips. But he gives you no reprieve, his lips trailing to your neck, where he sets about pressing hot-mouthed kisses. Molten lava flooding the column of your throat, chased with the scrape of nipping teeth. Soothe and scrape. Push and pull. Give, give, give, take.  

You thread your fingers through the silken hair tucked behind his ears, tugging him from his ministrations on your neck and forcing him to meet your eyes – to see if the blaze of want you felt scorching your skin was reflected in the liquid coal, ready to ignite. 

His lips twist into a smirk at your insistent tugging; if he was at all surprised, he didn’t show it. His face the perfect picture of pleasure. 

“What would we do with it?” You inquire, “This power?” 

“Hmmm,” he pretended to ponder, suddenly scooping you, a brief lift as he crossed the short distance to your bed, seating himself with you on his lap. No concession of dominance; merely placing you precisely where he means to. To allow you to feel him beneath you. 

“What would you like to do, little warrior, hm?” His fingers flicked the thin straps of your flimsy sleep shirt, exposing your shoulders, leaning forward to trail his lips along the now-bared expanse of your shoulder, your collar bones, your neck, his eyes glancing up to watch your face as he went. “Make them pay? Take what’s yours?” 

His hands feel their way down your form, down your sides, along your hips, the skin of his palms rasping against the smooth expanse of your thighs has his fine-boned fingers make their way beneath the loose fabric of the cropped pants you sleep in, dangerously close to the precipice of your desire , urging you to move. Guiding your hips in a rhythmic glide in his lap. 

You gasp at his attentions, at the combination of his promises and the heady feel of his skin along yours, bringing your hands to grip his biceps – desperately seeking a way to anchor yourself. 

And if it’s his poison that will bring you to the edge, would you regret it? You were starting to believe you could never regret him , not at the feel of his chest pressed against yours, the toned muscle beneath your fingers. His sharp angles caressing your soft curves, replacing the lonely ache in your bones with the lovely heat of him, both his promises and his attentions.

His mouth was keyed and intentional in its work of you, with pressed kisses like flower petals blooming along the skin of your neck, followed by the scraping thorns of his teeth. Brutish and beautiful, as his fine-boned fingers crept to the inside of your thighs, rubbing along your clothed center, intensifying the ache you felt. He shifts your weight in his lap, causing your legs to spread wider, straddling him lowly as he tugs the offending fabric aside, guiding your hips into a roll over his clothed lap and his growing hardness. Manifesting his delight at the choked gasp you emitted in the form of a teasing little buck of his hips, guiding you down as he guided himself up, delighting in the sharp gasps that met his ears as he continues to sway you to his rhythm. 

“Desire isn't a sin, little warrior,” he breathes the words into your mouth, lips a hairs’ breadth apart, the better to swallow your moans. “What we feel feeds our connection to the Force, gives you strength ... If you know how. Let me show you. Touch me.” 

It was as though electricity was crackling, popping beneath your fingertips as you took his instruction and began to explore the expanse of his body, slipping your hands beneath his tunic to feel the silken heat of his firm torso, the ache within you mounting at the heady combination of the feel of his skin beneath your fingertips – so long since you’d touched another, been touched – and his hardness between the cleft of your thighs. Smoldering, low-heat burned along your skin and beneath your fingertips. Or was it his fingers that were doing the burning? It was hard to tell where he ended and you began, one arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you bodily into him, an infinite loop of power and pleasure.

As you continue to touch him, you could feel it – his connection to the force, strong, volatile, like lightning striking the ocean – crackling and formidable like the man who contained it.

And Qimir – you had long since given up trying to determine if it was, in fact, his real name – rewards you with a gift of his own, the velvet rumble of a groan of pleasure emanating from his throat at your touch. A sound of syrup and satisfaction. 

Pleased that you could garner such a reaction from a being as powerful as he, you smile, boldly meeting his lips with a kiss, opening your mouth with a gasp, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth, to taste the zip of power that he had determined in his moths of observation was just you, a torrent of citrus drizzle, bold and sweet. 

Reluctantly, he parts his lips from yours, ducking his head to tug the straps of your top down with his teeth, exposing your breasts to the heated air of the room. And if your desire at the repeated rolling of his hips beneath yours wasn’t enough to do you in, you figured this might. Bathing in the celestial feel the press his lips to your nipple, tongue swirling over the peaking flesh. Pleased at the goosebumps that erupt now in the wake of his attention. 

While he continues to tease your breasts with tongue and teeth, Qimir guides his other hand along your thighs, slipping his practiced fingers beneath your shorts, delighting in the wetness he was met with, basking  in the jolting shiver the motion elicited from you, at the friction of his fingers rubbing along the seam of you – causing you to wiggle, to roll your hips into his touch. 

And oh, as he slips his fingers inside of you, your eyes roll back, tilting your head to allow Qimir to admire the curving, elegant slope of exposed throat – prey before a predator, gasping at the pleasure he wrought. Breathless. If you thought he was teasing you before, his fingers inside of you were their own type of mocking punishment, well aware of his effect on you and the way your cunt throbs as he strokes inside of you. You could do nothing but wriggle your hips, whimpering piteously and attempting to roll your hips to follow his fingers as they work you, as this crescendo builds.

“Say you’ll be mine, warrior, and you can have it.” he promises. A new oath. One you’d never forsake. For him, you’d never turn, never abjure. Not so long as his touch made stars erupt behind your eyes, not so long as his lips dripped syrup promises down your throat.  

Kissing you once more, golden and slow, molten and revelatory as he works his fingers inside of you, your thighs parting to accommodate him. His thumb rolls repeated brushes over your clit, delighting in the starshine burst as you reached your peak, a broken little moan that sounded suspiciously like the word “master,” passing your lips in a keening sigh. 

You regard him through bleary, closing eyes and the warm, citrus haze of your orgasm as he slips his fingers from you, guiding you down to recline in your bed, stroking your hair as he does so, lulling you as a lover would. 

“Sleep, warrior,” his velvet voice meets your ears, lyrical and lilting. “I’ll be back for you.” 

And like each night before that one, his figure slips from you… as though he was never there. It wasn’t a dream, was it? It was hard to tell after months of this teasing game. After his promises built so much only to guide you to this release. 

And in the silvery light of the jungle’s dawn, you awoke with that very question on your lips, met with the sight of your saber placed gently on your little bedside table as opposed to its usual hiding spot. You wake to the sweet afterache of something between your thighs, to the scraped marks of teeth along the expanse of your neck. 

And to the promise of something – of a future of power and partnership. If only you’d be so bold as to accept it. As you eyed the saber, you recalled the prickle of his Force power along your skin, increasing with his proximity. And by the time he arrived to meet you again, you knew what your answer would be … 

--

tagging:

@phoenixhalliwell @withahappyrefrain @inklore @spiderispunk @flightlessangelwings @joannasteez @gretagerwigsmuse @kalliravenne @mxgyver @princessphilly @s-u-t @ohmagawd-life @maryannsstrawberry @themultifandompictureshow @kallista-diune @crypt-keeper-soul @monlight-prose @joaquinwhorres @bobfloydsbabe @themarvelousbee @soulores @moonyslove78 @sio-ina-bottle @theradioactivespidergwen @drew-garfi @thegirlwhowritesfics @lady-morrigen @flordeamatista @forever-rogue @aphrogeneias @withmyteeth @superhoeva @pettyprocrastination @mortwig @petcr3

[palmtreepwr]

ok on a more serious note this is actually crazy and im fully aware this is a hoyo game, so yes, "what were you expecting" is a valid statement but holy shit this happening AGAIN is just frustrating and a huge slap in the face. how are you going to take inspiration from a culture that is incredibly diverse and broad with its people, and make the characters that mirror these individuals the color of my fucking palm... come through rare beauty shade 140c

[hyumjim]

I have indeed noticed that when I pass and I am perceived as a [white] man, women tend to react to me with suspicion and fear when I am literally just standing there, and it doesn’t even matter that I am 5’2”. I guess I could easily take this personally and make it everyone else’s problem as a lot of men do. Personally I feel that having lived my life as a woman for 30 years has pretty much inoculated me to getting tilted by this kind of situation. It is very easy for me to understand the discomfort that women feel around strange men— a discomfort I have felt and still feel myself in many situations whether it is justified or not. This kind of interaction leaves me feeling bad— just not about myself, or about the woman who was afraid of me, but about the world that makes women hypervigilant. I think this is one of the unacknowledged blessings of being a trans person, we are (potentially) able to have insight and empathy for other people that a lot of cis people can’t really conceive of.

[harmoniouseclipse]

happy pri demon th 🏳️‍🌈👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

[m-kyunie]

marching forward through the Gates of Hell

[zepskies]

And So It Goes - Part 20

Pairing: Billy Butcher x OFC (Latina!OC)

Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job, and more importantly her life—or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.

AN: We’re almost to the end!

Word Count: 5,000

Tags/Warnings: Angst, peril, love triangle, a final showdown, character death, and a goodbye…

ASIG Series Masterlist

20: Father & Son

We’re probably gonna die, Helena thought, as M.M. pulled their off to a shaded side street behind Vought Tower.

Kimiko and Frenchie soon split off to get down to the lab, after Helena gave them precise directions on the best way to get there. While Hughie went to the Security control room to try and evacuate the building, Helena went with M.M. and Annie up several floors to find Butcher and Soldier Boy.

Once they got up to the upper floors, they came across a few stray Vought employees that were hastily making for the stairwell. When M.M. questioned where they were going in such a hurry, one of them answered, “Homelander’s about to fight Soldier Boy.”

Helena, M.M., and Annie continued at a faster clip down the hall, where they were able to hear familiar voices. M.M. slowed them to a stop in front of an office door, drawing his gun. Annie stepped in front of them protectively.

When she broke into the room, she raised a glowing hand. She soon dimmed it when she realized what was happening. Even M.M. stopped short, but Helena pushed through them both as her mouth fell open.

“Ryan!” she gasped.

He was with Homelander at the far end of the room. They, along with Butcher, Maeve, and Soldier Boy turned their heads at the intrusion. It was three on two, but Homelander had a loose and familial hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Ryan, a—are you okay?” Helena asked. She tried to step forward, but M.M. held her back. She glanced at him in annoyance, but he raised his brows at her.

She realized then he was just trying to protect her from making a potentially dangerous move forward, even though he was probably still angry at her. She was grateful, but still worried when she met Ryan’s blue eyes.

“I’m fine,” Ryan answered, though his voice had a slight shake to it. He seemed happy to see her (as happy as he could be in a moment like this), but Homelander’s hand kept the boy from taking a step forward. Helena softened, her heart aching. Homelander must have found him…and taken him.

She glanced at Butcher next. He was eyeing her in what the bloody hell are you doing here sort of way. She gave him a look he ought to know well. 

For you, you idiot. But her focus shifted back to Ryan.

Without Helena realizing, Ben’s gaze had drawn to her—at her panic-stricken face when she saw the boy with Homelander. Now that he knew who Ryan was, it made Ben look at her harder. She’d known what she was doing when she kept that information to herself, about her best friend’s son. His grandson. But Ben also begrudgingly understood why she kept that secret.

She was an idiot to come here though. His mouth firmed in a line when, unbidden, something she’d told him filtered back through his mind, on that first late night in her home.

“Why’re you up, anyway?” Ben asked.

“Well, I could blame it on the pain,” she replied, after downing two pills with her water. “But um…I keep replaying yesterday in my head, over and over like a bad movie. It always stops at the part where I look up at Homelander’s psychotic fucking eyes, and I just…I knew.”

Helena shook her head. Ben’s lips tugged downward.

“Knew what?” he asked.

“I’m officially on his hit list now,” she said. 

And the way she couldn’t help but look at Homelander in fear, like the supe was some kind of monster… Ben couldn’t help thinking (deep down), would she say the same of him?

“Don’t you see?” Homelander said. Once again, he commanded the attention in the room, even though it was Ben he was talking to, as if all the others didn’t matter. They were just specks in the realm of his existence.

Homelander smiled. “You have a family. You have him, and you have me.”

He nodded at Ryan, his hand tightening a fraction on the boy’s shoulder. Ben saw the kid tense up a little. Ryan’s eyes shifted from Homelander behind him, to Ben. And then beyond him, to Helena, and even Butcher. He wasn’t sure where he wanted to be, and Ben saw it.

Deep down, he could relate.

He stared back at Homelander, this thing that should’ve been his son. Ben’s lips quirked, and he stepped forward.

“It’s a shame that I’ve missed so much,” he said, in the face of Homelander’s burgeoning tears. “I wish I could’ve raised you, and taught you, father to son.”

“That’s okay,” Homelander whispered. “We’re not alone anymore. We have each other.”

Ben’s smile became more dry. He grasped Homelander’s shoulder. “Maybe if I’d raised you, I could’ve made you better. And not some weak, sniveling pussy, starved for attention. But there’s no fixing that now.”

“Weak?” Homelander echoed. His expression had dropped from tearfully hopeful, to shocked, and the beginnings of anger. “I’m you.”

“I know,” Ben said, hating the way his lips actually trembled at the admission. “You’re a fucking disappointment.”

He grabbed at Homelander’s face, tilting his laser eyes back. Butcher and Maeve came up on either side to secure the supe, but Ryan protested.

“Ryan, get out of the building, now!” Butcher told him. Still, the kid pushed back to try and help his father.

Helena broke away from M.M. and Annie in their shock to go to Ryan, but M.M. reacted at the last second to grab her arm.

“Let go of me!” she whipped back. M.M. stared down at her incredulously. She was human, the same as him, but unlike him, she wasn’t a fighter. She didn’t even have a weapon on her, let alone one that would work on Homelander or Soldier Boy.

“Are you crazy?!” he asked.

“Are you?” she retorted. She twisted out of his grip and managed to slip away from him.

By the time Helena turned back to the scene before them, Ryan’s eyes were glowing red.

He shot a laser beam right at Soldier Boy, knocking him through the far wall and onto his ass. When he got up, shaking rubble from his shoulders, he clearly wasn’t happy about it.

Fortunately, Helena reached Ryan just as Ben took a few intimidating steps forward.

“Ben, stop!” she shouted.

And it actually halted the supe’s steps. His brows were furrowed and his lips were pulled into a frown. His gait was tense, but she held her ground with her arms wrapped around Ryan. The boy’s fear made his eyes dim back to their normal hue as he glanced up at her, and then back at Soldier Boy. She was able to slowly tug Ryan behind her. 

“Please, don’t hurt him,” she said. Her tone was pleading, a hint unsteady. If he really wanted to get to Ryan, he’d have to go through her first.

Ben knew it…and found himself conflicted.

Meanwhile, Butcher had been mostly distracted with trying to help Maeve (and now Annie) keep Homelander held down. Now, he realized just how much this was all about to cost him. His eyes widened when he saw Soldier Boy’s threatening stance.

“Helena!” he called out, just before Homelander broke free. He punched Butcher down with a crack against his face. V24 was coursing through the man’s veins, allowing him to take the hit and deliver one right back.

“Scorched earth, eh William?” Homelander taunted. His red-hot gaze glanced in Helena’s direction. Butcher sneered and landed a blow right between the supe’s eyes.

Helena and Ben shared one last look.

Finally, he relented. He turned away with a surly frown, jumping back into the fray with Homelander. That was his real target, and she was grateful, blowing out a relieved breath before she turned back to face Ryan.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked.

She set her hands on his shoulders. “That’s my line, bud. Come on, let’s go.”

He resisted when she tried to pull him away from the warzone happening far too close for comfort, in an office that was not meant to contain a whole five-on-one super battle.

“No!” Ryan refused to move, shirking her grasp. “Homelander…he’s my dad. He cares about me.”

Helena let out a shaky breath. She laid more gentle hands on his arms.

“Ryan, he’s using you,” she said. “Whatever he told you, maybe he believed it…but I doubt he’s truly capable of caring about anyone but himself.”

“No, that’s…that’s not true,” Ryan shook his head in protest. When he pulled away from her, she tried to hold onto him a bit tighter so he wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire of the battle. M.M. saw them both and was trying to get around the danger zone himself to help them, but Ryan wasn’t helping Helena at all.

In fact, he broke away from her with such strength, he actually pushed her to the ground. She gasped at the impact when she fell. Not just at the shock of it, but at the pain; it disrupted her still broken ribs…which she’d ironically gotten when Homelander shoved her into a wall back at Herogasm.

Fuck, she sucked in a pained breath. She also saw the shock and dismay cross Ryan’s face. He hadn’t meant to push her that hard, to hurt her. She knew it when she saw that look.

She held up a hand to him, “It’s okay. I’m okay—”

 But in his guilt, Ryan backed away from her. He bolted out of the enclosed office and towards the rest of the fight that had finally moved into the other room.

“Ryan!” Helena called, even as he was escaping her. With difficulty, she got back onto her feet.

She was startled half out of her skin when Ben was flung into a nearby wall, making her scream and duck for cover as debris and office supplies exploded as a result. She took another painful spill across the floor. And rolling out of her inside pocket of her jacket came a small, green vial of V24.

Her eyes zeroed in, just before her hand closed around it. She dragged herself off the floor and back onto her feet, and then towards Ben, who was growling and shaking the dust off. He was prepared to head back into the fray, where the rest of them were still fighting Homelander. Ryan was hovering at the edge, scared and worried, no matter who got punched or tossed.

That’s it, Helena thought. Fuck it all.

“Ben,” she said raggedly, earning his attention. “Can you do me a favor?”

She went to him and offered him the tail end of a syringe she’d been storing in her other pocket. It was a miracle that it hadn’t broken in her tumbles.

 “Out of the fucking way,” he barked, after he eyed her in irritation. Clearly, I’m busy, his face suggested.

She took one of the biggest chances of her life and grabbed his arm.

“Please! I need your help,” she said.

He looked down at her through furrowed brows, asking a silent question with his eyes. Why me?

Her hand was shaking. She really just couldn’t bring herself to inject her body full of poison…but she had to.  

“I don’t want to be anyone’s weakness. I don’t want to be collateral damage,” she said. “But more than anything, I’m sick of being afraid.”

She grabbed his hand and put both the vial and the syringe in it.

“Goddamn it, Ben, just do it!” she said, through tears.

Gritting his teeth, he grabbed her arm, found a vein, and did his best to inject her correctly. But when that vile shit hit her system, she nearly collapsed.

“Fuck,” he muttered, but he kept her upright. She shuddered, her eyes briefly closing. All the while, Ben’s grip remained steady. Inside, however, he didn’t know why the fuck he was doing this. 

It felt too close to being soft. But maybe it was because a part of him, deep down (a part he didn’t want to think about), wanted to prove he was still some kind of hero. Or maybe, it was because he felt like he was repaying a debt.  

When the pain subsided, her body hummed with chemical electricity in her blood. She breathed through it and nodded.

“Thank you,” she said. After a short hesitation, his hands fell from her. Ben responded with a nod.

He turned on his heel and was about to head back into the battle fray, but was hit with a star bolt. It pushed him back a few feet but didn’t bring him down. His head snapped up with annoyance. Helena looked over with wider eyes to find Annie, now joined by Frenchie, Kimiko, Hughie. M.M. sideswiped Helena, forcing her out of the way while Kimiko and Annie surged forward against Ben.

With the temporary V coursing through her veins, Helena was finally strong enough to push back against M.M., making him stumble. He stared back at you in surprise.

“Are you on V?” he asked. “Did you just shoot the fuck up?”

Her lips pursed. She couldn’t deny it, nor would she.

“You know it’s fatal after a few doses, right?” he said tersely.

Helena’s eyes widened. She looked over at Butcher, who was still fighting Homelander and taking hot lasers to the arm, blocking his face.

She didn’t know how many doses he’d taken, but she could hazard a guess.

Too many.

Ben startled them both by tossing both Annie and Kimiko at opposite ends of the room. He stalked forward, ignoring her and M.M. in order to get to Homelander.

M.M. tensed up, like he was about to follow the supe, but Helena grabbed his arm.

“Look, I know what he did to you, but let him at least end Homelander, for fuck’s sake!” she snapped.

“Do you want the entire building to blow the fuck up?” he shot back. He gestured over at Ryan, still huddled against the wall. “Try to get him out of here first!”

On that, they could agree.

Just then, Homelander tore through the room with his laser vision, regardless of who or what he hit. When the beam swept across the middle and went for Ryan on the other side, Helena ran to him and had them both dive for the ground. She protected his head.

Meanwhile, Butcher grabbed the supe by the cape in attempt to bring him to heel. Ben came up on the other side and pinned him down to the ground while Homelander fought both of their holds.

Ryan turned onto his side after Helena raised off of him. He looked up at her with wide eyes, but there was guilt behind them, lingering from when he pushed her.

“Why…why are you and Butcher here? Why do you hate my dad?” he asked. His voice was so small and upset, it made tears well up in Helena’s eyes.

“I’m here because I care about you,” she said. “Homelander’s not your father. Not really. He’s the reason you and your mom were alone for all those years. He’s the reason she couldn’t be with Billy, and why you had to grow up alone. Your mom was protecting you from him.”

Tears stung at Ryan’s eyes as well. He bit his lip and shook his head; he didn’t want to believe her.

“You’re wrong,” he said tremulously. “He’s…he’s not mad at me for what happened to Mom. For…”

Helena had to try and swallow past a tight ball of emotion. She was about to respond when an iron grip tangled in her hair and grabbed her up. A shriek tore from her throat as she was yanked to her feet and almost off the ground. Her hands flew up to claw at Homelander’s.

Ryan’s eyes flew wide again. He scrambled onto his feet as well and faced his father.

“Stop!” he pleaded. “Don’t hurt her!”

Homelander tilted his head at his son, with a grim set to his face. “Don’t you see? They’re all cockroaches. They’re mud people. Ryan, they’re not like us.”

V24 didn’t take away her fear, Helena realized. It just magnified what was already inside. 

“Leave him alone, you son of a bitch,” she hissed, regardless of the terrified, angry tears burning in her eyes.

Across the room, M.M. stared down at Butcher angrily. It was hard to maintain it when the other man had just saved him from getting pounded with Soldier Boy’s shield, but M.M. had a high threshold of “Fuck you, Butcher” leftover. 

Despite that, M.M. helped Butcher pick himself up from the rubble. Then he noticed something else. 

“Butcher,” M.M. said sharply. Butcher followed his gaze and landed on Homelander; he saw the supe’s killer grip on Helena’s hair, with Ryan pleading at him to stop.

Butcher’s eyes widened. He called her name from across the room. 

Slowly Homelander’s head turned. 

He smirked. The kind of manic smile that said he’d get to have his revenge twice. 

His eyes took on a red, glowing hue.

But a violet haze surged from Helena’s hands, not only disrupting Homelander’s concentration, but forcing him to let go of her entirely. It was a forcefield that threw him back across the far wall.

She stumbled to her feet and would’ve fallen if Ryan hadn’t reached out to steady her. She gave him a grateful smile, and she let her arm fall around his shoulders.

Butcher was shocked, relieved, and angry all at once. 

When and how the fuck did she take Temp V?

Despite the look of surprise on most faces in the room, Ben was the only one who remained stoic.

Homelander peeled himself from the wall with a growl. He stalked forward, but he was met with Butcher stepping in front of Helena and Ryan. 

Butcher blocked the first punch Homelander threw. He just couldn’t avoid the second brutal one that cracked against his nose. Homelander twisted his arm and wrenched, until Butcher was forced almost to his knees.

“You may be hopped up, but you’re just a try-hard, dick-sucking groupie,” Homelander taunted. “Real power is—”

Ryan stumbled forward and pushed Homelander hard in the chest, enough to make the other man’s grip on Butcher loosen. Ryan moved to stand in front of Butcher and Helena.   

“Son?” Homelander asked, with wide, confused eyes. 

All the commotion in the room paused. Even the fight against Soldier Boy came to a standstill, including Maeve, who was sporting one eye and a bloody hole where the other used to be (courtesy of Homelander). She propped herself up against the wall and watched Homelander intently.

Soldier Boy watched as well. If he lit up the nuclear power in his chest now, he could make Homelander powerless. But…it would be hard to control it in here. He glanced at Butcher and Helena kneeling on the ground. She’d come to his side and was propping him up, just as his arm was around her protectively. 

I don’t want to be collateral damage, she’d said.

Meanwhile, Ryan was scared with tears in his eyes, but he held his ground against his father with determination. 

“Stop,” he said. “Please just stop.”

Homelander couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His own son was protecting the one man he hated most in this world. 

“But…why?” he asked incredulously. “I’m your blood. I’m…I’m your family.”

Butcher grabbed Ryan’s jacket.

“Ryan, don’t,” he said. Ryan looked over his shoulder at them, at Butcher.

“It’s okay,” he said.

Butcher didn’t entirely know what that meant, but he couldn’t help but marvel when the kid turned back to face his father.  

“I understand you, Ryan. Better than anyone,” Homelander said earnestly. He probably even believed that.  

Ryan lip wobbled with emotion. He hadn’t realized it, not until Homelander grabbed Helena and threatened to kill one of the only people who’d ever been nice to him. Ryan saw it when Homelander had turned to Butcher next, with something evil in his eyes.

“You’ve hurt everyone I care about,” Ryan realized, with a small gasp of a sob. “You…you hurt my mom.”

Homelander’s eyes soon became glassy, angry, and insane.

“I think you took the fucking cake on that one, sport,” he retorted. 

Ryan flinched. Tears poured down Ryan’s cheeks as that blow cut into him. 

But he instinctively let those emotions fuel him. He hovered above the ground in flight, almost eye-level with Homelander. His eyes glowed red. 

Homelander smirked through unshed tears. He supposed it was fine; he’d been prepared to rule through fear before. 

You don’t need anyone, that voice deep inside whispered. Not even Ryan.

And here, Ben finally saw his chance. 

“Hey, Real Power,” he snarked, just before he grabbed Homelander by the edge of his cape and headbutted him. After throwing him off balance, Ben kicked him into a glass coffee table, making it shatter. He continued forward and grabbed Homelander by his collar next. 

Then he began to charge up that nuclear power in his chest. Homelander grabbed his arm and tried to twist out of his grip, but Ben held on in determination. Maeve helped him by kicking out Homelander’s knee. She and Ben briefly shared a grim look. 

“We could’ve taken on the whole world,” Homelander gritted out. Ben smirked. 

“Maybe. But I never took well to sharing the spotlight,” he said, and threw another punch that snapped Homelander’s head back. All the while, his chest continued to illuminate and become impossibly hot. 

If Ben let go of his power now, he could end Homelander for good. But if he did, he’d probably level the whole block. He glanced over Homelander’s shoulder. Butcher held both Helena and Ryan, waiting to protect them from the impending blast. 

Butcher kept Helena close with an arm around her waist. Deep down, Ben reluctantly felt a twinge of jealousy. Until Helena peeked up fearfully and found Ben’s eyes. Even with the power V24 gave her, he doubted it would do them much good. 

With that brief distraction, Homelander broke free with an angry shout.

“Goddamn it,” Ben growled. 

While the other supe tried to fly backwards to save himself, Ben rushed forward and leapt, grabbing the supe in mid-air. They both crashed through the far window out of the Tower.

Ben blasted him with everything he had.

Homelander tried to fight off his hanger on, but the power behind the blast disrupted his own, including his flight.

And from that great height, Soldier Boy and Homelander fell. Whatever wasn’t contained by the two of them grappling hit the rest of the Tower behind them.

Inside the building, Helena managed to draw up a forcefield that protected them all from the initial blast. Whatever she couldn’t cover was eaten away, leaving a giant hole in the side of the building. Butcher looked up at the violet haze, then at her with consternation.

“Oh, don’t even,” she snapped at him. “One dose of Temp V won’t kill me.”

His lips pursed, but he still helped her up to her feet, along with Ryan. Helena checked the boy to make sure he was all right. She brought her hands up to his cheeks and held his face.

“You okay?” she asked.

Ryan smiled a little a nodded. “Yeah.” 

She smiled back. “Good.”

Butcher’s lips twitched. He laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder, but he also moved a hand down to the small of Helena’s back, earning her attention. For a moment, their eyes met. That look was charged with unspoken meaning, cutting through things like, “I told you so,” and “What were you thinking?” And, “You ass.”

But the common denominator of it all was this.

Butcher tugged her close for a hard kiss. His beard was rough, his grip was tight, but his lips were tender. She responded in kind, gripping the shorter hair at the back of his head and matching his passion with her own.

He pulled away after a moment, meeting her eyes with a silent request. She held his cheek, and she nodded. Later they would hash the rest of this out, but for now, this was enough.

Butcher then turned to Ryan and took a knee in front of him.

“You don’t hate me anymore?” Ryan asked, in a small voice.

Butcher sighed, wiping a hand over his tired face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “for what I said last time. What happened to Becca, to your mum…it ain’t your fault, son.”

Ryan’s eyes glistened with tears. He sniffed, and Butcher squeezed his shoulder. 

“Look, kid. I’m not a good man. Christ, you’re already a better one than me. But, as long as you want me around…I’m here for ya.”

Ryan hugged him. Butcher was surprised by it at first, but slowly, he let himself hug Ryan back.

Helena teared up and laid a gentle hand on Butcher’s back. Hughie even came up on her left to nudge her shoulder. She smiled and patted his arm back. The others, though battered, bruised, and in some cases bloody, had gotten back on their feet. 

“Butcher, we gotta go,” M.M. reminded him. “Homelander and Soldier Boy damn dear exploded the block down there.”

Homelander’s crash landing had created a crater inside the ground outside of Vought Tower. Coils of smoke came off of his body, as most of his uniform was burnt off, along with a good part of his neck and torso. 

Butcher stood over him, creating a shadow that Homelander couldn’t escape. Homelander opened his eyes wide, as if to laser him, but nothing came out. 

His eyes widened in shock this time. “What the fuck…” 

He crawled out of the crater, his uniform in tatters. He managed to stumble to his feet and throw a punch at Butcher, who easily dodged. 

The blast had done its job. Homelander was a powerless mess. That realization dawned on the man, and soon had him frothing at the mouth in disbelief. Butcher pulled out a gun from his belt, a formerly useless gun, and shot Homelander in the head. Right between the eyes. 

Homelander’s body fell to the ground, just as Helena came out of the building with Ryan. With a gasp, she shielded the boy’s eyes.

“Don’t look,” she told him. Ryan allowed himself to bury his face against her chest, biting his lip as a few tears escaped and soaked into her shirt.  

Grace Mallory showed up minutes later with two SUVs of CIA agents for the cleanup—not only to set a perimeter around the crater, but to take Homelander’s body. Helena had Mallory steer Ryan away, though she promised to check on him soon.

Helena was going to join where Butcher, M.M., and the rest of them had gathered next, but she noticed something. There were drops of blood leading away from the crater, into a nearby alley.

With suspicion churning in her gut, she followed the trail into the alley. By now it was still dark outside, even with the sun starting to peek out from between the city skyscrapers. The deeper part of the alley was still cast in darkness.

A hand shot out and grabbed her by the waist, at the same time another covered her mouth. She gasped and was about to scream, when she came face to face with Ben. He shushed her.

She frowned at him with furrowed brows.

“Ben?! What the hell?” she hissed between his fingers and tried to pry them off. He eventually let her go. He still had a supe’s strength, so she could assume that the blast had only taken away Homelander’s powers, not Ben’s.

“What are you doing?” she asked, both incredulous and annoyed. “Are you okay?”

He gave you an amused smirk. “I’m fine.”

He hadn’t been sure what she would do when she saw him. Ask about his wellbeing wasn’t it, but it had smugness welling up in his chest. It seemed like she didn’t hate him too much after all.

“I know all about the Mob Squad’s genius plan to gas me up and stuff me in a goddamn box,” he said, less pleasantly. “That’s not fucking happening.”

Helena’s lips pursed. “So what are you going to do?”

Maybe she didn’t want to see him in a box either, and maybe he’d just done the entire world a solid by taking out Homelander, but that didn’t mean Ben wasn’t dangerous all on his own.

“I’m taking my well-earned vacation,” he said. His smirk deepened. “But two tickets to paradise could be arranged.” 

Helena sighed with a smile, shaking her head. 

“I don’t think so, Ben,” she said, though she tilted her head at him. “You could be a real hero, you know. If you did the work.”

He stared down at her for a moment. He eventually quirked a grin. 

“A lot of your friends would call that a lost cause,” he said.

“Prove your father wrong. Prove me right,” she said, raising a brow. “I dare you.”

“Hmm,” Ben said. He considered her as his smirk softened slightly, into a more sincere smile.

Instead of answering her, he slid a hand around her waist and pulled her flush against him. She gasped and held onto his arms on reflex. It gave him the opening he needed to steal a kiss.

Helena was too shocked to heed her first instinct, which was to slap him in the face. 

He soon pulled away, giving her another familiar smirk at her angry, blushing face. 

But after he stroked her cheek and finally let go of her, she realized that this was a goodbye.

“Maybe next time, sweetheart,” said Ben.

He backed away from her, deeper into the darkness of the alley. She couldn’t see him well, just the outline of his broad form, but she thought she heard the last bit of his voice.

“Goodbye, Helena.”

And then he was gone.

AN: Sigh. Thus ends Homelander, son of no one. How did you like Ben and Helena's goodbye? 😂

We're at the end, folks.

Next Time:

When his gaze found hers, they didn’t need words.

They were home.

His head bowed to greet Helena with a kiss, languid and unhurried.

His hand moved under the sheets to slip under her silky top, splaying across her lower back. Her arm twined around his neck in turn, her fingers slipping into his dark hair. Hers was already wild this morning; it both tickled his arm and fanned across her pillow.

She nipped his bottom lip and earned a pleased sound from him, deep in his throat. But before he could roll her onto her back, they heard quick footsteps coming up the stairs.

Butcher groaned, dropping his forehead onto her shoulder. But a smile twitched at his mouth.

“Incoming,” he muttered.

Keep Reading: Epilogue

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[panthermouthh]

latin has been going very well, i've been learning something new every day, still language learning really is a slow process ;;

[the-crazy-echidna-lady]

Any form of Talus makes me stupid happy

[furious-rogue-stuff]

Heat Chapter 44: Deserving - Part 1

I assure you, I did NOT intend for there to be such a long hiatus since the last update! Life got ridiculous for a while. Hopefully this massive chapter makes up for the wait!

Pairing: Javier Peña x OFC | Javi x Querida

Disclaimer: Written in 2nd person narrative, you can safely assume our heroine and love/lust interest is a Latina, written by a Latina. Here's my philosophy on my writing, for further context.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 26,000+

Summary: While Javier's work spins up, preoccupying him, you try to keep your worries after several perplexing occurrences from towing you down into uncertainty. Can you both keep each other feeling grounded and deserving of the hopes you both care to nurture together?

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of sex, including masturbation and unprotected sex. Mentions of raunchy sexual acts, sickness, longing, stress, and fertility worries. Descriptions of power play, praise kink, and dirty talk. Allusions to jealousy, family strife, foreboding threats, and uncertainty. Some Protective!Javi, Dom! Javi, Bossy!Reader. In the vein of Narcos being a bilingual show, and Javier Peña being fluent, I felt it was apropos to include Spanglish and Spanish throughout.

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Previous chapter - Chapter 43: Still

Chapter 44: Deserving - Part 1

Since the 1980s, Puerto Rico had grown into a major gateway to the U.S. for South American drugs. Within the first few years of the early 1990s, though, the small archipelago and U.S. territory functioned as the Caribbean's drug-smuggling hub. The administration in Washington D.C. ranked Puerto Rico and the nearby U.S. Virgin Islands as second to Mexico, in being a corridor for drugs coming into the United States.

With stats like that, and a precarious rise in violence and social ills associated with the drug trade and trafficking on the island, it was no wonder that the federal government had established a larger footprint in the region, encouraged especially by the Partido Nuevo Progresista being the current party in power. The Puerto Rican governor, Pedro Roselló, was a pro-statehood politician who'd been voted into power with lofty promises of curbing the waves of crime and violence, and collaborating with the federal government to get aid and better opportunities for private industry to the island of 3.6 million people.

His Mano Dura initiative was one that will be studied for decades to come. Beginning as a zero-tolerance policy program to combat crime, that some say had the opposite effect when it came to bettering the social standing of the working and poor classes on the island. It included the enactment of policies that increased sentencing periods, reduced rehab-focused initiatives for criminal offenders and promoted aggressive, more proactive – and often invasive – policing tactics. Public safety was touted as the preeminent concern – borne out of the fear and public frustrations across all facets of Puerto Rican society regarding the skyrocketing incidences of carjackings, hold ups, drive-by shootings, and murders fueled by the drug trade.

For all the militarized tactics, most glaring being the use of the National Guard to infiltrate and police public housing and high-crime neighborhoods throughout the metropolitan municipalities on the island, the murder rate only kept rising.

Javier had poured over the data, and saw how crime had exploded on the island as soon as it became a hub for drug trafficking into the U.S. and Europe. It used to be that robberies and the occasional assault were the worst crimes in most towns on the island. But just the year prior, there were 980 homicides on the island, setting a record – with one of the worst massacres reported occurring in a small town west of San Juan. More than 60 percent of the killings were drug-related. And drug-related violence was only getting more pervasive – indiscriminate of victims or the collateral damage.

Needless to say, Javi was done with the crash course phase of things, and wanted to really wrap his arms around the facts at hand. Sadly, the murder and mayhem had no face – no figurehead to pin the wave of crime on, so he was left to pull at threads in the stats and data to try and find the source. Of course, though, he and Steve had their mandate: stopping the flow of drugs, especially of the 10 to 20 percent that ended up remaining in the island for local consumption, creating a criminal industry that smuggles and stores the product, launders money, operates the retail puntos and foments the violence to prevail over competitors. Well, at least that was Javi's goal, since stopping the all-out flow of drugs into the U.S. was a fool's errand.

Getting the DEA running without being as heavy-handed as the National Guard patrolling known points had been difficult in the past, but he and Steve had come up with different tactics and enforcement plans. Organizing everyone, and getting them the necessary training, and into the field office was their current hurdle, one that kept both agents busy.

Working to get the field office set up, splitting travel to and from the U.S. Virgin Islands, being briefed on joint task force operations, and dealing with federal officials assessing their budgetary requests had been occupying a lot of their time. There just aren't many moments for either of them to concentrate on non-DEA-related things longer than the cursory conversations or plans you and Connie make for dinner hangouts, surface 'how was your day' chats, or simply wanting to be in the moment when intimacy was possible. So, having the intuition to ask 'what is wrong?' wasn't in the cards currently.

You commiserate with Connie about it. Between the two of you, though, you don't feel like you have any concerns – you don't feel neglected or burdened. After all, she's the one juggling a full-time job at the V.A., taking care of Isabel and Olivia, and fitting in time to tend to the house. If anything, you feel pretty centered, compared to how things had been before reconciling with Javier.

It's all perspective, and you are a great sounding board for Connie as much as she's a reassuring voice of reason – and a fount of knowledge for living with a stubborn DEA agent.

Really, you enjoy having someone who understands what it's like to be in love with a tenacious, committed and selfless man who throws himself into his work head first, then thinks about the toll that takes much later. As far as you're concerned, it all is put into perspective. So not telling Javier – or anyone – about the threatening note you'd received via a pink carnation bouquet delivery to your condo building, makes perfect sense to you.

Sure, you'd rushed down and asked the attendant specifics – 'Who delivered it? Did they mention the sender at all? Are you sure it was meant for my apartment?' – and gotten no answers or evidence that would help identify the culprit, let alone a means to track possible suspects, had unnerved you. But you just didn't think it was anything worth mentioning to Javier. You didn't want to alarm him when you weren't really sure it was even meant for you or not. No, it didn't seem credible enough to set off unnecessary stress and panic. So, you didn't.

You'd thrown the flowers out, and stored the card into the drawer of the console in the living room.

When Javier had spent the night at your place the following evening, you'd already shoved it to the back of your mind.

He was none the wiser, and you'd enjoyed relaxing with him in bed after stripping each other of your clothes and making passionate love while the air conditioning kept your warm bodies and the room cool.

He'd been beat from work, so much so he'd practically fallen asleep in mid-sentence about his hectic day.

Things for your department were equally busy the next couple of weeks as well with a major server expansion across departments and agencies occurring in stages, so you held no umbrage at the juggling of free time happening, since you were also focusing on your work projects.

The nights he'd work late, you were content with a quick 'goodnight' call and making plans to have a coffee, or lunch date some time the next day. Whenever you both ended up being at the office after hours, due to working late, Javier and you would carpool together in your sleek sedan to his place to spend the night together, and he'd catch a ride the following morning with Kike either to the field office or some task force meeting at the Federal Court Building.

And dinner with the Murphys had seamlessly become a once-a-week routine during this period as well, which was much-needed for blowing off steam and socializing outside of work.

This week's dinner was Saturday night, and it had been wonderful, but not without a lot of chatter between Steve and Javier regarding the drudgery still to come. During this kind of shop-talk lulls, you and Connie would exchange musing looks before leaving the fellas to it, preferring to entertain Olivia and the baby over idle chatter. This time, the precocious girl had made you both come to her room so she could show off the drawings she'd done at school and play with her favorite toy of the week before she had to get in her pjs and get tucked in.

You didn't mind it at all, and Isabel was a sweet baby that always seemed to enjoy your silly muecas and bouncing on your knee.

Javi was apologizing now, on the walk home back to his bungalow, for being so preoccupied, but you reassure him that it didn't bother you.

"—I know how much of a hassle it is to deal with all this stuff, babe. I'm just glad you and Steve have each other, this time," is your understanding retort. "And anyway, you two will make it up to us eventually."

"Oh, yeah?" he drawls, arm around your waist giving you a cheeky squeeze. "Have anything in mind already?"

"Actually, yeah. Earlier today, Connie, Anita and I talked about maybe doing a trip – all of us couples together," you retort simply and slip your hand into the back pocket of his jeans. "We could rent a house close to the beach and go for a long weekend."

Pleased, Javi hums, "Sure. I like that plan. Could be fun."

You conceded that you were sure it was a ways-away out, and while you both walk around the corner, keeping to the sidewalk, you muse, "All the Mano Dura stuff is really only revving up too, so I can imagine you're both going to be juggling that as well."

Unintentionally veering him back onto the work topic, Javier ends up talking through his thought process and concerns the rest of the walk to his place. By the time he's unlocking the door and chivalrously holding it open for you, Javi is really on a roll.

"—Once we get things settled, and the extra funding we asked for the field op teams comes in, we'll be able to take a backseat and let our ASACs manage," Javier is remarking as you enter through the entry door through the laundry room before him, allowing him to close and lock it behind himself. "It's time for Segarra to sink or swim, and Steve's guy seems more than capable to handle his end, so we should be finally able to focus on big-picture work. Really, we shouldn't have been doing so much shit ourselves up to this point, especially since we're supposed to be the bosses—"

He's just loped into the main living space and placed his keys onto the counter when his verbal train of thought halts after turning towards the living room. Well, specifically at the sight of you pulling your flouncy pale blue and green floral-patterned bohemian dress off and tossing it onto the chair adjacent the couch before toeing off your favorite leather flats and look over at him alluringly.

You're only in a thin nude lace bra and tanga-style panty now, already undoing the front closure as you brazenly suggest, "Why don't you come over here and show me who's boss, querido?"

It's hot, and oh-so-naughty how you can spin his lust up in a nanosecond and have him simmering with incandescent urge, especially with this kind of taunt delivered as an appeal for him to dominate you. And the sultry smile in your eyes as you shed your bra and toss it over at him to land on his shoulder, for good measure? Proceeded by the spritely way you fold your arms behind yourself and jut your bare breasts out proudly at him?

Rapacious desire ignites in his gut and has him rushing over to sweep you up into his arms. A delighted squeal bubbles out of you as he carries you to bed, making you laugh infectiously from his nippy nuzzling – impishly grazing his moustache along your neck and collarbone before he tosses you onto the soft surface. You bounce and giggle as you prop up onto your elbows to bat your lashes sultrily at him.

"You wanna get bossed around, do you?" he rumbles in a velvety tone as he takes his boots off and quickly divests of his belongings before unbuckling his belt and showily yanking his dark blue and white vertical pinstriped shirt – the one you love because it clings to his shoulders and pecs perfectly and accentuates his muscled biceps deliciously – out of his jeans waistband before swiftly beginning to undo the top three buttons.

Giving him a salacious smirk, you purr, "Mmhmm, that's right, mi patrón—"

"Fuck…" he eyes you with that smoldering, chiseled regard that always makes you tingly, before he growls, "Take those panties off right now, then, you little tease," as he deftly works the rest of the buttons undone and shrugs out of the shirt before pausing at plucking the button on his jeans when you defiantly remain sat up on your elbows and do not strip your underwear off as he'd ordered. Raising a challenging brow at you, he puts his hands on his hips and grumbles, "Are you really going to defy me, malcriada?"

You give him a mischievous grin and lilt, "Maybe?"

He grunts, giving you a snarky look as he leans over and yanks you down to the end of the bed by your ankles. Your squeal of surprise and the way you bite your lower lip makes him smirk before roguishly husking, "Do I need to tear them off of you and bend you over my knee for a spanking, traviesa?"

"I really like these, so no – no tearing, please," you chime as you draw your knees up and plant your soles flat to the bed, splaying your legs wide open as you toy with the waistband suggestively while his gaze hones in on the damp spot your arousal has soaked into the crotch of your panties.

The way he flicks his dark brewed eyes up at you sends an excited tickle up your spine and makes your pussy throb when he stares assertively at you before ordering, "Take them off, and show me what's mine."

Arousal pulses at your center at his command, and heat zings along your nerve endings to harden your nipples while anticipation flutters in your tummy as you slowly work your panties down and off. You discard them to the floor and lay back so you can spread your legs open and caress your hands along your thighs.

Javi hums in approval, and you expect him to finish undressing and have his way with you, but instead his smoldering gaze intensifies as he keeps his hands at his sides and murmurs gruffly, "I told you to show me what's mine, tentadora."

Your breath skitters excitedly, and Javi's gaze holds yours before admiringly returning to your cunt, now flushed with arousal. The desire he stokes in you has your seam slick and clitoris thrumming with need. He doesn't have to elaborate what he means, and seeing as you started this little game, you're aching to have him, and are tantalized by him flexing his dominance.

Breathily, you part your legs more and glide your hands down to touch yourself, slick dampening your folds as you run your fingers down and part them like dewy petals. You use the fingers of one hand to spread yourself open while the eager digits of the other dip into your aching pussy wetly before tracing back up to rub delicious pressure over your thrumming clitoris.

The sight of you pleasuring yourself has Javi throbbing wantonly in the confines of his jeans, but he keeps his now clenched hands at his sides as you whimper impatiently for his touch.

"Javi—please," you whine, your touch not enough, and desire making you needy for him to be naked and pressed against you.

He doesn't budge, even when you arch your hips up slightly and squeeze your bare breasts together. No, he wants to hear the magic words before he continues stripping.

"Please…what?"

Your blush sears the apples of your cheeks and you bite your bottom lip hard before exhaling a frustrated huff.

"Please, take what's yours," you beg, slick fingers gliding through your damp sex before you caress your palms up to your apex, as you murmur, "Give me what you want, mi amor."

He feels that rapacious urge scorch up in him at your needy words, and with how you butterfly your thighs open to show him how soaked your pussy is now, Javier can't keep his controlling façade up – not with how quickly his hands move to undo the button of his jeans and zip down his fly before slipping his thumbs into the waistbands of both the denim and his cotton underwear to yank them both in one swoop down.

Watching him strip makes you smile. He catches it when he stands from shedding the last of his clothes and tossing them in a pile by the dresser.

"Hm, take what's mine, eh?" he drawls in that honeyed baritone that makes delight tickle in your core, especially when he stands with his hard cock to loom over you, like he's contemplating what to do to you first.

All you can do to not grin up at him is to nod as demurely as you can muster as you hum, "Mmhmm."

With a shameless smile, Javi suddenly scoops you up and prowls onto the bed with you squealing a silly sound as he stays propped up on his knees so you're only recourse is to wrap your legs around his waist and cling to his shoulders.

He loves how mirth lights your eyes while your expression quirks with delight against your will – how your pursing lips can't fight back the smile tugging them up, so with a faux-admonishing cluck of his tongue, Javi coos, "Why am I getting the distinct impression that you're really giving me what you want, and not the other way around, hmm?"

You snicker and daringly buck against him so he has to catch his balance by propping his arm sidelong, which allows you to use the momentum to topple him onto the bed so you can playfully roughhouse with him for dominance, as you chime seductively, "Because that's exactly the case, mi patroncito. It gets me hot when you get all bossy—"

"Oh yeah?" Javier croons as he easily pivots you both so you're on your back and his big hands have cuffed your wrists and pressed them down on either side of your head. The weight of him crowding you makes you shiver, and the exquisite heft of his cock nestled flush against your crotch makes you mewl involuntarily.

"Yes," you admit airily and smile when his soulful eyes crinkle affectionately at you, full lips pursing out cockily. Deciding to pluck at a naughty string in him, you purr, "And it makes me ache for your cock when you think you can command me, bebito."

That has Javier giving you that incandescent look just as he steals your breath with a voracious kiss. Your arousal hazes your mind just as his hand moves to cuff your wrists together above your head while the other possessively cups your cunt and grinds your clit with the pad of his thumb. Hips bucking at the contact, you mewl into his mouth when his tongue plunders it while you arch up into his warm, muscled torso.

Your brain is swimming in the pleasure of Javi dominating the hell out of you, so much so that you don't even feel shame when he breaks the kiss and leaves you gasping from the sudden thwack of his deft fingers wrapping around his cock and tapping it lewdly onto your drenched pussy in a very lascivious show of dominance.

"When I think I can command you?" is Javier's gruff croon, dark brewed eyes molten with conviction as he makes his point again by gliding just the head of his cock through your folds before guiding it to slap wetly against your mound, deviously close to the hood of your clit.

You moan and writhe at the electrifying contact, so Javi purrs, "I think the ache you got for my cock has you forgetting who the boss is, querida. I'm gonna need you to use your words and beg for it, or else I'll just give you everything but my cock tonight."

Your skin is scalding from how crass-yet-authoritative he's being with you, winding your lust up into a tangle of desires that has you vibrating with arousal and pulsing with debauched delight.

"Please, mi amor—give it to me. Lo necesito. Te lo ruego. Por favor, mi rey. Seré tuya—will do whatever you command, just let me have it," you ramble with needy allure, eyes shimmering with how earnestly you're begging for him not to deny you the pleasure only he can give you.

Pleased beyond belief, Javi caresses his hand up to cup your chin to ground you to focus on his smoldering stare as he leans forward and husks, "Good girl," before kissing you chastely on the lips.

He lets you wrap your arms around his torso as he settles between your thighs and rolls his hips with delectable prowess to drive his cock into your pulsing sheath.

It feels so amazing to have him fuck into you – to stretch you open onto his thick, throbbing cock with every thrust, especially after all the foreplay and dirty talk. This feeling of passionate ecstasy always fills you, and the way you cling to Javi with every desperate stroke of him into you tethers him into being both grounded and alight. Nothing matters when you're both spun up like this, except for the ruinous euphoria you each feel build and build as the lovemaking crescendos.

There's nothing more gratifying to his pride than when you climax, going molten around his cock and frantic in his arms to cling to the sensations he's unleashed in you. You're so wild from the throes of pleasure that you muffle your sobbed moan into his neck before ferally suckling a greedy bite into the delectable spot.

"Fuck," Javier groans and feels his thoughts melt as his orgasm barrels loose from the knot of pleasure in his apex and has him clutching your waist as he pounds his cock into you before his thrusts stutter in rhythm and his release empties into your fluttering sheath.

Your toes curl at the sensation of his climax filling that deep, tender part of you only he can reach, leveling you to fall apart in his arms as all the strength dissolves in your body.

The warm and fuzzy heat of post-coital relief has you uncaring that you're warm, slick and sweaty under Javier while he lies on top of you in a spent heap.

"Eres pinche gloriosa," is Javi's husky, albeit drowsy praise as he props himself up on a shaky elbow before laboriously rolling off of you with an exhausted grunt.

All you can muster is an affectionate nudge of your forehead into his shoulder before Javi rumbles something wordlessly and encircles his arm to your waist in order to pull you to sidle against him.

The cool air from the undulating ceiling fan caressing your dewy forms helps lull you into a calm repose, where only Javier's warm skin and heady scent occupy your attention, until he nuzzles the top of your hairline and presses a kiss there.

"You feel good, querida?"

"Feel divine, chavón," you sigh, kissing his collarbone before you murmur, "I love you."

He exhales an approving grunt before patting your thigh encouragingly for you to tilt your face up to him. When you do, he caresses your cheek and swipes his thumb to wipe away at the perspiration that beaded along the edge of your orbital bone.

"I love you too, corazón."

Dreamily, you smile up at him unselfconsciously. Your eyes are glossy, lashes damp and lids heavy, so Javi curls his fingers to crook under your chin so he can admire your flushed features before he peppers soft kisses along your warm skin. You are content to simply bask in his doting grace.

Eventually, when you regain your wits and start to fidget, Javier gets out of bed to retrieve a damp washcloth and returns to give you his loving aftercare. And when he pulls the covers back for you to be tucked under them, you hold onto his forearm and tug him to slide in after you rather than be apart from him the few seconds it would've taken him to round the bed to his side and climb in.

Feeling too accomplished to care that you're in the spot closer to the doorway than he'd normally like, Javi stretches out next to you and happily lets you lounge curled up against him, with your head on his shoulder and hand caressing languidly along his chest.

"So…at the risk of sounding clingy, I'm really going to miss you," you find yourself volunteering in a murmur, already frowning at yourself as you amend it by rationalizing softly, "I mean, the other trips were much shorter—"

Javi cups your jaw and makes you melt when he kisses you, snuffing the insecure ramble before it could start.

Resting his forehead to yours, he sighs, "I know, since I feel the same way," before stating flatly, "It's gonna be a lot of meetings. Hell, all the damn travel from island to island will be the worst of it. Not to mention all the political jockeying and face-to-face conferences with officials. Wish I could just delegate it to someone else."

You pout, seeing the weariness in the corners of his eyes, so you sit up and caress your touch over his brow, murmuring as you trace your fingertips over his forehead, "Those are the pitfalls of being the boss man, hermoso."

He exhales deeply out his nose and closes his eyes, letting you soothe him with your affectionate touch before he mumbles, "I'm going to miss you so much, it's ridiculous."

When he opens his eyes again, he relaxes visibly when you lean forward and kiss his full lips tenderly before playfully scratching into his unruly hair, while you lilt in a singsong, "You'll just have to be a good boy, get your work done, and hurry back so I can have my way with you."

His laugh is warm and raspy as he loops his arms around you to roll down into the pillows together so he can shower you with ticklish, moustache-grazing kisses to your cheeks, jaw and neck while you giggle and try to fend him off by tickling his sides.

After you both settle down in the warm bed together for the night, Javier conks right out, breathing deep and calmly on his back while you're snuggled at his side, with your head on his chest. The quiet of the room and the undulating breeze coming from the curtain-covered windows helps your mind wander for a bit, still charged with wayward thoughts. The ones that keep looping back for consideration revolve around Javier unperturbedly falling back into the chase – of being hungry for the hunt. He couldn't seem to quit the DEA for good, let alone sit back and relax in his position of authority. You remember his promises, both from when he was a field agent and when he was the Special Agent in-Charge in Bogotá. How he'd been unable to keep any of them, no matter how hard he tried.

And now here you are, recalling the ones he'd made to you when he'd begged for another chance.

"I came here for you."

He'd professed coming to Puerto Rico to be with you. That he didn't give a damn about the job, and if you wanted, he'd quit. How he'd do whatever necessary to earn your trust. That all that mattered to him, was you.

You don't want him to quit, or to not give a damn about his work. But you'd be lying if you weren't worried that old habits were intent to die hard when it came to him getting swept up in the politicking and the disappointment – that he would fall prey again to the corrupt jockeying and manipulation of compromised leaders, both here and stateside.

Still…in your heart, you felt things were different, and didn't want to give up the peace of being with him, on both your own terms.

"Everything we wanted is still possible…I want it all, with you…"

An effervescent palpitation has your heart skipping a beat at the echo of his words, and you feel centered.

With a smile, you close your eyes and let the strong thrum of his heartbeat help lull you into sleep.

Early the next morning, you wake up to Javi sitting on the foot of the bed with a cup of coffee he's nursing while in only a pair of blue-striped pajama bottoms hanging low on his hips. From how his shoulders are slumped, you can tell he's half asleep, so you maneuver up to crawl over to him in order to slink up against his bare back. He grunts sleepily and takes a deep inhale before reaching his free hand backwards to hold you while you loop your arms around his midriff and kiss the nape of his neck.

"Want me to make you something to eat?" you whisper as you nuzzle the side of his head when he tilts it back and leans more into you.

"I'd rather have you," he tells you unabashedly as he turns to kiss you softly on the lips.

You hum into his coffee-flavored mouth before leaning back to sassily pet your hand over his tousled hair as you order, "You're going to have both, and you're going to like it, guapito."

Javier has no objection to that.

You both get in the shower together, have a great quickie under the hot water and against the warm tiles, and let the water rinse over your sated forms of the soap and sinfulness.

When you get back to the bedroom, you dry off and lie in bed to relish the little time you have left until Kike pulls up to get Javi before swinging over to Steve's.

Skin to skin, you savor his kisses and lovingly cuddle him, knowing how lonely – and empty your bed – going so long without him will be. Javier feels the longing building up in him already, and all he wants to do is get lost in this sensual moment, even though he doesn't have the time for it. You know it too, and prolong it for as long as you can.

It's only when you insistingly nudge him to start getting ready a few minutes later, that Javi begrudgingly goes to his dresser to grab his clothes. His things were already packed and waiting in the laundry room, thanks to you having surprised him with a respectable suitcase you'd purchased earlier the day before. When he'd come home from the gym and met you at his driveway after you'd dropped off Connie, Javi had been curious about the sleek piece of luggage as you carried it to his bedroom. You'd opened it as you'd razzed him about needing to level up from his well-traveled duffle bag, and had proceeded to iron an arrangement of suits and shirts for him. He'd been more than happy to enjoy your domestic doting, and had smirked when you'd shooed him away into the shower so you could continue picking out the ties and other garments he'd need.

Right now, though, he doesn't feel the need to rush to get ready, even when you're done pulling on your jeans and are tugging your shirt down as you head for the kitchen.

By the time he trudges down the back hall into the main room, dressed in dark blue jeans and a nice white button-down shirt with a breast pocket his aviators are currently folded in, you have a generous breakfast sandwich and a refreshed cup of coffee waiting for him at the kitchen's bar top.

His stomach growls, spiting him, and you smirk as he sits at the stool and eats with gusto while eyeing you ruefully.

"You know, you're cute when you're grumpy," you can't help tease as you lean into the counter, opposite him.

Polishing off his meal, he quickly dabs at his mouth with the napkin before picking the dishes up and rounding the countertop, deliberately breezing by you to place them in the sink, as he gripes, "We had enough time to fool around some more, and you shot me down."

You scoff irreverently before whirling around just in time to catch him off guard and press him back against the sink's counter. Hands boxing him in so you can lean into him commandingly, you bossily tell him, "Javier Peña, you better not be getting surly with me before you're about to leave for over a week. You know how much I want to roll around naked in bed with you. Now quit being a brat, and give me a kiss."

He can't even stay surly, not at that, or the sultry look you're giving him.

His lips quirk into a smirk while he lets his moodiness out in a huff through his nose, then leans in to kiss you obediently on the mouth.

You suck on his bottom lip before grazing your teeth on the plump morsel, enjoying how he gasps excitedly and grips your waist as you pull back and imperiously smile up at his flushed expression.

Just as you're deliberating whether you can get away with kissing on him some more, you hear Kike pull up in the SUV outside, so you sigh and wrap your arms around him for a fortifying hug.

Once you've taken care of the remaining dishes and Javier's disposed of the garbage in the receptacle outside for trash pickup, you go to the bedroom to retrieve your scrunchie in order to swiftly put your hair up.

Javi's booted footfalls over the tiled floor approach from the hall just before he comes in and wraps his arms around you from behind. Exhaling, he kisses the top of your head before asking, "You're still spending the day with your dad?"

You nod, leaning into him before affectionately turning in his embrace and nuzzling his neck, humming before reluctantly stepping back so you can both exit back to the living room. "Yeah. He's going to D.C. for a while, so I was going to go food shopping and make dinner at his place," you remark and sigh whilst putting your hair in a ponytail.

He ogles your neck, and considers delaying leaving by pulling you against him so he can kiss from your jaw down the column of delicate skin. To nip a matching hickey like the one you left on him, and feel you shiver and cling to him. But you're hustling to get your shoes on and grab your purse, so he stows his raunchy desires and gets his keys, cellular phone, and wallet.

"That sounds nice," Javi muses, making you smile when his hand caresses your lower back as he escorts you through the laundry room, grabbing his suitcase and opening the door for you. "No Camille?"

"Nope, thankfully," you retort and watch as he locks up before smiling when he turns and quirks a derisive brow at you. "It's for both their benefits! I cannot stand her, and she has finally learned her place, is all," you insist, and Javi nods judiciously at your rationale while he takes your hand and escorts you out of the marquesina to lope over to the front curb where Kike is parked.

"Well, it sounds like it'll be a better time spent than what I'll be doing," is his deadpan before approaching the driver's side window that's rolled down, patting the frame to get the young officer's attention from the local tabloid magazine he's engrossed in, as he greets, "Morning, Kike!"

"Good morning, sir!" the jovial plainclothes officer retorts warmly before hastily folding up the magazine and stowing it in the door's cubby, then waves while greeting, "And good morning, Ms. Celina—"

"Ay, Kike. Just call me Celina," you razz him as you lean up to greet him with a kiss on the cheek through the open window. "Deja con las formalidades, ya," is your amused order.

"Okay-okay, se me olvidó," he chuckles as Javier opens the backseat door and places his suitcase in. "Did you like the mix tape?"

"Yeah, it had some cool tracks!" you retort and smile at Javi when he grunts and raises his brows curiously as he shuts the car door. "Kike gave me a mix tape with all the latest reggaetoneros that are hot right now."

"Ah," is his drawl as he loops your waist and pulls you close. "When are we going to perrear?"

"Javier!" you admonishingly hiss and swat his bicep haughtily, scoffing at his unabashed leer whilst Kike tries to hide his wry grin.

"Oh, that's right – you said when I take you to a club that actually plays reggaetón," he drawls as if you're talking about something innocuous, before he turns to Kike and remarks, "You'll have to tell me what the hot reggaetón clubs are so I can finally get her to dance perreo with me—"

"Alright, enough, beyako," you chastise sardonically and pinch his sides, grinning when Javier frowns at you using the naughty nickname in front of Kike, who is doing everything he can not to burst with a guffaw at his expense. You distract his umbrage by standing on your tippy toes to peck him on the lips before lilting, "Pórtate bien, y llámame."

He smirks at being told 'Be good, and call me.'

"I will," he murmurs and kisses you amorously before cupping your cheek and muttering, "You behave too, now."

Snickering, you kiss his palm and pull him in for a hug.

Once Kike has turned the SUV around while Javier walked you to your car, you two lock lips one more time before you hop in and pull out of the driveway to the street. You wave at Javi in the rearview once you see him get into the front passenger seat, and then drive away to head to your early morning errands.

Javier watches your little sedan drive off before Kike pulls away to coax down the block and turn the corner en route for Steve's house. He already misses you, and finds himself scenting his collar for the whiff of your perfume that clings to it.

"I gotta warn you, sir. Ms. Celina is going to have cacos drooling after her when you take her to bailar perreo," Kike remarks musingly, causing Javi to arch a brow dubiously at him. "Ella es una mamita sabrocita – all eyes will be on her at any reggaetón club, is all I mean."

With a dry grunt, Javier furrows his brow amusedly. "Trust me. I'm very aware," is his dry mutter, before he sarcastically warns, "And do not let her hear you refer to her as a mamita. Speaking from experience, she will let you have it and you'll have whiplash."

"Claro que no," Kike snickers and shakes his head sagely. "She's a chulería – una bichota bien wapa, so I would never pasarme así, sir. Definitely don't wanna offend her!"

Javier nods, picking up the gist of the slang-filled statement. After all, he's really had a run for his money in deciphering the bulk of the Puerto Rican slang Kike and Wilmer would fire off at each other in rapid conversation, and being out with you and witnessing your parrying of local colloquialisms you'd not used before in Colombia would often or not leave him inferring meanings, if not straight up asking you what a word meant.

Still, though, he'd heard bichote used to reference a drug dealer or criminal kingpin-type, so he had to ask, "¿Bichota?"

"Ah! Bichota as in a boss lady. A big shot woman – like, she's a cool, important lady," the younger officer explains as he pulls up to the front curb of the Murphy residence.

"I'm gonna need to find a 'Puerto Rican-isms' dictionary, for sure," Javier quips, smirking when the other man blows a raspberry and grunts in the affirmative.

He's not completely joking. Especially after the weeks of prep and briefs from undercover agents, who'd documented hours of audio recordings from dealers, traffickers, gatilleros and more throughout all their surveillance targets on the island. Thankfully Wilmer or Kike were always available to run questions by, and had been great helps to all local info for Javier and Steve.

The opening of the backseat door pulls Javi from his internal cataloguing. He turns to watch Steve chuck his suitcase in before climbing in and shutting the door while greeting, "Mornin', fellas. You been waiting long?"

"No, sir!" Kike assures as he pulls away from the curb once Steve's settled.

"Yeah, Kike here was just warning me about how I'll have to keep Celina close when I take her dancing here," Javier glibly jokes as he retrieves his aviators from his breast pocket and slips them on.

"Really? You do know Jav here is a real surly jealous type, right? So telling him something like that's only gonna get him stewing," Steve chuckles good naturedly as he leans forward to pat Javier's shoulder, and drawls, "We do not need a repeat of the Danvers incident, bud."

Javier scoffs and crosses his arms to keep his right hand from fidgeting with his exasperation at the mere reference. "Don't be an ass. That wasn't because I was jealous—"

"I'm sorry for mentioning it, sir," Kike genuinely offers as he drives, adding, "I didn't mean to sobrepasarme —"

With a reassuring pat of his shoulder, Javier assures, "Nah, you didn't. Don't worry. Murphy solo le gusta hablar mierda—"

"Hey, I don't talk shit," Steve interjects in a goading drawl.

"Oh, you're finally learning Spanish. Good for you, and about fuckin' time, hillbilly."

"Some of us are still capable of learning new things, pendejo. And do you kiss Celina with that filthy mouth?"

"She loves my filthy mouth. Maybe you should try it some time with your poor long-suffering wife—"

"Hey! My wife's off limits to your snarky remarks—"

"And Celina is off limits to your shit-talking commentary—"

"She ain't your wife yet, buddy. Once she is, then she's off limits."

Javier exhales testily and flips Steve the bird over his shoulder while glaring at the grinning blond in the rearview mirror. He arches his brow when Steve sits back and basks in having gotten the last word, or so he thinks.

"Look at him. Sitting so pleased with himself like he accomplished something," Javi deadpans to Kike in Spanish, who had managed to stifle his laughter during their juvenile back and forth. "Just loves to bust balls because his get busted at home."

Steve glowers at Javier's profile when Kike snorts amusedly at what he said, so he decides to prod his buddy some more. "Speaking of Celina," he drawls lyrically before remarking aloofly, "Wilmer told me he overheard Bozzi telling Vernon that she caught his eye."

That has the desired reaction.

Javier slowly turns around and tucks his chin down so he can glower at Steve over the rims of his sunglasses. "What?! When was this, and why are you only telling me now?" he grounds out from clenched jaw and tight lips.

Seeing the hickey barely concealed by Javier's shirt collar, he flicks his gaze up to see that dark fury start to fill his eyes, so, Steve dismisses, "Ah, because it ain't the first nor will it be the last time that anyone has the hots for your girl, Javi. No point in bringing it up—"

"Except to wind me up, you mean," Javi snaps back and huffily returns to sit facing forward in the front passenger seat.

"…All right, dick move on my part. I agree," Steve relents and busies himself with smoothening out the wrinkle in his green and white-striped polo shirt's collar.

"…What did Vernon respond to that asshole?" is the gravelly inquiry from Javier.

Steve looks at Javi's stare reflected in the rearview mirror before glancing at Kike, who's now just as invested in the gossip as Javi, so he exhales gruffly before answering, "Vernon told him something like, 'I'm pretty sure she's spoken for already. Or so go the rumors,' and Bozzi scoffed that there's no ring on her finger so she was fair game, as far as he was concerned."

That boils Javier's blood. But he only shows it with the hard etch of his scowling features and the way his biceps flex when he crosses his arms tightly across his chest.

"Acho, que canto cabrón," Kike remarks indignantly, not even batting an eye when Javi looks over at him, surprised. "Ms. Celina would never like that guy, so he's a pendejo for saying shit like that."

Chuckling in agreement, Steve cosigns, "I couldn't have said it better myself."

Javier cracks a lopsided smirk at that. He appreciates Kike being protective of you, and was glad when you both had struck up a platonic friendship after meeting when they'd picked you up from the dealership where you'd left your car to get serviced one morning. Since then, you would both chat buoyantly whenever you'd see each other and he'd given you his cell phone number in case you ever needed to get ahold of him if you couldn't reach Javier.

While he thinks about you the rest of the way they drive to the airport, you're leaving the video rental store now and hopping in your car to go spend the day with your father at his home.

You'd already stopped at the supermarket that carried Colombian food staples and picked up items for the meals you'd promised to make, so after a half hour drive to Dorado, you pulled into his driveway and parked across the open third-car garage. You confirmed with a quick peek as you rounded the car to get the groceries that Camille's luxury sedan wasn't in the garage, so with a relieved exhale, you retrieved the bag with the movie rentals and headed up to the front entrance.

The door was already open and your father was meeting you on the tiled front step to help you with the bags.

"How are you doing, tesoro?" he greets and kisses you on the cheek before taking the bags into the kitchen while you shut the door behind yourself before following.

"I'm good. How about you? Looking forward to going to D.C. for the big meeting?" is your retort.

He grunts wryly. "It's just a meeting. But I'll be there on lots of other business. What've you got there?"

At him gesturing to the bag in your hand, you reach into it and retrieve the three VHS rental movies and show him the stack so the labels are facing him. "I thought we could have a movie night. I haven't watched the third one yet."

The three movies are The Godfather, parts one through three.

Smiling broadly, your father is visibly pleased as he muses, "That'll take us the rest of the day to watch. Are you sure you're up for that?"

"Well we have to rewatch the first two parts to be reminded of everything before going into part three. It can also play in the background while I cook, no?" is your affable reasoning as you place the movies on the coffee table in the living room before returning to the kitchen to start unbagging the groceries.

He agrees, and soon you're both spending quality time together.

By nightfall, you're both engrossed with the final film while partaking in the leftover empanadas you'd made earlier.

You're on your fourth rum and coke, which pairs great with the empanada you're currently dabbing some hot sauce on while watching the drama, unaware of your father's pensive glance.

"I had the maid turn down the guest bed," he mentions as innocuously as he can.

You chew your bite and shift in your seat to look over at him. Swallowing, you retort, "I wasn't planning on spending the night, Pá."

You can see the furrow in his brow smoothen as he tries to not look judgmental. "I don't want you driving home so late. You've been drinking—"

Realizing why he's worrying, you wave him off, assuring, "I'm perfectly capable of driving. And I don't want to overstay my welcome."

He pauses the movie and frowns before weighing his options in how to respond. He seems to settle for, "I'd feel more comfortable if you spent the night, mija."

Finishing your empanada, you ruefully shake your head before washing it down with a sip of your drink.

"Unless Javier could come pick you up?"

Being a few drinks in, the indignant fire doesn't reach your eyes as quickly as it would've had he made the suggestion earlier. Deciding to relent, just a little, though, you muse impassively, "He's on a business trip."

Humming, he takes a long sip of his own drink before exhaling and attempting to capitalize on not being rebuffed on the topic like you'd done occasions prior. "Things are going well, then?"

You can't help sigh, because you truly do not want to argue with or snap at your father, but his constant need to broach the subject of your personal life aggravates you. So, you try to count to ten before placing your drink glass back onto the coaster on the coffee table before you answer him.

"I take it you haven't been able to get a rundown from anyone else on the matter?"

You turn to look at him directly, eyes frank as your brows quirk upwards in query.

He frowns, before responding in a mild baritone, "I'd rather ask my daughter about her life. Is that so wrong of me?"

You take a cleansing breath through your nose and let it out slowly before answering carefully, "Pá, I just don't want to end up arguing with you about my life. I don't want to be browbeaten by you, or feel like I have to defend myself—"

"I'm not asking you to, tesoro," he grumbles in a low tone, before pressing, "I just want to know you're all right."

"I am. But I know that's not all you want to ask, and I don't want to go down this road and end up with us getting upset," you tell him bluntly, crossing your arms and leaning back.

His jaw squares in impatience with you, but instead of snapping crossly like he would've in your youth, your father huffs and crosses his own arms to stare at you keenly.

"Just tell me one thing, and I won't broach the subject anymore," he proposes in his deep, raspy pitch. When you nod, his features relax minutely as he asks, "Does he make you happy?"

"Yes."

You responded without an ounce of hesitation, and the way your expressive gaze lit up with clear affection for this Javier Peña who makes you happy – as if he'd flashed across your mind's eye as you answered, made it easy for him to surrender.

With a hum, he presses the button on the remote so the VCR resumes the movie.

"Good."

You're pleasantly surprised.

When the movie ends a short while later, you surprise your father by agreeing to spend the night. So once you've packed the leftovers and washed the dishes, you kiss him on the cheek and go down the hall to the back guest bedroom.

Around the same time you're exiting the shower to get into a flowy nightgown and slip under the cool covers of the plush bed, Javier is just getting into his hotel room on St. Thomas.

After landing and spending most of the day getting shown around by Steve's ASAC, Sam Petersen, he was bone tired, and looking forward to just crashing. Tossing his suitcase onto the ottoman at the foot of the bed, Javi tiredly empties his pockets and places everything on the night stand before dropping down onto the mattress and kicking his boots off in order to lie back and stretch his aching muscles. Lulling his head to the side, he sees the alarm clock lists it being just after 11:45pm.

Even though he'd warned you he probably would get in too late to call tonight, he wished he could hear your voice before bed. Deciding he didn't want to risk waking you up, he lumbers up off the bed and starts stripping on his way to the bathroom. One nice hot shower a few minutes later, and he's trekking back into the cool airconditioned room in just a towel, yawning noisily as he unzips the suitcase and flips the top open in search for some boxers or pajama bottoms to wear to bed.

The exhaustion clears from his eyes when he sees just how neatly you've packed everything. His toiletry bag is snug in the center while two pairs of suits are crisp and folded just right that all he need do is put them on hangers, the dress shoes were buffed and shined, and everything else was tucked and rolled for easy arranging. Even the soft cotton dark gray boxers you packed were arranged right on top of the main folded pile, so he wouldn't have to rifle for them.

Seeing as St. Thomas would be their base of operations for the next few days, Javi goes to work unpacking the items you took the time to iron and steam for him.

When he gets to the assortment of button-down shirts you packed for more casual workdays, he's surprised to find a square envelope hidden underneath them. Placing the shirts on the dresser, he picks up the envelope, opening it and finding a crisply folded sheet that looks like was carefully pulled from the planner he's seen you write reminders in.

Unfolding it, he finds a note, written in your lovely handwriting.

Javier,

Since you'll be busy and likely unable to chat much while you're away, I figured I'd write you an important reminder: I love you, with all my heart. And everything you do, it matters. I'm proud of you, and I'll be thinking about you, and wondering how I got so lucky to have you.

Please, be careful, and give yourself grace. Especially if you find yourself in a moment of frustration. I know how invested you can get when you're on the case, so just remember that you're not alone in it. And let Steve take on some of the stressing!

Missing you, chulito.

Soñaré de ti, mi amor. Sueña de mi, mi cariñito.

Love,

Celina

Heat fills his chest, making his heart feel full and immense at your words. It's then, when he's about to tuck the note back into the envelope, that he notices there's something else inside of it. Slipping it out, he ends up staring at the snapshot.

It's a photo of you, posed sultrily – sat at the foot of your bed, in only the nighty with the slit up the thigh. And from the looks of the angle the photo was taken, he realizes you must've found a timer on the Polaroid camera and set it on the dresser to snap you while you struck the sexy pose.

Completely floored, he's so lovestruck that it takes him a second to realize that the soft garment that the envelope was placed on is actually the silky nighty you have on in the photo.

He picks it up and brings the delicate garment to his nose. It's laced with the scent of your skin, with hints of your sweat and the fragrance of your body lotion, as well as the lingering traces of your soap, fresh smelling laundry detergent and fabric softener. A smile warms his face when he realizes that's what you meant. That he can dream of you because he'll have your alluring scent with him as he drifts off to sleep.

Tossing the towel away from his waist to plop into the bathroom's tiled floor, he quickly pulls on his boxers and goes to stretch out on the bed with the treasures you slipped into his suitcase. The look in your eyes in the photo is dazzling and flirty, and your smile is cheeky yet sexy.

Javi wonders when you would've taken it, and his mind whirs through the recent moments that have passed between you both – suddenly remembering you'd been wearing the silky nighty the late evening he'd come to spend the night at your place after a very long day of being holed up with tax officials in Hacienda, the Department of Treasury of Puerto Rico.

The local government had cleared the DEA's request to review any and all flagged income tax accounts suspected of possibly acting as shell corporations for money laundering, as well as the list out of those that had come up in property seizure documents across the Caribbean region that had so far been catalogued by the forensic accountants. He'd spent almost twelve hours in the building, and during one of the coffee breaks, he'd called you to check in. You'd managed to cajole him to come spend the night at your place since it was much closer to Hacienda. And since he'd driven himself that day, he was more than happy to agree.

You'd been in your silky robe when you'd answered the door late that night, and he'd been so exhausted that you'd towed him to your room, stripped him of his clothes, and herded him to bed. With the lights shut, you'd curled up against him under the covers when he'd looped his arm around you and held you close, and your warm skin and the soft scent of your hair had lulled him into a deep slumber. He hadn't realized you were in the sexy nighty that had become his favorite of them all until the next morning when you'd stirred him awake with a gentle kiss to his forehead before lovingly caressing his relaxed features and liltingly murmuring his name. His eyes had dreamily gazed up at you, focusing on your mussed hair and how the early morning rays spilling in from the hall framed you, sat at the edge of the bed.

"Javi, it's almost 7. Do you have any early meetings?" you'd murmured, gliding your palm along his deltoid, bright eyes and fresh features bare, with only affection radiating down at him.

He'd stretched to roll onto his back, reaching his hand to cup your knee as he shifted up on his elbow and stifled a yawn before mumbling in a raspy husk, "Mmmph, yeah. A very important one," before seamlessly whisking you up and over him to sprawl onto the bed. You squeaked in surprise and then giggled when he rolled on top of you before crooning, "That is, if you can pencil me in, jefa."

"Oh, I just so happen to have some time right now, agente," you purred teasingly as you'd wrapped your arms around him and kissed his smiling lips.

When you'd both gotten hot and heavy, you'd tried to shimmy the nighty up and off, but he'd stopped you. "No, keep it on," he recalls rumbling before kissing a path down your body in order to bury his head between your welcoming thighs.

Arousal curls hotly down into his loins at the memory of you crying out and gripping his hair when you'd orgasmed on his tongue and sobbed his name in a breathy whimper.

Javier had to slam the proverbial breaks on his raunchy thoughts racing off into reliving how you'd stopped him from smugly leaving you sprawled on the bed to instead order him to strip his boxers off before you pushed him down onto the rumpled covers and yanked your nighty off, climbed on top of him, and rode his cock while squeezing his hands after interlacing your fingers with his and holding on as you rocked each other into an incandescent climax.

Shimmying under the blanket, Javi shuts the night table lamp off and stretches out with your nighty draped over the adjacent pillow, and drifts off to sleep with your scent soothing him and the photo tucked against his palm and the silky garment.

It's the best night of sleep he's ever had while away from you.

You, on the other hand, did not sleep very well.

Waking up with a slight hangover, thanks to how stiff your father pours drinks, you'd slithered out of bed and took a hot shower to try and revive yourself. Thankfully, by the time you'd wandered down to the kitchen, he'd already made a pot of coffee and there were an assortment of pastries and fruit to choose from on the grand island counter. He was sat at the nice eat-in table by the wide window, reading his morning paper.

"Doña Lana can make you anything you'd like for breakfast. She's just running the washer," he remarks without glancing away from the Op-ed he's skimming.

"That's alright. The coffee and this pastelillo de guayaba will be more than enough," you retort smoothly as you pour yourself a cup and pick up the pastry to go sit at the table with him. "What time is your flight?"

"Just before noon," he answers and folds up the newspaper to set it aside so he can sip from his own mug, eyeing you over the rim.

The respite of having a nice cup of strong coffee and a deliciously flaky and sweet pastry in a comfortable silence is short lived when he clears his throat and finally says what he's wanted to say for a while now.

"I'm really glad we've been spending more time together, tesoro. I was hoping you'd be open to getting together when I get back? Perhaps a dinner or outing, that doesn't exclude Camille?"

You silently seethe and count to ten as you finish your last bite. Washing it down with a long sip of coffee, you busily dab the napkin to your lips and use it to dust the powdered sugar from your fingertips.

"I'd like to keep this up, Pá. But I can't agree to that and be expected to grin and bear her," you tell him honestly, trying to keep all emotion from your tone.

He absorbs that, before crossing his arms and giving you an intense stare.

"All she's wanted is to be considered family, and she's done nothing but be supportive of us catching up for lost time…but I can tell it's begun to upset her, being excluded. It would mean a lot to me," is his bass-filled petition, his brows furrowing hopefully when you don't immediately scoff or shake your head. "You could invite Javier along—"

"Let's not get carried away," you finally sigh and idly brush the rogue strands of hair back from your face. You see a flicker of disappointment etch his features, so you dramatically huff before deflating back in your chair, then clear your throat before graveling, "Hmph…"just when I thought I was out, you pull me back in!""

Your father cracks a broad smile at that before chuckling, "That movie was terrible."

"Right?! I was so surprised by how bad it was," is your irreverent comment, snickering as you lean forward to prop your elbow on the table, "It did have some decent one-liners, though."

He grunts, before quoting, "Never hate your enemies. It affects your judgment."

Laughing, you quote back, "Never let anyone know what you're thinking."

He laughs along, but then surprises you when he reaches his hand out to affectionately squeeze your propped up forearm, before gazing warmly at you, as he quotes, "A man who doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man."

It takes you off guard, to hear him quote that line. Truthfully, it disarms you, so you lean back and take his hand.

Just like when you were little, his hand dwarfs yours, and a heartstring tugs in your chest as you remember how much you'd loved walking with your father, holding his hand.

"Ok. I'll think about it," you murmur and give his hand a squeeze.

When you hug him goodbye a short while later, you wish him luck on his meetings, and he promises to call you once he's back on the island.

Both you and Javier have such hectic days that you don't get to check in with each other until very late that evening.

He's just returned to his hotel room and begins eagerly stripping his blazer and yanking his tie loose when his cell phone starts ringing in his pocket.

Retrieving it and pressing the button to answer, he props the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he toes off his dress shoes and empties his pockets. "Hello?"

"Hey, hermoso. It's not too late to chat?" your smooth lilting voice queries over the line.

"No, I actually just got back to my room," he assures as he sits to lounge back against the headboard of the bed. Stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankles, he exhales relaxedly before asking, "You missing me as much as I miss you, preciosa?"

He hears you snicker flirtatiously before musing, "Depends on how much you're missing me."

"Ah, if you're gonna be that way, I'm just gonna get ready for my date with the sexy little thing I got waiting in bed with me then," Javi tauntingly croons as he pulls out your photo from his wallet left on the nightstand and smirks when you make a grumpy little sound of disapproval.

"Well, stud, go right ahead. I have my own date in bed too," you counter sarcastically.

Grunting, Javier mutters flatly, "See, when you say it, it's way too believable—"

Snickering dismissively, you deride, "Hah, mira quien habla. I told you they used to call you el guapo descarado around the embassy. I never got such an apodo—"

Quippingly, Javi cuts in, "No, you were 'that ferocious little minx' and 'a knockout', oh and 'drop-dead gorgeous'—"

Your dramatic sigh has him pausing to grin, then chuckling when you grumble, "Tan chavón."

Humming innocently, he drawls in a gravelly murmur, "The only thing I got a date with, is your sexy nighty. I slept like a rock last night thanks to it."

"Ah, so you found it," you chime coolly, and he can hear the shifting of the covers as you pull the quilt back and slide under it. "I'm hoping to have a better night's sleep thanks to cuddling your shirt tonight."

"You spent the night at your dad's?" he queries as he unbuttons his dress shirt open and pulls the tails loose from the waistband of his slacks.

"Yeah. I ended up having a bit too much to drink, so I crashed in the guest room," you reply before redirecting, "So, how's St. Thomas?"

"It's alright. Sunny, but hot. Luckily, we've spent a lot of time indoors, dealing with CBP's Office of Field Operations here," is his smooth reply, hand idly brushing the curls of hair fanning over his forehead back as he grouses, "They're being pains in the ass."

"Oh?" you query curiously.

"Yeah, there's always been inter-agency static between DEA and CBP. They're wanting to red tape us to a point of impatience. But really, they're just trying to keep all the action for themselves, and don't want DEA oversight," he explains before huffing his aggravation from his tone, to add, "Anyway, we got one more day here, then it's off to St. John."

"Hang in there, boss man," you quip impishly, before asking, "Did you find the envelope?"

"Yes, I did. And you're a wicked little tease for slipping that photo in," he retorts with a smooth, canela-dipped rumble in his voice.

You giggle, and it makes that funny tickle flutter heat in that spot behind his sternum.

"Just a little reminder of what you have to come home to, guapito," is your smug purr before you end up stifling a yawn. "So you know, I meant everything I wrote. And I really miss you, Javi."

That radiating feeling throbs in his chest at your words. He's carried your letter in his pocket all day, sneaking it out of the envelope to skim it whenever he had a free moment. Picking it up from where he placed it down on the nightstand, he rests it over his chest as he stares at your photo.

You hear some rustling on his end of the line, and wonder if he's even read the letter, when he clears his throat and husks, "It means a lot. No one…I've never…It just means everything to me." Obviously fumbling with articulating his feelings, Javier huffs at himself before declaring, "When I get back, I'll do a better job, showing you how much it means to me, querida."

Clutching his pillow to your chest, you smile whimsically as you tell him, "I love you, Javi."

"I love you too, corazón," is his raspy murmur, before he purrs, "Dulces sueños, mi amor."

Feeling effervescently besotted, you susurrate, "Soñaré de ti, mi cariñito."

You both wish each other goodnight before hanging up, and sleep finds you both easily thanks to each other's scent lulling you into sweet slumber.

You do dream of Javier.

The sound of the tropical night filters into your dream as you're sitting in the passenger seat of the Cadillac. Javier is in the driver's seat, with one hand steering the wheel while his other arm is draped over the back of the bench. The scenery through the front windshield is of a winding, Puerto Rican rural mountain road at early twilight, but in the back windshield, it's the sunset sky over the Medellín cityscape. Javier's hand moves from the back of the seat to rest on your thigh, and when you look down at it, you're surprised to see your belly is swollen under a flowy black peasant dress with red embroidery on the hem and down the front collar.

You look over to find Javi smiling at you as the orange and blush-toned hues of twilight illuminate his profile. When you go to lean close to him for a kiss, you're suddenly jolted awake by your alarm clock blaring.

Scrambling over to shut it off, you flop onto your back and sigh confusedly up at the ceiling.

No dawdling. Doctor's appointment awaits.

The details of the dream were already fading into the fuzzy recesses of your mind by the time you're arriving to the waiting room. Signing into the log sheet at the front desk, you entered and found the space filled with a lot of other patients waiting their turn. You were surprised the office was busy so early first thing in the morning, but quickly abandoned wondering about it to instead let your anxious thoughts preoccupy you.

Another lab screening is due, so bloodwork as well as the usual checkup. Nothing's come back since the last one, so not likely to have any changes until the specialist reviews—

They call your name, and you snap out of your internal worrying to get up from the seat you were able to snag nearest the door.

It was for the best, you thought, to continue not mentioning your health concerns to Javi. You figured that until they were able to give you a definitive diagnosis, it would be pointless to make him worry. Sure, you also didn't want to spend too much time fretting about all the 'what ifs' that had already plagued you for months, but there was a small part of you that was already settling into being resigned towards what seemed like an inevitable outcome.

You didn't want to say it out loud, though. Not yet.

After taking several vials of blood and tagging them for analysis, your doctor charted your current weight and asked you about any irregularities in diet, if you'd been fatigued or feeling off.

Confirming that aside from still not menstruating, you felt fine, she asked, "And you're still sexually active?"

"Yes," you answer, worrying the leather strap of your purse between your hands.

"And it's been with the same partner?" she inquires, and at your nod, she neutrally asks, "Unprotected sex?"

"Yes," you confirm, tone a little tight.

"Hmm, well, I'd like to test to make sure you're not pregnant. I'll note it on the lab form as well," she clinically details as she scribbles just that on the form. "As usual, I'll call you with the results. In the meantime, keep your routine, and be sure to take plenty of vitamins. Especially with this flu that's going around."

You nod and thank her, still on autopilot from compartmentalizing the anxiety and dread the visit whips up inside of you.

A few minutes later and you're back in your car, feeling the pressure from worrying all morning begin to dissipate. Driving out of the parking lot, you cruise through the increasing street traffic as rush hour starts to congest the metropolitan roadways.

The radio is on your favorite station, and the morning program is recapping the latest local news when you notice that the car is starting to shake oddly.

Suddenly, just as you pass the traffic light of the intersection, you feel a sharp lurch before the undercarriage of the car slams roughly down on the pavement, as if you'd just hit the mother of all potholes. But then you hear metal grinding against asphalt, and immediately stop the car, only to find you can't turn the wheel to try and pull off to the nearest curb and out of the way of traffic.

Frantically, you keep trying to force the wheel, but it isn't until a bystander on the sidewalk rushes over and waves at you that you lower your window and hear him tell you that you're driving on the axel because your driver's side tire came off.

The next few minutes is pure chaos as car horns blare at you and impatient drivers zoom around your disabled vehicle into the opposite lane, which then causes a traffic bottleneck in the opposite direction you were driving.

After climbing over your center console to exit through the front passenger door, you manage to see the damage for yourself.

"Oh my god," you gasp at seeing that indeed, your entire tire – rim and all – came off the axel and was flung at the corner of the intersection.

Several calls later, and the police are detouring traffic while a tow struck is hitching your car to its flatbed to be transported to your dealership. With your work tote, workout bag, and purse in hand, you accept the tow truck driver's ride to the dealership. Realizing you're going to be very late for the manager's meeting, you get your cell phone from your purse and call Ellis.

"—Holy shit! Are you ok?!"

"Yeah, just a little thrown off. It doesn't look like I'll make it in time, so could you do me a favor and take any notes for me? Devon is in the Operations review so I—"

"No worries, kid. I got you. It sounds like it's gonna be another budgetary thing anyway," he assures and promises to give word to Olga so she can relay the news to Devon once he's back in your department.

The dealership is baffled when you explain to them what happened, and insist there's no way your recent service could've caused such an issue with your tire. Still, they agree to expedite the repairs and do a full diagnosis to see if anything else is wrong with your vehicle.

Unfortunately for you, they don't have any loaner vehicles available, so you're just about to ask them if they can call you a taxi when you remember that Kike had given you his cell phone number.

The congenial plainclothes officer is pulling up to the dealership not even twenty minutes later.

"Chacho, that sounds very scary!" he remarks, shaking his head empathetically after you tell him what happened. "If you need a ride later, I can take you home—"

"No, don't worry. While I waited, I called my friend to cancel plans we had for tonight, but she didn't let me and offered to pick me up," you reassure, smiling as you thank, "I appreciate it, though! I promise to call if I'm stuck for real."

"Ok, very good," he intones, as if satisfied, driving through morning traffic all the way to La Avenida Chardón where the U.S. Courthouse and Federal building are. During the drive, you ask him about how his training exercises went, and he jovially tells you how he's progressing and should be snagging the tactical ops certification in a month or so.

While you're hearing about the training Kike has yet to complete, Javier is standing under the shady canopy in front of the luxury store's display window, admiring the different, glitzy jewelry options arranged on the shelves and stands. The promenade is busy with tourists and locals alike, out enjoying the balmy Caribbean morning.

Just like that previous time wandering the jewelry district in Bogotá, Javier was perplexed by the variety of options – at the daunting number of rings one could possibly choose from. He was just internally admonishing himself for not having peeked into your jewelry box prior to see what kinds of rings – if any – you wore, for inspiration, when Steve approached his right side and hummed in goading wonder to get his attention.

"Well? Any of 'em catch your fancy?" he drawls as he squints at a very gaudy canary yellow diamond ring.

Grunting, Javi pushes his sunglasses back into place over the bridge of his nose before glancing over at Steve. "That's the thing: I haven't seen anything that feels like 'the one' – which as I say it out loud, sounds dumb," Javi mutters before looking back at the display.

Cocking a brow curiously, Steve remarks, "I mean, you were engaged once before—?"

"I didn't pick out that ring," Javi cuts in matter-of-factly, and Steve raises his brows in confusion, so he explains, "When we'd decided on needing to get hitched, Lorraine showed me an ad for the engagement ring she saw at the local jeweler's that she liked, so I got it and went to ask her father for permission. Showed him I already had the ring, so no one would suspect," he trails off before absently brushing the perspiration beading at his forehead. Running his hand to sweep his rogue curls back, he ends up shrugging, deadpanning, "I have no clue what she would like."

"I mean, when in doubt, a simple, big ole diamond ring should do the trick," Steve razzes and claps Javi on the back good-naturedly.

"No shit," Javier scoffs, griping, "But gold band? What shape diamond? I just don't know…"

Humming sympathetically, Steve was going to suggest maybe asking one of your close friends for help ring shopping, when a car pulled up to the curb and honked at them.

"Our ride's here," Javi mumbles as he walks by Steve, gesturing for him to hop to it. "Let's get this nonsense over with."

They both get in the SUV to be driven over to the U.S. Customs field office, and all the rings and twinkling diamonds fill his head as they drive to their appointment.

You're in desperate need for a break.

Once you'd gotten to the building, you'd spent the rest of the workday playing catchup. All your meetings had to be rescheduled and you hadn't had a moment to even grab coffee or a snack for lunch, so by the time 2pm rolls around, you're famished. Luckily, the conference call you had with a counterpart at the D.C. federal office got rescheduled for later in the week, so you decided to rush down to the cafeteria and get something to hold you over until dinner.

You've just sat down with your little tray at the table closest to the floor-to-ceiling-length windows that overlook the interior courtyard between the Federal and U.S. Courthouse buildings when you here a pair of leather-soled shoes clomping towards you.

"Well now, having a late lunch, signorina?"

You turn to see Agent Bozzi in a light gray suit and pale teal dress shirt, sans a tie. His hair is swept back and his beard is groomed differently than you remembered, but that smug smile and his cunning gaze is still filled with promise of ulterior motives. He's holding a big cup of to-go coffee, and is standing in that obvious way someone would to nonverbally fish for an invite to sit.

"Yes, it's been a hectic day, so just needed a snack," you reply pleasantly as you can, without trying to be inviting or obviously aloof. After all, you really just want to eat your salad and fruit—

Bozzi goes ahead and slides into the empty chair across from you, nodding towards your meal as he muses charismatically, "Pretty disciplined snack. Never would've guessed you for enjoying the forbidden fruit."

Arching a brow, you retort, "This is a pear. No apples today, although, the pomegranate is believed to be the more historically accurate 'forbidden fruit' of legend."

"Huh. I didn't know that," Bozzi drawls in a bass-filled reply, thick brows knitting together almost bemusedly while you begin to eat your salad.

You can see the gears turning for him to try and come up with something else to continue in conversation, so you decide to redirect, "Well, I hope I'm not holding you up from whatever required you to get that big caffeine boost."

His eyes crinkle at his cup and he admits, "Nah, I just needed an excuse to kill some time before heading back over to the Courthouse building—"

Of course… you acerbically think to yourself.

"—been burning the candle at both ends with this task force operation. Never seen anything like it. I've heard of a neighborhood being run by the drug dealers in Jamaica, but in a U.S. territory?" Bozzi prods your interest then, so you pay attention to his unfiltered remarking of, "Can't trust local PD to get the job done, so gotta let the experts take back the block."

"A block?" you ask.

Bozzi is pleased with himself, that he was able to pique your interest with that. "Yeah. It's classified, so I can't say too much, but a small-time gang took over a whole neighborhood, and even drew a white line in front of a specific block as a point of no return for the residents and outsiders. No one can cross it but the gang," he explains boldly before shifting the topic. "Anyway, the whole thing reminds me of a ride along I did once with the Italian special forces team the FBI partnered with outside of Rome. You ever been to Italy?"

You have to do everything to not roll your eyes at him. He was laying it on thick, and you'd fallen in the conversational trap, so you relented and answered, "Yes. I spent a season in Naples while my father trained at the U.S. Naval base there."

"Ah, long enough to pick up enough Italian?" he flirts, brows smugly cresting up as he smirks charmingly.

"Enough to get by, yes," you reply and take a bite of your salad.

He seems to decide then to give up reeling you in, at least for the time being.

"Well, I'll get out of your hair. I'll see yah around, director," Bozzi remarks and seamlessly vacates the seat as quickly as he'd taken it, and smiles at you as he exits with, "Maybe we can grab a real snack sometime."

You watch him stroll towards the lobby with that cocky swagger, and internally glower. How presumptuous!

The Bozzi drive-by has you rolling your eyes as you finish your snack, taking the pear with you up to your office so you can nibble on it in peace.

If Javier knew the FBI special agent in-charge had tried to flirt you up, he would be in an even worse mood than he was currently.

U.S. Customs had agreed to let them review their own surveillance findings for the investigation into the drop sites found in remote strips of beach, but had insisted they wouldn't compromise their UC's or the targets they were currently embedded with.

"—For the last time: I don't give a shit about their aliases. All we want are leads on the local players so we can trace any of them back to the surveillance targets DEA has in Puerto Rico," Javi impatiently snaps, eyeing the official across the table like he's an obstacle begging to be moved with force.

Steve, on the other hand, is sat next to Javier and is rubbing his temples, shoulders squared in aggravation. "What Agent Peña here is saying, is we're not looking to mess with your undercover agents. We're just looking for cooperation on whether any of the contacts they've made have mentioned any partnerships with the trafficking players running the trade in Puerto Rico," is his patient insistence.

The irony of all this, which they wouldn't find out about until way after the fact, was that U.S. Customs didn't have a real foothold with the supposed underlings to the traffickers, because the targets were acting as decoys.

Junior Capsula had learned from the mistakes of Escobar, and he wasn't as big of a come mierda as the Cali Godfathers. So, he knew to insulate himself and his real partners away from public view. And after that clusterfuck of a bust back in 1988 during that Operation C-Chase, it became more obvious that no one was to ever penetrate the smoke screen created to shield true leadership of the Familia.

Then again, though, his syndicate wasn't technically part of it.

Still, that meant creating not only dummy corporations, but decoy bag men and trafficking liaisons. The days of smugglers using banks to launder money, as far as he was concerned, were over. And with the current setup he was slowly building, he was sure to grow his empire and remain incognito.

After spending all day chipping away at the red tape, Javier and Steve got the intel needed and a commitment from CBP to keep them in the loop.

By the time he got back to his room, Javi needed a shower to wash the exasperation and angst off. Steve had agreed to skip dinner in favor of unwinding over room service and a long-distance call with Connie, so Javi took the opportunity to pack his suitcase for the early flight in the morning to St. John before tossing himself onto the bed and popping the kinks out of his back.

Picking up your nighty from where he'd folded it on the pile of clothes going into the suitcase, Javi drapes it over his face and takes a deep inhale through the garment. Your scent warms his blood, and makes his impulses itch.

The cool air in the room caresses across his bare skin as he lies there in just the towel, eyes closed and thoughts going lustful.

You've just gotten home after being dropped off by Zoraida. Your muscles ache from the kooky workout you'd tried out before dinner, and now full, you feel like you're in desperate need for a nice hot soaking bath before crawling under the covers.

The bathtub is halfway full and you're just about to climb in to sit on the ledge and let your feet dip into the warm water when your cell phone starts ringing.

Rushing to retrieve it from the bedside charger, you answer it while adjusting the fluffy towel around your torso.

"Hello?"

"I really wish you'd packed a pair of your panties along with the nighty."

Scoffing a simpering laugh, you go lean back against the doorway so you can keep watch of the tub while it continues to fill. "As if I'd pack skanky panties into your luggage and run the mortifying risk of them searching your suitcase at customs!" you deride sassily, grinning when he grumbles contrarily at that.

"Tan chingona," he deadpans, before letting loose a ruminating exhale.

Humming curiously, you ask, "Something on your mind?" then add, "Bad day?"

"Just a ball-busting kind of day. Nothing worth mentioning," is his monotone gripe, before he queries, "How was your day, cariño?"

You don't really want to tell him about the chaotic day, especially the incidents with the car and Agent Bozzi, so you simply respond, "It was busy! And I capped it off by going with Zoraida to try out this Pilates thing, so after I finish this hot bath, I'm taking my tired ass to bed."

"Pilates?" he remarks on a grunt.

"Yeah, it's the latest workout, I guess. All about precise ranges of motion and they use this machine that kind of looks like a torture rack to stretch your muscles and make you hold into positions to strengthen your core," you tell him as you walk over and turn the faucet of the tub off. "I'm probably going to feel like I was beaten with a stick in the morning."

"Jesus, don't overdo it, baby," is his rumbling tut, but you can hear the lopsided smile in his voice when he adds, "I think you should just stick to our special regiment and let me work you into positions that'll have you feeling good, instead."

You snicker, "Beyako," and smirk when he chuckles cockily at your ribbing. "You guys are flying out to St John in the morning still?"

"Yep. We'll be there a few days. Steve's ASAC has a lot of meetings set up for us," he replies on a huffy sigh.

Pouting, you chime, "You can do it, gruñón. I believe in you."

Javi blows a raspberry at that. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, bravita. Now, go have your bath. I'll call you tomorrow night," is his rugged murmur that has electricity zinging through you and into your core. "Goodnight, mi amor."

"Goodnight. Love you, chulito," you croon sweetly before telling him goodbye.

Setting the phone aside, you toss the towel onto the floor and slip carefully into the warm bath water. You practically melt as the heat seeps into your aching muscles, as you luxuriate with the fragrant soap you lather yourself up with before dipping below the surface and popping up for breath before lounging backwards against the tub.

When you get into bed and fall asleep, you're hugging Javier's pillow, with his college shirt tucked around it. Your slumber is sound and soothing.

For Javi, however, his night's sleep is filled with sexy dreams of you.

Needless to say, he's ridiculously horny when he wakes up early the following morning. The urge lingers in his core, even after he takes the edge off in the shower. Sure, it doesn't help that his salacious mind can't stop thinking about you. That when he brushes his teeth, the image of you smiling brilliantly at him fills his mind's eye. And when he shaves, the hickey you left on his neck, while mostly healed, still taunts him with the memory of how wild you got as you reached bliss and reveled in the throes of pleasure that he gave you.

By the time he was riding down in the elevator with Steve to check out, he felt like an animal in a rut. And once they were waiting at the gate to board their hour-long flight, Javi was craving a cigarette bad.

"Fuck, you got any nicotine gum?" Javier asks Steve as he rifles through the front zip pockets of his suitcase.

"Yeah," Steve goes into his pocket for the pack he keeps on him. "Here, take 'em. I'm on the patch."

Javi takes the pack and immediately pops one of the gums out of the tray packaging. Tossing it into his mouth, he chews and pockets the rest in his jeans. "Thanks. I knew I forgot to pack something," he grumbles as he sits back and absently scrubs his hand along his jaw, exhaling soothingly when the familiar tingle disperses from the gum.

"Technically you didn't pack the suitcase though, right?" Steve jibes, twirling the pen he's plucked from his polo's breast pocket.

The smile crests his lips before he can even try to feign coolness. "She surprised me with it, then packed everything immaculately for me. But I haven't been relying on the gum as much lately, so I didn't have any lying around," he replies as he tucks the gum into his cheek and checks his watch. "How're Connie and the kids?"

Steve grunts lamentingly. "Olivia caught the flu from school, so Connie picked her up early and took today off to stay home with the girls. She's keeping Isabel away to avoid her catching it, which you can imagine isn't easy," he explains, frowning. "She said flu cases have been spiking the last week."

"Shit, that's rough. You're gonna have to make it up to her big time when you get back," Javi states the obvious and nods sagely at Steve, which always gets the gringo's goat.

"Says the guy who came down here to marry the girl he let get away, and he hasn't even gotten his shit together to pick out a ring," Steve instigates right back and cocks his eyebrow snootily at him. Seeing the comment needle Javier enough that he broodingly crosses his arms and huffs crossly out of his nose before staring at the terminal's foot traffic, Steve sticks his lower lip out as he grunts, before divulging, "I think you're overcomplicating the ring thing. Celina is not a flashy lady. I'm sure a nice, classic ring with a simple diamond in the middle will make her more than happy. And anyway, you can get fancy on the actual wedding band later on."

Absorbing that, Javi ruminates on it the rest of the day.

You, on the other hand, are doing anything but thinking straight right now. Not with how run down and sick you feel.

It started as a lethargic fatigue in your muscles that morning. One you easily chalked up to being sore from the workout the night before. You ignored it and went about your day.

The car insurance company was nice enough to expedite getting you a rental car to use while yours was still at the dealership getting repaired, and once in the vehicle, you'd commuted to the office. By noon, though, you'd started getting a congestion headache. You managed to make it to 3pm before you had to call it a day, feeling lousy and begrudgingly frowning when Devon had poked his head in to see you listlessly packing your tote as he remarked, "Oh no, you too, huh. Noreen caught the flu last week, and it's slowly been working its way through the building."

With your purse slung across your shoulder and tote hanging in your hand, you waved him away as you croaked, "I'm going to go home before I pass out. Now, stay away so I don't infect you—"

"Ah, I never get sick. I've been around everyone who's gotten the flu so far," he'd stated like it was irrefutable, before shrugging and insisting, "I'll cover that meeting at 4pm and have Olga adjust your calendar for tomorrow. You're definitely going to need bedrest."

You'd groaned, but thanked him before schlepping out as quickly as your aching body could. However, you'd gotten to your apartment and barely made it into your room before realizing you'd forgotten to finish an efficiency report due the beginning of the following week, and you hadn't packed your laptop.

Too drained to come up with a solution, you undressed and got into an oversized baggy t-shirt and crawled into bed. You had taken a dose of the medicine that was sure to knock you out soon, so you were hoping to get the ginger tea down to help settle your stomach before that happened. The chills had just started wracking through your frame as the house phone rang while you stood wrapped up in your throw blanket by the kitchen as the tea kettle heated up on the stove.

Croakily, you answer, "Hello?"

"Ay, no, you're sick too?!" Zoraida's dramatic lamentation sounds harried and raspy. "I woke up con la monga—"

"Join the club," you grouse, shivering. "And I was just at the doctor when she mentioned watching out to not catch it—"

"Ah! So you must've caught it and given it to me," Zoraida sarcastically chastises before breaking out into a coughing fit.

"Nena, it's flu season! Plus, wasn't that instructor last night sniffling?!" you lob right back, jolting when the kettle starts to whistle.

"Ah, es verdad. Que jodienda," Zoraida huffs over the line. "Anyway, I was calling to tell you I have to cancel going to the salon—"

"Obviamente," you laconically drawl as you steep the tea bag in the piping hot water you just poured before taking the mug back to your bedroom. "I was really looking forward to some pampering, too," is your gruff complaint. Once you've pressed the phone to your ear and gotten yourself situated in your blanket cocoon, you add, "This week ha sido una mierda, and it's not even over yet."

"Oh yeah?" your friend queries.

With the medicine cruising through your bloodstream, you're too sick to want to keep your guard up. Most of your energy was zapped out of you, so you end up venting about your week so far, not realizing how brashly detailed you're being.

"—Anyway, I'll stop ranting. Once we both feel better, we'll do the salon," you end up musing before you both wish each other speedy recovery so you can finish your tea and try to get some rest.

Javier tries to call you later that night, but you are dead to the world thanks to the medicine you took making you groggy. He figures you must've had a long day and fallen asleep early. But when he calls your cell phone, then your office line the next morning and gets no response? He starts to worry, and your home phone goes to voicemail after ringing for several beats. So, he calls Ellis.

The man picks up as he stifles a sneeze. "Hello?"

"Hey, It's Javier. Sorry to call out of the blue, but I haven't been able to get a hold of Celina," he explains, pacing the length of the hall just outside of the CBP conference room he and Steve had been in most of the morning. "Is everything ok?"

"Hey, Jav. One sec—" Ellis begins before being interrupted by another sneeze. "Ugh, sorry. Anyway, she's out with the flu. Probably sleeping it off. It's been running rampant in the building. Think I'm catching it too," is his congested explanation, before adding, "Poor girl's had a hell of a week as it is. I was planning on stopping by her place to drop off her laptop, so I can let her know to give you a call, if you want."

"Shit. Yeah, that would be great. Thanks. Hope you feel better soon too," Javi answers before they exchange goodbyes.

He's puzzled by the other man's comment, though. When you call him back later on that night, he's relieved to hear your voice and doesn't immediately remember to ask you about your week.

"—Hi, mi amor. I'm sorry I missed your calls!"

"It's ok, querida. Heard you're not feeling great," he replies, leaning against the banister of the patio he's currently stood on while the sun sets in the horizon across the way.

"I caught the flu. Minus Devon and Olga, almost everyone I know at the Federal office has been sick," you tell him in a tinny voice before coughing.

"Pobrecita," is his lament. "Olivia's been sick too. Shit's going around."

"Aww, bendito," you chime sympathetically. "The medicine I've been taking makes me drowsy, but I do feel much better than I did yesterday. Ellis came by a little while ago to drop off my laptop," is your comment before adding cheekily, "He told me you called him all worried about me."

"I did," Javi admits easily. "I'm glad you're feeling a little better—"

"Hey, Jav! You want another drink?" Steve interrupts as he shouts over from inside the house they're visiting.

"Babe, are you and Steve on a date?" you jibe impishly.

"No, you loquita," Javi snorts as he turns and gestures to Steve that he's still good with his half-filled glass of whiskey. "We're at his ASAC's place. Sam and his wife invited us over for dinner. I'm actually out on their patio. It's got a great view of the beach shore."

"Ah, that's nice! I won't keep you then—"

"When are you and I going to go to the beach together, eh?" Javi cuts in charmingly, before drawling, "Any secret playas we can go lay out on, just the two of us?"

You snicker, "Yes, there are a few, chavón. Hurry back so I can pack a beach tote and drag you along on a seashore adventure!"

"I'm holding you to that, preciosa. Now get some rest. Love you."

"Love you too, hermoso. Take care."

By the weekend, you're feeling almost 70 percent back to normal, with only a cough lingering now.

Your doctor had called with the lab results, and you were miffed to hear yet again that the results were 'normal' and requiring more observation, since none of the markers for thyroid, PCOS or pituitary issues were coming up that could explain the amenorrhea.

After also confirming you were not pregnant either, she surprised you when she asked, "Have you been feeling stressed lately?"

You'd been thrown off, but replied that you were of course stressed, but not in any significant way you felt was abnormal.

Deciding to schedule another checkup in a few months, she recommended you find ways to lower your stress, relax on exerting yourself in your fitness routine, and continue with vitamins to help build up your hormonal balance since you were probably still coming off being on birth control for such a protracted period of time.

The whole thing was aggravating you, which obviously wasn't helping lower any stress. Still, you compartmentalized the news and continued with your day, which was filled with playing catchup from your disastrous week previous, and looking forward to having that pampering session with Zoraida after work.

When you're finally basking in the lounge with Zoraida post-services, sipping your complimentary champagne, she decides to hit you with her nosy interrogating.

"So, when's your jevo back from his work trip?"

"He's flying back tomorrow night."

"When are we gonna meet him, hm?"

"Soon."

"Are we going to meet him before your dad does?"

"Probably."

"Are things progressing to him eventually meeting him, though?"

Scoffing after swallowing your sip, you gripe, "Girl, I don't know! I'm not following an itinerary or anything—"

"You said your dad's been insisting on meeting him, so I was just wondering," she defensively retorts, shrugging.

"…I did?" is your confused remark, brows furrowing.

"Yeah. The other night? You said your dad has been fishing for you to open up about him, and that he even suggested inviting him over to dinner—"

You truly don't remember that, and it's plain on your face.

"Coño, nena – no te recuerdas," she snickers, elaborating, "You were venting about how he's pulling on your heartstrings about it? Something about quoting The Godfather?"

"Hah, yeah, ok. Jeez, I'm telling you, that stuff had me groggy and drowsy," you ruefully shake your head and finish your last sip.

"So…does Javier know?"

"About my dad jodiendo? No—"

"No, not that. Does he know about the doctor's checkups?"

Blinking in shock, you realize you must've just rambled in your grogginess about everything that was front of mind for you.

"No. I haven't told him because there's nothing to really tell," you answer, sitting back in the lounge chair and running your manicured fingers over your freshly trimmed and styled hair absently as you confide, "I was hoping to know by now whether it's just residual hormonal imbalance from being on the pill for so long, but they think it's this condition—well, they don't know if it is because they haven't diagnosed any underlying causes—"

"I mean, you've been with only Javi this whole time, right?" Zoraida interrupts, and at your vacant nod, she presses, "Pues, since you've gone off the birth control. He's the only guy you've had sex with?"

"Zory, you know he's been the only one," you scoff, shifting in your seat while glowering at her.

"Well? Then maybe he's shooting blanks," she states like it's no big deal.

"…Zory," you begin, but then huff, "I'm the one not having a normal menstrual cycle—"

"Which your doctor said isn't totally abnormal—"

"Why are we even talking about this?!"

"Because! You are with this man who could get you pregnant any minute—"

"Por Dios—no he's not, because I'm more than likely infertile!"

You realize you've blurted it out and now sit there, feeling moored to the scary reality you've not wanted to acknowledge out loud.

Leaning forward and empathetically rubbing your arm, Zoraida assures in an unwavering tone, "You don't know that yet. Until you do, there's no point stressing yourself out over it."

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you feel guilty. You're unsure why.

"Anyway…did I tell you, that I think Rafa is going to propose to Naida?"

The new topic overrides the mounting rumination in your head and refocuses you.

It's a perfect distraction that carries you to the end of the hangout.

By the time you get home, you feel wrung out. Sleep comes easily, and the next morning as you prepare to go into work, you're feeling recharged – albeit still dealing with the lingering respiratory stuffiness.

You get completely caught up at work, and even have time to plan for the upcoming projects that will require you to travel in the next month or so.

When the dealership finally calls about your car the following day, you're hopeful that you can get back to your normal routine. However, you're surprised when they ask for you to come down so they can speak with you in person.

After work, you commute over to the busy avenue the dealership and its auto shop are.

You are brought into what would be used as a leasing agreement room, and are perplexed when the assistant manager and the lead technician enter the room with a bunch of documents.

They talk through all the repairs, show you photos of all the damage they documented when the car was dropped off by the tow company, and show you after photos. Then, they hit you with it.

"…You're saying that the tire was tampered with?"

"Well, we can't say that for sure—"

"Señorita, I'm going to be frank. I have been arguing that the kind of damage cannot be from negligence on our part. If when you'd gotten your tune up, we'd improperly tightened the lugnuts, you'd have noticed first thing. The fact that the incident occurred almost a week after the service? In my professional opinion, someone loosened those nuts—"

Truly flummoxed, you continue to listen to them, and make arrangements for the insurance rep to meet with them in order to review their findings so they can document their case. Said rep contacts you, explaining since there is no police report detailing suspicion of the car being tampered with, they would write it off as a sudden mechanical failure, with the cause as inconclusive.

Still, the rep can't help joke, "After something like this? I'd kick all the tires before I get in the car."

You'd dropped off the rental and gotten your vehicle from the dealership, finding that it drove fine the whole way to work.

The entire ordeal is so jarring and filled with judicious paper trailing that you end up not realizing you hadn't heard from Javi until that afternoon.

Going to the floor the DEA department was on, you loped down in the direction of Javier's office, hoping to at least pop in and say hello if he's too busy. However, when you round the corner and head towards his office door, you're surprised to be stopped by his admin, who clears her throat before stating curtly, "Agent Peña isn't in today."

You turn, internally wondering if you were misinterpreting the edge of her tone when Steve comes around the corner from his own office, spotting you.

"Hey, hun! Got a minute?" Steve greets and asks, gesturing with a point over his shoulder for you to step into his office for privacy.

Nodding, you stride coolly over and make it a point not to look in the admin's direction.

Once you're in the tall blond's office, he closes the door and accepts your hug and kiss on the cheek hello. "Is Javi at the field office today?"

"Nope. He's out sick," Steve drawls in his sarcastic twanging tone. At your gasp, he puts his hands on his hips and shrugs comically. "I know. He was complaining about having a headache before we got on the flight last night, and then this morning he called saying he felt like absolute shit, so I sent Segarra to the field office while I cover stuff here," is his explanation. "I told him to stay in bed, because he did sound like complete crud."

Crud was an understatement for how Javier was feeling right now.

He'd cursed himself the entire plane ride to San Juan for stopping into the duty-free shops in the terminal before boarding the flight with Steve, certain that tourist in front of him getting rung up passed his germs onto him after coughing in his direction. By the time Wilmer drove him and Steve to their gated neighborhood, Javi's head felt foggy and his throat started aching.

Dead-tired, he'd dropped everything in his room before going to shower. He'd put on pajama bottoms and gotten into bed with the intention of calling you, but ended up rolling onto his side and passing out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Shivering under his sheets now, with cold sweat clinging to his feverish brow, he gritted his jaw with exhausted aggravation. He was thirsty, but too tired and achy to get out of bed and go to the kitchen. Aside from ibuprofen in his medicine cabinet, he didn't have anything to take for his fluish symptoms.

Just as he began to doze off again, the distant sound of the deadbolt lock on the front door being jiggled mutedly caught in his hearing. It wasn't until he heard it definitively unlock that he jolted up in bed and instinctively rushed to get up and retrieve his gun. Unholstering his service weapon where it was sat at the top of his dresser, he stealthily moved on feverishly trembling limbs down the hallway towards the source of entry for the intruder.

His shivering makes his shoulders quake as he stalks cautiously over, and just as he's about to switch the safety off once he's made it to the kitchen's bar top counter corner, the door opens.

You fumble over the threshold with your arms incumbered by several big paper shopping bags laden in your arms and plastic pharmacy bags hanging beyond your wrists.

"Jesus fucking Christ!"

You squeak in surprise at Javier's alarmed exclamation, and nearly drop one of the bigger bags.

Quickly placing the gun on the counter, facing away from you with the safety still on, Javi shakily scrubs his hand over his feverish features.

"Javi, you scared me!" you haughtily grumble as you kick the front door shut and rush to put the bags down in the kitchen. "What're you doing out of bed—?" you begin but end up getting hit with a coughing fit.

Scowling almost pitifully, Javi grouses, "I thought someone was breaking in—"

"With a key?" you mockingly sass after clearing your throat, eyeing him sardonically as you toss your purse off from over your shoulders and place the keychain down on the counter before rounding the bar top towards him. In the low light of the entry, you hadn't seen more than his silhouette but now up close, you see how clammy his bare chest is and how worn with fever his features are, so you frown and fret, "Ay, pobrecito. Come, you have to get back to bed."

He doesn't even have the energy to argue, and is actually feeling a bit dizzy, so he is more than grateful when you loop your arm around his waist and lead the way.

Once you've helped him back into bed and pulled the sheet up to tuck him in, you sit on the edge of the mattress and take his temperature with the back of your palm to his sweltering forehead.

"You're burning up," you lament.

Tiredly, he smiles as he reaches for your cheek before he affectionately brushes his warm fingertips to tuck your swaying strands of hair behind your ear.

"You changed your hair," he points out in a gravelly murmur, eyes creasing softly as he drawls, "It looks nice."

Snickering, you cup his flushed cheek and comically sigh, "Ever the charmer."

He grunts humorously. "Steve told you I was sick," is his raspy comment, parched lips pouty when you rush up to get a wet washcloth from the bathroom so you can fold and drape it over his forehead after you brush his matted hair back from his sweaty brow.

"He did. So, I picked up a few things from the store, and stopped at their house to get your spare key from Connie," you tell him gently, caressing his cheek and brushing your thumb caringly across his dark stubble. "Have you taken anything?"

"No," he answers hoarsely, throat starting to burn from talking. "Mmmph, feel like shit."

"I know, mi amor. Stay here," you murmur and quickly go get him some medicine and a big glass of water, stifling your cough along the way.

Once he's taken the dosage and drained the glass, you make another trip to return with all the pharmacy supplies.

"Ok, sit up for me," you instruct as you retrieve the container of Vick's from one of the bags.

"C'mon, I hate that stuff," Javi complains and laboriously sits up, scowling. "I just need water and to stay in bed. No need to baby me—"

"What're your symptoms, tough guy?" you counter, looming over him with authority. When he stubbornly shrugs, you resolutely state, "Quit being a brat, or I'll make you go to the doctor."

Too tired for that, Javi grumbles in defeat, "Fever, sore throat, my body aches, and my head hurts."

"I'm putting this on you, and it's going to help with all of that. Then you're going to rest and let the medicine take effect. I'll make you some soup, and you'll drink plenty of this stuff too," you're instructing as you place the Vick's on the nightstand in order to retrieve the electrolyte drinks you picked up.

"I don't want you to get sick—" Javi grouses as he tries to suppress a shiver.

"I'm still getting over what I had, so I should be fine," you counter smoothly as you open the bottle of orange-colored electrolytes and offer it to him. He raises his brows, almost goadingly, so you sit on the edge of the mattress again and press the bottle to his lips to feed him slow sips. "Malcriado," you playfully chastise after he's drank his fill, and set the bottle aside to then open the container of vaporub ointment. Dipping your fingers in and scooping a generous amount of the ointment, you judiciously start to rub and massage it into his chest, then up into his neck, as you teasingly chide, "Your latino card is gonna get revoked for saying you hate this stuff—"

"Burlona," he grouses, corner of his mouth tugging into a smile as he holds the cool compress in place on his brow while you continue to rub the ointment along his back now.

His frame shivers from the chills caused by the fever, so you prop the pillows up for him and have him lean back. "I know you feel cold, but it's actually hot and stuffy in here, so I'm going to turn the air on," you're telling him as you pull his coverlet up from the foot of the bed in order to tuck him in before getting up to turn the air conditioner wall-mounted console on, then retrieving the boxed thermometer from the pharmacy bag.

Javi's eyes are heavy lidded and his cheeks are flushed while the thermometer tucked under his tongue takes his temperature as you go run the washcloth under cool water in the bathroom sink again. He can't help feel like an overgrown baby for some reason, but a small part of him is indulging in your doting treatment.

Sitting back on the edge of the bed to place the compress to his forehead, you take the thermometer from his lips and read the temperature with a frown.

"100.5," you tut before setting the thermometer aside and affectionately caressing your thumb along his cheekbone to swipe away the droplets that have dripped down from the washcloth. "You're going to start feeling groggy from the medicine, so rest while I make you some soup. I'll wake you up once it's ready—"

His warm hand reaches for your wrist to keep your palm cupping his cheek, as he rasps, "You don't have to stay and baby me, querida—"

"No seas tan terco, and let me take care of you, Javier," you bossily cut in, smiling when he exhales humorously and purses his lips out at you. "Quédate quieto, y pórtate bien."

He nods obediently, so you kiss his nose cutely and set everything he may need on the nightstand, including a box of tissues, before letting him rest in the cooling bedroom.

It isn't until you're coming in the dark room with a tray balanced in your hands that he realizes he must've dozed off for a while. His sinuses are stuffy, but he can see the piping tendrils of heat coming off the large bowl of soup, and his mouth starts watering.

Shuffling up to sit with his back against the headboard, he drowsily rubs at his face as he yawns, "How long was I out?"

You manage to place the serving tray so that the legs bracket up to stand on either side of his lap before placing the cold glass of water on the nightstand for him. "About an hour. Here, let me know if it's too hot, and I'll put some ice cubes in," you answer and instruct as you dip the spoon in and raise it to feed the sip of soup to him.

It is incandescently hot, but in the best way, so Javi helps himself once you've handed him the utensil. Along with the large bowl of noodle-rich, flavorful soup with giant chunks of potato in it, he has a nice piece of crunchy pan you must've gotten from the bakery at the supermarket.

"Mmm, thanks. I was starving and didn't even know it," he rumbles with his mouth full.

"Well, there's plenty more if you get hungry later," you tell him serenely as you go to tidy up the clutter in his bedroom from where he'd just tossed his open suitcase and things from the night before. You notice a big shopping bag with the logo of the duty-free shops printed on the side of it, but don't move it or ask him about it. Instead, you arrange the rest of the medicine to be laid out on his nightstand as you remark, "I'm going back to the office to finish a few things, but I'll be back after work, ok? Be sure to take the next dose after you eat."

He grunts while slurping up more of the noodles before murmuring, "Thanks, cariño."

With his dark soulful eyes twinkling at you like that, you can't help lean down and kiss him on the forehead. "Call me if you need anything," you tell him as you walk to the hallway.

Once you've closed the door, Javi picks up the bowl and drinks up the remaining broth straight from it, having not wanted to be too much of a boor in your presence. With his hunger more than sated, he drains a bottle of the electrolytes before moving the tray to the unoccupied side of the bed so he can lie back down, tucked under the covers. The rest of the pharmacy supplies you bought that don't fit on the nightstand are arranged on his dresser for him, along with the holstered gun you must've returned while he was asleep. The sound of the front door closing and locking echoes from the main room, so he relaxes and closes his eyes.

He falls asleep easily to the ambient hum of the consola and the soothing chill of the cool air fanning in a slow undulation around the room.

Hours later, after finishing your work day, you grab your things and head back to Javier's. You're eager to spend time with him, and actually are looking forward to taking care of him for the night, knowing he cannot be trusted to not try to use whiskey to "sweat it all out" as Steve had told you he'd not-so-jokingly grumbled after getting dropped off from the airport the night before.

You park in his driveway this time and use the second key on the ring to enter the laundry room door entrance since you weren't burdened with groceries, hoping it wouldn't rouse your sick lover to come gun drawn again.

When you come into the main living space, you're surprised to find Javier wrapped up in a blanket like a human burrito, curled up on the couch and watching TV. The coffee table is cluttered with bottles of electrolytes, an empty glass of water, a half-empty box of tissues with the used ones crumbled all over, and the tray you'd brought the soup on stood up with what looks to be several bowlfuls of remnants on it, while the bowl itself is licked clean.

"Javier Felipe Peña, I told you to stay in bed!" you admonish imperiously as you march over and loom over him.

His stubble-covered features pout up at you, disheveled hair flopping across his brow as he clumsily tries to sit up while still keeping the blanket tightly wrapped around him. "I couldn't stay asleep and got hungry, so I came out to get more soup, but got too tired to go all the way back with it, so I parked here. It was supposed to be until I finished eating, but then I fell asleep again, and then woke up and figured I should just stay here," Javi rambles, and your smile gets harder and harder to repress the more he tries to justify and appease you.

Shaking your head sardonically at him, you put your purse and tote aside on the nearby chair and come over to sit next to him and feel his forehead for his temperature.

"Hm, well you clearly still have a fever, so c'mon – back to bed," you tell him as you brush his mussed hair back from his forehead before caressing your touch along his brow, then down to cup his cheek as you give him a quick peck on the lips.

He lets you help him up and maneuver around the tray to go down the hall and back to being tucked under the covers. You fluff his pillows, prop them up behind his back for him, and retrieve the next dose of medicine he should've taken hours earlier.

"Sorry you have to put up with this," Javi croaks after clearing his sore throat.

"It's fine. I knew you would be a little shit and not obey me," is your irreverent singsong, chuckling when he glowers at you, so you angelically smile as you feed him his medicine, before asking, "Did you like the soup?"

Grunting, he finishes swallowing before drawling, "I got some of my taste and smell back after the first bowl. It was really delicious. That wasn't chicken soup, though, right?"

"Nope. That was sopa de jamón. It was my Puerto Rican grandma's recipe. It's less prep, but just as hearty and flavorful. The saltiness of the ham and the sofrito gets sucked up by the noodles, and it forces you to drink lots of fluids," you pleasantly explain as you pick up the vaporub and open it in order to scoop ointment out to massage his chest with it. "Once the medicine kicks in, I'll go start dinner."

I could really get used to being spoiled like this, Javi thinks to himself, enjoying your massage, even if it's with the heavily fragrant eucalyptus-smelling ointment. But he can't deny how it's helped his muscles ache less and his airways open up more, and he easily dozes off to you rubbing your thumbs in slow circles along the spot where his lymph nodes are on either side of his neck.

When he wakes up next, he realizes that you'd found the portable TV that was in the spare bedroom and had rolled it into his room. The ambient glow from the screen helped stir him to adjust in a sitting position, where he turned to find you lounging on your side, napping next to him.

With your eyes closed and your head lulled on the pillow this way, he could see how tired you still look from kicking the remnants of the flu, and something aches in his chest at the realization that he'd not been around to take care of you, the way you so deserved and did so easily for him.

The early evening news is playing on the TV, but the volume is set low, so he sits up and tries to pull the throw blanket up to cover your shoulders.

"Mmm," you mumble and curl closer to him, before stirring and stretching your legs out while yawning, "Ugh, sorry. I didn't mean to conk out—"

Snorting, he leans over and kisses your cheek before murmuring in a gravelly husk, "Quédate dormida."

"Nope. Too late. I'm up now," you lilt as you stretch out your limbs before sitting up, stifling a cough into the pit of your elbow. Once the bleariness is blinked away from your eyes, you see that the feverish flush has dissipated from his cheeks, so you sidle up to him to take his temperature with your hand to his forehead. "Hm, think the fever has gone down a bit."

His dark eyes look dreamy as he gazes at you before he leans forward and nuzzles your cheek. "You're actually getting me hot right now," is his purr, and you snicker when he keeps nuzzling down your jaw and to the base of your neck.

"You're not getting any until you're feeling better, Javi," you murmur with irrevocable authority as you nudge him back and make him lie down so you can climb over him while you announce, "Dinner's been ready. Are you hungry?"

Javier loops your waist with his arm and hauls you back into bed. "I'm starving for you, mandona," he croons as he cuddles you and grazes mustachioed kisses into your neck. "Let me show you just how much better I feel—"

"Ah, Javi—your lips are all crackly and dry," you object goofily and wrestle him onto his back so you can straddle his lap and thwart his sexy advances. His mouth frowns woefully, so you snicker and coo, "Ay, no me mires así, bebito."

"Ugh, fine," Javi huffs in defeat and flops grumpily under you.

However, your dazzling smile and loving caress along his forearms makes it hard for him to keep the brooding façade up. And when you lean down and pepper soft kisses along his face, he relaxes totally. So much so, you're able to go plate dinner and bring it back on the serving tray you set up on the center of the bed so you can eat together.

While in mid-chew, you notice the duty-free shopping bag tucked in the corner again, so after you swallow, you ask him, "What's in the bag?"

He follows your glance, and smirks around his current mouthful. Washing it down with a gulp of water, he replies, "That, is a gift for you. And the likely cause for this fucking flu I caught."

When he gestures with his chin for you to go ahead and take a look, you amble off the bed and retrieve the bag. You pull out a very large and elegant rattan beach tote with smooth tan leather handle straps and tropical-patterned linen-lined interior.

"Figured it would make for a perfect beach tote for that seashore adventure you promised," Javier charmingly muses when you smile over at him.

"This is lovely," you gush, leaning over and kissing him sultrily on the lips. "Thank you."

With a smug grunt, he grumbles daringly, "I thought my lips were too crackly—"

"Shut up and let me kiss you, malcriado."

And you do, kissing him on his lips, cheeks, and all over while he chuckles.

After finishing dinner, you join Javi for a quick hot shower, surprising him with the bouquet of dried eucalyptus stems you've hung from the nozzle. It's an old rustic remedy – using eucalyptus in a hot bath or steamy shower to diffuse the invigorating scent to help with nasal congestion and increasing blood flow in blood vessels. But Javi had never been a fan of it, especially when he was a kid and every woman in his family would slather the stuff on him over any ailment.

"Ugh, c'mon!"

"They'll help with your congestion!"

"Are you feeling congested still?"

"Yes, actually—"

"Ok. Fine—"

"I promise it will help, gruñón," is your flirty assurance as you tow him into the shower stall with you once the hot water and steam is going.

His surly grumble was softened by his smirk and irreverent head shake.

In the end, you were right, and the fragrant steam saturated his skin and made it easy to take deep breaths in without coughing or sneezing. The pressure in his sinuses decreased, and he was definitely enjoying you soaping him up and rubbing his tired muscles. It did wonders for you too, relieving the congestion still lingering in your chest and alleviating your coughing for the rest of the night.

Afterwards, while he's getting into a gray pair of sleep bottoms, you strip the bed and dress it with fresh sheets before getting out a nice blue quilt from the closet. He comes over and helps you toss it onto the bed so it's arranged evenly on the surface. Pleased, you go over and playfully guide him backward to sit on his side of the bed before dutifully giving him the next dose of medicine that will help him sleep. You then return from the bathroom with your container of Vaseline and glide a dab-size of it with your little finger over his chapped lips before tucking him under the comforter. He caresses down the curve of your waist to squeeze your nightgown-clad hip, smiling when you lean down and kiss his forehead.

"Be right back," you tell him before going to shut the lights off and make sure the doors are locked. You return to the cool bedroom, with another glass of water for him and a backup box of tissues, to find him rummaging under the comforter in search for the TV remote. Snickering, you walk over and pick it up from the top of the TV set and walk over to hand it to him.

"What would I ever do without you," he schmoozes in that honeyed baritone way that always makes you grin girlishly, especially combined with his flirty caress of your tush before giving it a squeeze.

Pursing your lips saucily at him, you set the glass down on the remaining free corner within reach for him on the nightstand, as you simper, "According to Steve? Probably starve and 'sweat out the flu with whiskey', among other things."

"He's such a narc," Javi laconically sneers, but his mischievous smile widens when you playfully swat his hand.

Shaking your head amusedly, you go to open the drawer to store the tissue box. "I think it's great how you two are a platonic married couple at this point—" your wry joke skids to a halt when you look in the open drawer and see a small bottle of lube and a long-lost pair of your panties within easy reach. Gasping, you snatch the used garment out and exclaim incredulously, "Oh my fucking god, Javier! Are you serious?!" His big brown eyes widen as you hold the offending prize up for judgment, comically haranguing, "You freaking puerco! How long have you had this nasty thing, you beyako pervertido?!"

"That's a rhetorical question, right?" Javi sheepishly drawls, hands going up defensively when your narrow glare sharpens in that commanding way that promises something wicked his way will come if he keeps being naughty. "Since around that time we went to that fancy steakhouse with Sasha, I think," is his answer, and he gives you those damned puppy eyes when he leans over to try and coax you closer so he can take them back, while begging, "Please, let me keep them?"

Scoffing, you place the box of tissues in the drawer, shut it and pointedly turn on your heel to march over to the hamper in the corner by the closet to ceremoniously dump the panties in. Javier groans in huffy disappointment, scowling as he flops back into the pillows. He glowers as you snootily strut to your side of the bed, shut the nightstand lamp off, and crawl under the quilt.

Only, you don't maneuver to lie next to him. Instead, you prowl under the covers to lay between his legs before answering with snarky authority, "That means those were over a year old, you fresco. And, that you pilfered them when you were under the comforter – just like this – and went down on me that one time. Right?"

Before he can answer, Javi feels you blow cool air on his clothed crotch, making his semi twitch eagerly, and getting a gasp out of him. "Sounds about right, yeah," he croaks gruffly, hands gripping the sheets.

Dramatically tossing the quilt away so you can quickly straddle him, you impishly lean close until your lips are a whisper apart before purring, "Good. So you'll be a good boy and earn another pair by behaving and letting me take care of you, right?"

Javi's running hot now, and not just from fever. "Sí, mi patrona," is his cheeky husk, relishing how you bat your lashes and smile, appeased.

Reaching to turn his nightstand lamp off, you hum alluringly for him to kiss you.

His lips brush yours covetously before he rolls you both into the bed, making a happy giggle bubble free from your chest.

After some savvy coaxing on your part, you both end up tucked close under the blanket. The ambient glow of the TV screen illuminates his relaxed features as you soothingly run your fingers through his hair, helping lull him into the drowsy haze provided by the medicine hitting his bloodstream while you watch the late-night comedy show. Even in the chilly room, his body temperature is still running hot, so you make sure not to press up against his form and overheat him.

By the time he's snoring in deep slumber, you turn the TV off, and curl up to sleep.

The next morning, Javier's temperature is down to 99.3 degrees, so after you shower and get ready for work, you make him breakfast and serve it to him in bed. Begrudgingly, Javier had called out sick for the day, and you'd insisted that he take the medicine and sleep, but ended up compromising with him to take at least one more dose, and that he stay in bed resting.

"—Ok, I'll come around lunch time," you're telling him now as you pull on your heels and go to his dresser to hurriedly brush your hair up into a chic twist. "Need me to pick up anything while I'm out?"

"Not a thing. You've done more than enough, guapita," he responds from where he's cozily resting in bed, head propped up by fluffed pillows. The angle helps him appreciatively ogle you as you smoothen your white with black trim Georgette v-neckline with a spread collar and button cuffs blouse after tucking the hemline into the waistband of your stylish black slacks. "You look fucking sexy, so you know."

Smiling, you turn and abandon putting on lipstick to go over and sit on the edge of the bed so you can sultrily glide your touch from his bare chest to cup his chin before leaning forward and kissing him, then pulling back cockily to leave him wanting as you hum, "You're a sweet talker, but you better be a good boy like you promised, me entiendes, bebito?"

His eyes darken with want as he nods and husks, "I will, jefa."

With a gloating smile, you let him pull you back down for a long kiss before you say goodbye and head out.

Javi keeps his word, takes his medicine, and has a relaxing sleep for the rest of the morning.

Thankfully, your morning schedule is fairly light, so you're able to leave the federal building campus earlier than you'd originally planned for your lunch break. When you come into the house and do not find Javier sprawled on the couch again, you smile triumphantly, before heading down the back hall to open the door to his bedroom.

You find him watching the afternoon variety show, lounging with his back against the headboard and a pillow tucked behind his head.

"Well, I can't believe it. You actually behaved," you chortle as you toe off your heels and flounce over to sit on the side of the bed before feeling his forehead.

"You got so furiosa, there was no way I was going to chance incurring your wrath," he jokes, sounding a bit stuffed up, but clearly feeling better.

He smiles when you scoff and kiss his cheek. "You feel even less feverish than this morning. Is your throat still sore?" you ask as you stand in order to take off your tight slacks so you can get more comfortable.

Appreciatively, Javi leers at your perfect ass in the pink cotton panties as you slide your pants on a hanger so they don't get wrinkled. "No, just dealing with a stuffy nose now," he answers as he retrieves a tissue. "I might take something for it, though."

"Ok, good. I'll make lunch so you don't take it on an empty stomach," you're pleasantly retorting as you pull on a pair of lavender drawstring shorts and go to the hamper to quickly separate garments. "Might as well start some laundry while I'm here," you remark while digging into it to pile whites, darks and items for dry-cleaning onto the foot of the bed. "Is everything in your suitcase dirty? I can take your dress shirts and drop them off at the dry cleaners on my way back to the office—"

You pause as you keenly eye the three piles and notice something missing. Laconically, you stare over at Javier like he's a rambunctious puppy you just caught trying to hide a toy.

"Um, yeah, everything in the suitcase is dirty—" he begins to answer as he starts to get up from bed to go retrieve it for you.

"Uh-uh. Park it," you order saucily as you put your hand on your hip and gesture with the other, demanding, "Give them to me, right now, chavón."

His poker face is pretty good when he feigns confusion while he drawls, "I don't know what you mean—"

"Hand over the skanky panties you squirreled away, or you're gonna get it, Javier."

The lewd thrill your smoky command stirs in his core cracks his composure and gives him up before he huffs in surrender and reaches his hand down between the mattress and box spring on his side of the bed. The undies are withdrawn swiftly before he makes a big show of sitting up and shuffling along his knees towards the foot of the bed to cockily place them in your expectantly outstretched palm.

Humming glibly, you tut, "Caripela'o," while tossing the panties in the pile before playfully shoving him to lay back down on the bed.

He has a faux pout on his lips, but you can see the way his soulful eyes are crinkled that he likes when you sexily chastise him. You like getting a rise out of him, too, and really enjoy that he's going out of his way to comply, albeit smugly. Still, he behaves while you go through his suitcase for the rest of the laundry, and only grins when you retrieve your silk nighty from the pile and toss it at him before placing all the sorted clothes in the laundry basket and taking it to the wash.

While the first load goes through its cycle, you make a pot of rice and your Grandma's recipe for Puerto Rican corn beef, quickly plating the meal and putting a hefty slice of aguacate to go with it before taking the tray to the bedroom to serve Javi.

His attention is riveted on the afternoon news segment about the latest crime statistics on the island that the anchor is citing in reference to a spree of carjackings and muggings that had occurred earlier in the week.

"Here, mi amor," you place the tray to stand on the mattress adjacent to where he's currently sat, on the foot of the bed. "Hope you like it—"

The sound of his cell phone ringing interrupts as it buzzes loudly on the nightstand, threatening to topple the pharmacy items now haphazardly stacked next to it.

Shit—" Javi tries to maneuver to reach for it, but you're actually closer, so you go to the nightstand and grab it. "It must be the office—"

"Well, you're out sick, so they shouldn't be calling you at all," is your curt remark before you press the button to answer it with a professional greeting. "Hello, you've reached Special Agent Javier Peña's mobile phone line. Can I take a message?"

Javier balks at you, stunned that you would answer, but also overawed with exhilarated admiration for you and your chingona confidence – that you would unabashedly do something so flashy when not so long ago you would've avoided doing anything remotely similar.

"Oh, I-I'm sorry. I should've considered that he would be too busy to answer the phone," a raspy baritone with an earthy southern cadence to it that sounded distantly familiar to you answers sheepishly. "I don't want to bother him, so I'll call back later—"

Smiling brilliantly, you turn to Javi as you answer, "Ah, Javier's got plenty of time to prioritize a phone call from his Pop. If that's who I may direct as the person reaching him?"

The surprise melts into instant delight on Javi's face when he can make out his father's warm chuckle. "Yes, that's right. And I take it that I'm finally speaking to the famous Celina?" Chucho rumbles jovially back, making you laugh brightly in the affirmative. "Well if you're answering, I'm sure that means Javier is indisposed—"

"Ah, actually, he's home sick, so I commandeered answering his phone in case it was the office bothering him when they should be respectful and let him rest," you assure in a spritely tone. You go to sit beside Javi as you add, "Anyway, here he is," before handing him the phone.

The endearing warmth shining in Javi's dark eyes for you as he takes the phone and leans in to kiss you adoringly makes you tingle, but you flirtatiously snicker and nudge him playfully from getting carried away and neglecting the call further.

"Hey, Pop. Everything ok?" he greets and asks, watching you maneuver to sit on your side of the bed with your own plate of lunch you picked up from the serving tray.

"Yes, yes! I just, well…it's my and your mother's anniversary today, and I guess I was wanting to see how you were," Chucho's baritone rationalizing is pensive, yet lonely, and Javi internally swears and clenches his eyes shut in upset with himself. "Anyway, you not feeling well?"

You see Javi's shoulders droop before he answers tightly, "Pop…I'm sorry. I should've called earlier. The last few days have been hectic; traveling, getting the flu—"

"No-no, it's all right, mijo. You are busy and living your life. And, from the sounds of it, you're living it well," is Chucho's easygoing rasp, proudly adding, "You have a feisty, loving woman looking after you, so relish it, and don't take her for granted. And live in the moment together. You deserve to be happy, Javier."

The lump in his throat manages to get pushed down when he looks over at you and sees you attentively reading his expression, curious as to what has his dark chocolate eyes shining with unshed tears. "Thanks. I will. And I promise to come visit soon—"

"Don't worry about that. I know you're busy. Just try to keep in touch a bit more, ok?"

"I definitely will. Cuídate, Papá."

"You too, mijo. But before you hang up, put her back on the phone?" Chucho cajoles, and Javi snickers in agreement before offering it to you.

Smiling, you set your plate aside on the nightstand to take it. "So you know, you can rest easy that I will make sure Javi calls more," is your affable remark, squinting your eyes impishly at Javi giving you a deriding stare.

"I know you will, mija. And when you can, have him bring you for a visit. It's been long overdue that I haven't gotten to meet and thank you for taking care of my son. He really loves you, and as far as I'm concerned, you're already part of the family," Chucho charmingly extols. "All he wants to do is make you as happy as you make him, sabes?"

Feeling your heart summersault in your chest, you chime, "Well, he takes care of me too, and he does make me happy, so I feel the same way." You see Javier's expression soften at your words. Fearlessly, you add, "I love him with all my heart."

"I'm glad, and will keep you both in my prayers. Take care, Celina. Dios los bendiga."

"You too. Goodbye."

Once you place the phone down on the bed, you can see Javi is buzzing with curiosity, so you coolly return to your plate of food before musing, "Eat, before it gets cold, chulito."

He blows a raspberry before obeying, and ends up scarfing the meal down with gusto, savoring the fresh avocado he mixes in with the rice and criollo-style corn beef. Once he's washed it all down by guzzling the glass of water until it's empty, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before he sets the serving tray aside so he can stretch out to sidle up close to you.

"I'm such an asshole. I forgot that today's my parent's wedding anniversary…" he unburdens himself, tone self-reproachful. "I had my head in my ass—"

"Javi, you've been running around for days, then you got sick. It just slipped your mind," you console as you rub his bare back. "Your dad is sweet and kind. I'm sure he just wanted to hear from you. He didn't sound disappointed or anything. And, from now on, I'll badger you to call him more so he and I can chat away."

That feeling of radiating heat fills his chest and makes his bones ache with how much your words comfort him.

"You're too good to me," Javi murmurs with genuine feeling, and it makes you shake your head drolly. "I know it annoys you when I say so, but I mean it."

"Javi, it only annoys me, because it's like you're saying you don't deserve to be treated right," you explain, frowning when he tucks his chin in to hide his self-loathing expression, clearly annoyed with himself for saying what he thinks was the wrong thing. You shift to face him and cup his chin in order to tip his face up so he can look into your eyes as you profess tenderly, "You are the love of my life, and you're worthy, and I mean it when I tell you this: You make me happy, and make me feel deserving of love. I only ever want you to feel the same, so when you say I'm too good to you, it makes me sad, because it means I'm doing the opposite…that I haven't made you feel deserving enough."

He's never thought about it that way, and now that you've told him how you feel, all the self-doubt – the feeling unworthy – gets blasted away like shadows being banished by the light of the sun.

You see it etching plainly on his handsome features, so you kiss him lovingly on the lips before nuzzling him affectionately.

The way your incandescent grace fills him up has him hugging you tight, and you smile at his murmured sweet nothings he pours into your ear.

"…Te amo hasta mi alma. You're my everything, querida…"

Your heart sores, and you bask in his passionate embrace, cherishing the moment of serenity with him.

Once you've both become settled, you end up having to rush to turn over the laundry loads, then hurry back to get dressed again for work.

"Get some rest, hermoso. I love you," you susurrate, and kiss him goodbye on the lips.

"Love you too, querida," he rumbles and playfully glides his touch down your arm to clasp your hand as if he's not going to let you go before trailing his fingers away.

You snicker and wink at him before heading out.

More than content to lie back down and rest until you get back from work, Javi lets his thoughts run wild with the exhilarating promise of plans he's intent on making reality sooner rather than later.

Hours later, after a staff meeting to get progress reports regarding the different program initiatives everyone is working on, you're in your office finalizing some reports. It's close to the end of the day, and you're eager to wrap things up so you can head home to Javier.

Your cell phone starts to ring, so you answer it and multitask as you scan your report on the computer's screen. "Hello?"

"Good afternoon, Ms. Reinosa. My name's Ned Fuller, and I'm a CIFI for your auto insurance provider. I'm calling in regards to your automotive accident earlier this week. Do you have a second to chat?"

Thrown off, you lean back in your chair and focus on your desk, already retrieving the folder with all the paperwork from your tote as you answer, "Yes, I do. I'm sorry, CIFI?"

"Oh, my apologies! That's short for Certified Insurance Fraud Investigator. I'm actually a case manager who helps flag cases submitted by our insurance offices out in the Caribbean region," the man explains good naturedly, while still managing to fill you with dread. "Anyway, I wanted to call and alert you that while at the local level, there was no way to prove the vehicle malfunctioned without an external cause, when I read the case report, it alarmed me, as it was very reminiscent to a case I worked on in the Florida Keys a few years back."

"Huh…in what way?" you ask, pulling over a notepad and grabbing a pen to jot down any details.

"Well, it was a doozy. Basically, a wealthy financier was driving his vehicle towards the interstate on-ramp, when his tire failed and sent the vehicle careening into the guardrail and almost jettisoned it over the barrier. On closer inspection by the tech lab, they found the tire's strut mount had been tampered with. Turns out the fella was in a contentious divorce battle, and authorities arrested his wife," the investigator retells, before getting back to the topic at hand. "Anyway, while not part of protocol, I figured it would only be right to inform you of the red flag this raised for me, and caution you that if not caused by your dealership's negligence, there was this possibility—"

"I'm sorry. Are you saying that there's a suspicion—that there's evidence that my car was deliberately tampered with in order to cause the accident?" you inquire, flummoxed.

"…Well, on the record, there was significant damage done that it made it difficult to conclude the tire was tampered with," he begins, before confiding, "Off the record? I would say it's suspicious."

The man explains a bit more to you, but you're floored and completely caught up in a ruminating whirlpool.

Did someone…could someone have purposely rigged the tire in order for me to crash the car?!

As the thought builds up an ominous pit in your stomach, yet another makes you worry.

Who would go through the trouble of doing it…and why?

To be continued…

  ________________

Read Chapter 45: Deserving - Part 2

Spanish-English Glossary:

Partido Nuevo Progresista = New Progressive Party

Puntos = Points, as in drug points

Muecas = Making faces; grimaces

Querida/querido = Affectionate term, akin to expressing one's want and desire

Mi patrón = My master/boss

Malcriada/malcriado = Brat/spoiled

Traviesa = Naughty/Mischievous girl

Tentadora = Temptress

Mi amor = My love

Mi patroncito = My little patron

Bebito = Little baby (male)

Lo necesito. Te lo ruego. Por favor, mi rey. Seré tuya = I need it. I beg you. Please, my king. I'll be yours

Eres pinche gloriosa = You're fucking glorious

Chavón = A man that's pestering you

Corazón = Heart; pet name to signify how deeply you love someone

Hermosa/hermoso = beautiful (female); beautiful (male)

Guapito = Handsome (said in an affectionate diminutive)

Marquesina = Open air garage or carport

Deja con las formalidades, ya = Quit it with the formalities, already

Se me olvidó = I forgot

Reggaetoneros = Reggaetón artists

Perrear = Doing it doggystyle, aka referring to sex

Perreo = Dance style associated with reggaetón; doggystyle, twerking dance

Beyako = Puerto Rican slang for horny/naughty guy; akin to "horn dog"

Pórtate bien, y llámame = Be good, and call me

Cacos = Term referring to hardcore reggaetón fans, who are mostly men

Bailar = Dance

Ella es una mamita sabrocita = She is a tasty foxy woman

Claro que no = Of course not

She's a chulería – una bichota bien wapa = She's a charming gal, a real big shot lady that's real feisty

Pasarme así = Overstep like that

Gatilleros = Triggermen

Sobrepasarme = To overstep; to go too far

Solo le gusta hablar mierda = Only likes to talk shit

Pendejo = Dumbass/Jackass

Acho, que canto cabrón = Man, what an asshole

Tesoro = Treasure; darling

Pá = Short for 'Papá' which means father, or poppa

Mija = Short for mi hija, aka my daughter; my girl

Soñaré de ti, mi amor. Sueña de mi, mi cariñito = I'll dream of you, my love. Dream of me, my sweet little darling

Jefa = Boss lady

Doña = A Spanish honorific, referring to a respectable woman; equivalent to Missus

Pastelillo de guayaba = Guava pastry; similar to a turnover

Preciosa = Gorgeous; precious

Mira quien habla = Look who's talking

El guapo descarado = The handsome cad

Apodo = Nickname

Tan chavón = Such a pain

Canela = Cinnamon

Dulces sueños, mi amor = Sweet dreams, my love

Chacho = Jeez

Come mierda = Slang for a stuck up, moronic person; literally means 'shit eater'

Tan chingona = Such a badass lady

Cariño = Darling/sweetheart

Gruñón = Grumpy man

Bravita = Tough girl; feisty girl

Chulo/Chulito = Cute guy; little cutie

Ay, no = Oh, no

Con la monga = With the flu

Nena = Girl

Ah, es verdad. Que jodienda = Ah, that's true. What a pain in the ass

Obviamente = Obviously

Ha sido una mierda = Has been real shit

Pobrecita/Pobrecito = Poor little thing

Bendito = Blessed simple soul; a hopeful lamentation

Loquita = Crazy girl

Playas = Beaches

Jevo = Puerto Rican slang for boyfriend

Coño, nena – no te recuerdas = Damn, girl – you don't remember

Pues = Well

Por Dios = God's sake

Burlona = Joker (female)

No seas tan terco = Don't be so stubborn

Quédate quieto, y pórtate bien = Stay put and behave

Consola [de aire acondicionado] = Air conditioning unit/console

Sopa de jamón = Ham soup

Sofrito = Herbs, spices, and vegetables minced into a cooking bouillon paste

Quédate dormida = Stay asleep

Mandona = Bossy lady

Ay, no me mires así, bebito = Aw, don't look at me that way, little baby boy

Puerco = Pig

Beyako pervertido = Horny pervert

Fresco = a guy who's being 'fresh', or naughty/pervy

Sí, mi patrona = Yes, my madam/ boss lady/ mistress

Me entiendes, bebito = You understand me, little baby boy

Furiosa = Furious (female)

Caripela'o = Puerto Rican slang for a shameless get over

Aguacate = Avocado

Mijo = short for "mi hijo", a term of endearment akin to "my son/sonny"

Cuídate, Papá = Take care, Dad

Dios los bendiga = God bless you both

Te amo hasta mi alma = I love you to my soul; "I love you soul-deep"

Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving a comment and sharing your feedback. I would be eternally grateful. 

[cyree]

why did i go on tiktok and see shellingtob giving birth i wanna kms

anyways 7000 likes and i’ll draw kwazii pregnant

[emiliosandozsequence]

i'm so tempted to change my icon to rachel zegler in that dress omggg

[zepskies]

And So It Goes - Part 18

Pairing: Billy Butcher x OFC (Latina!OC)

Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job, and more importantly her life—or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.

Word Count: 5,600

Tags/Warnings: Love triangle, tension, more of Ben’s asshole behavior, angst, hurt/comfort, implied smut

ASIG Series Masterlist

18: Being Human

Maybe I really do have a death wish, Helena thought, as she let the most wanted supe alive into her home.

Butcher and Hughie joined him, with the latter taking in her two-story house for the first time.

“Nice,” Hughie said with a nod. “This place is beautiful.”

Helena gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”

Though she gave Ben a pointed look. “Try not to break it, please.”

He shot her a raised brow, but didn’t comment. Instead, he watched her turn and show them one of the guest bedrooms on the first floor. Meanwhile, his gaze lingered on the curve of her ass in those jeans.

Butcher caught the supe’s lazy perusal with a sharp eye. Ben felt his stare and had the gall to shoot him a wink with his smile. Ben’s steps had a certain swagger as he followed Helena down the hall.

It succeeded in setting Butcher even more on edge.

Hughie glanced over at his friend with concern; he’d seen the exchange between the men and didn’t like the fact that Helena was caught in the middle. More and more, he was starting to question just what the hell they were doing.

“Are you sure about this?” Hughie asked.

Butcher didn’t even look at him. His ears were perked to the conversation Soldier Boy and Helena were having down the hall, about fresh bedsheets, of all things.

“There’s no turning back now,” Butcher said.

Hughie frowned. “I know, but…”

Butcher ignored him in favor of starting down the hall to follow Helena and the unstable supe he’d brought into her home.

After everyone had showered and changed and devoured a few pizzas Helena had ordered, Ben puttered through her living room, rummaging through her things. He opened drawers and surveyed her various picture frames, like he was actually interested in her life or something.

“Got any reefer?” he asked.

Helena rolled her eyes. There goes that theory.

Not that she wanted his interest.

“Fresh out,” she said wryly.

She watched him from her corner of the sofa while Hughie graciously did the dishes. Butcher was sitting at the breakfast nook with a cup of tea.

Helena knew he was monitoring the supe out of the corner of his eye, but she was now very careful in what she left on the TV. She didn’t think Dumb and Dumber should have anything triggering.

She eyed him more sharply when Ben started thumbing through her record collection.

“Hey, easy with my vinyl, please,” she said. “It’s vintage.”

He raised up one of your favorites: I Wanna Dance with Somebody.

“Sweetheart, I’m vintage. I think Whitney Houstonis safe with me,” he quipped wryly.

She rolled her eyes at him, but she had to fight a laugh. 

“I knew her, by the way,” he mentioned. 

Helena’s interest was piqued, with a tilt of her head. “Did you?”

“Yeah. Her and Bobby knew how the fuck to get down. That’s for damn sure.”

“Oh my God,” Helena giggled.

Butcher couldn’t fucking believe what was happening in front of him.

Well, technically, behind him. He was facing the kitchen, and it gave Hughie the vantage point to see Butcher’s irritation.

Helena was more amused than disgusted by the man’s ridiculous flirting. He was an old, old man in that 40s-ish, practically indestructible body. He was like a man out of time, complete with outdated sexism and hyper-machismo. His attempts were often so obvious, it was funny.

But, she also felt guilty for being able to laugh and be pleasant, when this was a man who had killed, and not just during his PTSD-fueled episodes over the past few days. This was the man who murdered M.M.’s grandfather.

The problem was, she had long ago become desensitized to asshole supes. And she couldn’t help her gut instinct…that there was more to Ben than met the eye.

Helena called it a night an hour or so later, when her eyes were starting to droop. She’d slept for a couple of hours in the car, but there was nothing like being back in her safe space, in fresh clothes, and soon to be in her own bed.

A knock at her bedroom door had her frowning in confusion. She put on a robe over her pajamas and opened the door. Her brows raised at finding Butcher there.

“Hey,” he said. His voice was deep and tired, full of gravel. He tried to slip past her inside the room, but she grabbed the doorjamb, blocking his way. She gave him a flat look.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked. He gestured to the bed with raised brows.

“To sleep. I’m fucking knackered, love.”

Helena’s lips formed a thin smile.

“There’s a guest bedroom down the hall,” she said. For a moment, they just stared at one another, as one refused to leave, and the other refused to bend.

“Hel,” Butcher tried.

“You ended this,” she said, pushing him back with a hand in the center of his chest.

“Technically, that was you,” he returned. He backed up a step, but wouldn’t let her move him much farther. 

This time, her lips pursed and her expression tightened.

“You know what you said, Billy,” she said. “And you know what you did. You still don’t even have the decency to apologize.”

She stepped closer into his orbit, until her breasts barely brushed against his chest. He could feel the warmth of her skin under the thin cotton of her shirt, could see that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

She leaned up on her toes and almost brushed her lips against his. She smelled minty fresh, along with the jasmine shampoo she often used.

“You…don’t get any part of this,” she said. “And you certainly don’t get to make some kind of claim on me just because you’re jealous.”

Helena pulled away. Butcher didn’t know what was more infuriating: not being able to touch her, or the deadly accuracy of her words.

“Jealous?” he said incredulously. “Of fucking what, might I ask?”

Instead of answering him, she smiled and closed her door in his face.

Butcher was left in the hall, teeth gritted and fists clenched. What the bloody hell just happened?

When he couldn’t stand the silence any longer, he trudged down the hall and into the second bedroom, where Hughie was already slipping into the queen-sized bed. Butcher yanked him out of bed, despite the younger man’s yelp and protest.

“Hey!”

“There’s a couch nice and comfy there for ya,” Butcher said, gesturing at the nearby sofa. It was little more than a loveseat. If Hughie was lucky, it would only be his legs hanging off the side.

He frowned. “Come on, man.”

Butcher shrugged off his jacket and boots, tossing them on a nearby accent chair.

“You can try your luck bunking with Soldier Boy downstairs, but that might be ill-advised,” he retorted.

And he got into bed, turning out the bedside lamp as he went.

Helena slept for maybe a couple of hours before her eyes opened in the dark, her heart racing. She groaned and covered her face with a hand.

She still saw flashes of manic blue eyes in her mind, a hand wrapped around her throat. She felt throbbing pain radiating from the side of her head and half her ribcage.

It forced her out of bed in search of her medication, which Butcher had somehow gotten for her without a prescription. She chose to ignore that fact, and she grabbed her pill bottle, put on her favorite robe over her pajamas, and ventured downstairs for a glass of water.

When she turned on the kitchen light, her bleary eyes made out a shape sitting at the breakfast nook.

She jumped halfway out of her skin, until she realized that it was just Ben, sitting there with two cartons of Mint Milano cookies and three empty beers from her fridge. He raised his brows at her.

“Evening, sweetheart,” he said, smirking when he eyed her fuzzy purple robe. “Cute.”

“Down, boy,” she warned. She laid a quivering hand on her chest and caught her breath. “You scared the shit out of me.”

She retrieved the jug of water from the fridge and asked him if he wanted some. He shook his head, leaving her to consider him as she poured herself a glass of water. She saw the familiar threads of self-medicating with the empty beer bottles.

“I can make you some tea,” she offered.

Ben frowned. “Piss water, you mean? I’ll pass.”

Helena rolled her eyes. She got out the chamomile anyway and started up the kettle. It was an electric brewer, so the water would be hot within minutes.

“It could help you sleep better,” she pointed out. She felt his hot gaze on her back as she went about her business in the kitchen. She set up two mugs and took out the bottle of honey.

“One of two things helps me sleep,” said Ben. “Good drugs or a good fuck.”

Helena paused. Her hand clenched on the honey bottle on reflex, and made a large spurt squeeze out in one of the mugs. She eyed him tartly over her shoulder.

“You’ll find neither in this house,” she said. Her tone was pointed. His sly gaze said he wasn’t too sure about that.

“What’s keeping you up?” she asked, and she put a cup of tea in front of him with honey already stirred in. He gave her a flat look.

“I don’t drink that shit,” he said. She smiled.

“But I made it especially for you,” she replied, saccharine sweet. “I thought guys like you were supposed to be chivalrous.”

Ben just stared at her, hard.

She stared at him right back and raised her brows.

“Just try it,” she cajoled. “You might like it.”

He still didn’t look convinced, but after a moment, he slowly reached out and took the handle of the mug. He brought it to his lips and took a reluctant sip.

He grimaced. It was everything he thought it would be: weak in flavor, but warm and a hint sweet.

Helena smiled in satisfaction, and he fought one of amusement, even as he considered how sweet she might be to taste.

She went to get her own mug and her bottle of pain meds. While her back was turned, Ben poured most of the tea into the sink.

“Why’re you in my kitchen, eating all my cookies?” she asked, glancing back at him over her shoulder while holding up one of the empty boxes of Milanos. “These are my favorites.”

Ben’s gaze roamed down the length of her fuzzy robe. It hinted at curves he’d already seen and taken note of. She was the hottest young thing he’d seen in…well, a while. Still, he’d be willing to eat up Miss Chiquita Banana and leave no crumbs.

“I’ve slept long enough,” he said. She turned back around, and he tried to disguise his hunger (for now). 

Helena glanced up at him wryly. “Hmm. You’re allowed to say you can’t sleep.”

Ben didn’t answer, but he watched her struggle to open her pill bottle. She twisted and twisted the cap, applying pressure, but it refused to budge.

“Damn it. What, did they reinforce this with, titanium?” she muttered.

The pill bottle eventually broke free, raining little white pills onto the counter. A few of them rolled off to the floor.

Her shoulders deflated. “Of fucking course.”

With a sigh, she slowly bent down and gathered up the pills that fell. She grabbed onto the counter, but the sharpening pain in her ribs wouldn’t let her straighten up, let alone get back onto her feet. She looked up at Ben in annoyance. He was just sitting there, watching her in bemusement.

“Coño pero… Are you gonna help me, Mr. Chivalry?” she snarked. “Best generation, indeed.”

Ben raised a brow at her. “I might, if you ask a little fucking nicer.”

Helena gaped at him. What a dick.

But she expected nothing less, really. She let out a tense breath through her nose and through much effort, she angled a less pissed off face at him.

“Will you please give me hand off the damn floor?” she asked.

A smirk crossed his lips. He actually obliged her, sliding off his seat and coming her way around the kitchen counter. He bent down and helped her up with a hand on her lower back and her elbow. He didn’t back away from her until her feet were steady on the ground, and she nodded in thanks. He took a few pills out of her hand as payment, popping them into his mouth like Tic Tacs.

Helena sighed in annoyance. Unlike him, she actually needed those.

“Why’re you up, anyway?” Ben asked.

“Well, I could blame it on the pain,” she replied, after downing two pills with her water. “But um…I keep replaying yesterday in my head, over and over like a bad movie. It always stops at the part where I look up at Homelander’s psychotic fucking eyes, and I just…I knew.”

Helena shook her head. Ben’s lips tugged downward.

“Knew what?” he asked.

“I’m officially on his hit list now,” she said. 

She knew it was partly her own fault. She chose to follow Butcher, to keep making reckless decisions. But at least now she wouldn’t have to spend every damn second of every day looking over her shoulder. She could just turn around and accept whatever happened next.

Helena could admit it though. She was afraid.

“What’s it like, not being afraid?” she asked Ben, with a small sarcastic huff. His brow arched.

“When you’ve routinely pounded Nazis up the ass, nothing much bothers you after that,” he said, sipping at his mug of tea. Though he soon grimaced again at the taste and pushed the offending drink away.

Deep inside, however, he refused to acknowledge the darker chasms. Stolen years that were now blurred together in memory, and yet, certain moments rang painfully clear. His eyes were unseeing for a moment, before they glanced back up at Helena.

He nearly missed the way she chuckled.

“That shit isn’t fooling for a second,” she said. “I saw you lose your grip, Ben.”

His gaze sharpened. His fist clenched on the counter.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he warned.

Her eyes narrowed. “Let me ask you a question. Do you really not remember M.M.’s family? Or was that routine for you too?”

He paused, his brows crunched in irritation.

“I don’t have to fucking justify myself to you. I was doing my fucking job. Sometimes—”

“What, shit happens?” She threw her hands up mockingly. “God, you’re just like Homelander. Like almost every supe I’ve ever met.”

He rolled his eyes, dismissive, but his anger was prickling just under the surface of his stoic front.

And on the off chance that it was a mask for any spark of shame he felt deep down, Helena was at least a little satisfied. For 100-something years of machismo and supe arrogance, that spark would’ve been well-won. 

“Regret is human, Ben,” she said. “So is fear. And pain. And love.”

His face remained stoic. “I’m a lot fucking more than human.”

She huffed at that. “If you say so.”

She shook her head and delved back into her pantry. As a peace offering, she broke out her secret backup stash of cookies, that she doubted even Butcher knew about. They were raspberry and milk chocolate Milanos. She subtly shook the box at Ben with a smile.

He tilted his head. “I don’t remember that flavor.”

“Ooh. Brace yourself,” said Helena. She dug out the first two sleeves of cookies and gave him one.  

“How come there’s five in yours?” he asked with a frown. There were only four cookies in his sleeve. 

“The Lord giveth, and he taketh away,” she joked. “I get the bonus cookie.”

Ben gave her a deadpan look, but he ate in silence. He looked all surly, and she had to hold in a laugh. What a man-child.

Instead, she tossed her extra cookie at him. He raised a hand to instinctively fend off a projectile.

“Hey,” he said, with his mouth full.

Helena ended up giggling at the sight of crumbs falling from his mouth and in his beard. Again, man-child.

She wanted to hate him.

She should hate him, on principle alone.

Perhaps she had a weakness for deeply flawed men with massive egos. But fleeting as they were, she saw the glimpses of humanity in Ben—rare moments that got swallowed up by Soldier Boy.

In the morning, Butcher aimed to work on the list of safehouses where one of his most paranoid of ex-teammates, Mindstorm, could be hiding out. This next one was a few hours north. He’d be gone for the day, at least.

He was forced to leave Helena and Hughie behind, but not without a warning for the latter. Butcher had pulled Hughie aside and let him know that he wasn’t to leave her alone with Soldier Boy again, under any circumstances. Hughie didn’t have to ask “or what.”

Butcher was gone early in the morning. It allowed Helena and Ben to make their way into the kitchen slower in the morning. She was dressed for the day with her coffee mug in hand, sitting at the breakfast nook while Hughie caught up on the news from her laptop in the living room.

Ben grabbed a cup of coffee and took a seat next to her.

“What do you say you get started on breakfast. Huh, baby doll?” he asked. Or more like demanded, by his actual tone.

Helena shot him a dry look. “There’s cereal in the pantry.”

“Come on, now. I could use a home cooked meal,” he said.

Her brow twitched in irritation.

“It might be nice, since I have cracked ribs at the moment, if you might make yourself something,” Helena replied.

Ben gave her a smirk as he eyed her. “Why would I do that when you look like a perfectly good cook.”

“Oh, I am,” she said. “But I’m neither your servant nor your maid.”

“You’ve got two working hands, don’t you?” Ben remarked, as he sipped his coffee. “God fucking knows you’ve got a working mouth.”

Helena seethed as she got up from her chair, but not to make anyone a damn thing. She went to the sink to dump her empty coffee mug. She turned back to Ben and opened her mouth to say something she would very likely regret, but Hughie interjected, perhaps seeing that an explosion was about to happen.

“Uh, why don’t I make us something?” he said, getting up from the couch and heading into the kitchen with Helena. “I can whip us up some scrambled eggs. Bacon, if you’ve got it. Ooh, looks like you’ve got bread to make toast.”

She gave him a tight smile. “Knock yourself out.”

She ate her eggs on the couch in simmering silence while the news played on the TV. Hughie sat with her, casting her a look of concern every now and then. She ignored it all, including Ben’s less than discreet grumpy staring.  

Apparently, he couldn’t contain himself any longer.

“I swear to Christ. What the fuck is wrong with women today?” he said.

What a good start, Helena thought sarcastically.

“My mom never kept my father waiting for a meal. Even when he came home at whatever goddamn hour of the night, she had a plate waiting for him,” he said.

Helena rolled her eyes and quipped dryly, “That plate must’ve been cold as hell.”

Ben eyed her as she got up from the couch and went to bring her plate to the sink. She had her back to him as she began to rinse the dishes and put them into the sink.

“When did women get so fucking lazy? And disrespectful,” he remarked.

Helena hit the lever on the sink closed to turn off the faucet. She turned around to face the man and crossed her arms.

“You want a fuckable maid, pay extra,” she said. “But if you want a partner you can rely on. Someone you can trust not to give you to the damn Russians, then you share the load. And you respect the woman who lets you into her bed.”

She turned back to the dishes so she wouldn’t have to look at Ben’s angry, brooding face. But the way she turned her back on him, along with her pointed words, irritated enough to spark his anger. He got up from his seat.

Hughie sensed the danger before Helena did. He stood and made a cautious approach to the kitchen.

Helena reached for a hand towel, and found her wrist encased with an iron grip. She gasped as Ben turned her to face him.

“I’ve put up with a lot from you,” he said. “I think I’ve been a gentleman, considering what a disrespectful little brat you are. But I really think you wanna get bent over my knee.”

His face told her that she wouldn’t enjoy it.

“Hey,” Hughie tried to intervene. “Let’s just calm down, all right?”

Helena let out a shaky breath, but she looked up at Ben and somehow managed to hold her ground, despite the iron grip on her arms.

“If it makes you feel better, go ahead,” she said. “Slap me around until I break.”

“Soldier Boy!” Hughie said in warning.

Ben ignored him. He stared down at Helena with cold anger in his eyes. His hold on her arms tightened, and it hurt. She failed to stifle a gasp of pain.

But she stared up at him defiantly, even though there were tears forming in her eyes.

“You want me to respect you? You killed my friend’s family, and you don’t even care,” she said. “I don’t see anything here that earns my respect.”

Ben reacted to her words, mostly with anger as his brows furrowed.

Hughie grabbed the supe’s shoulder. “Hey, man, just let her go!”

Ben shoved Hughie away so hard that it made the younger man slide across the kitchen and into the far wall, until he hit a bookshelf and fell to the ground.

Helena flinched in shock, and pain at the way he was still holding her. Ben saw it play across her face…and he let her go abruptly. He stared down at her for a moment, nostrils flaring with his heavier breathing. She tried to calm her own breathing as she met his gaze, wondering what he would do. Wondering if this was the moment she’d signed her own death warrant by being her smartass self.

But Ben walked away from her.

Well, stalked away, more like. He left through the front door and it swung open on its hinges.

Helena took in deep breathes of relief. Eventually she gathered enough of her wits to go to Hughie, who was still picking himself off the floor.  

“I gotta go after him,” he said with a sigh.

“Get that man away from my house. I don’t care where you take him,” Helena said, frowning tersely. Hughie couldn’t blame her.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and touched her arm gently. She pulled away from his touch and held herself with crossed arms.

“I’m fine. Just go get him,” she replied.

He nodded and took off after Soldier Boy. It gave Helena the reprieve she needed to let out a long, tremulous breath. A tear fell down her cheek as she leaned on the kitchen counter.

She just couldn’t help taking her life into her hands.

Butcher returned to Helena’s house in the evening. Her car was still in the driveway, but when he let himself in with the spare key she’d given him, he realized that the house was empty, except for her.

She was washing dishes from a dinner she’d clearly made for just herself: a Lean Cuisine.

“Where the hell are Hughie and Soldier Boy?” he asked, approaching where she stood in the kitchen, dressed down in a long-sleeved shirt and yoga pants.

“I couldn’t give a fuck,” she said. “Hello to you too, by the way.”

Her voice had little energy in it, save for anger and sarcasm, and Butcher took notice. He frowned.

“You’re the one who brought ‘em here. Weren’t my fucking idea, remember?” he snarked back.

Helena finally gave up on the dishes and turned to him with angry tears in her eyes.

“But you’re the one who made it happen, Billy. You wanted to cut a deal with that ancient, unstable fucking asshole? Well, you got your damn wish,” she said. “You are the reason we’re in this mess.”

Butcher paused at the sight of her unshed tears. His jaw worked as he tried to make sense of why she was this upset, when just yesterday she was joking and laughing with the supe like he was the guest of honor.

His brows drew together. “What did he do?”

Helena refused to answer.

Butcher went to her and tried to grasp her arm, but she pulled away from him with a flinch. Her eyes flicked away from his.

Unbidden, it reminded him of the day he waited for her at her apartment. And she’d come home after work looking skittish and drained. She’d flinched away from his touch then, just like she’d done now. That had been the day Homelander nearly strangled her to death.

“What the fuck did he do, Helena?” Butcher repeated. She met his gaze. 

“You better find him,” she said, “before he blows up another damn building.”

Butcher stared hard at her, but she wouldn’t say anything more.

He fished out his cell and called Hughie, who told him that he’d brought Soldier Boy to the Legend’s penthouse apartment in the city.

“Good,” Butcher nodded. “Keep him settled there while I look for Mindstorm.”

He glanced at Helena, but she was already walking away from him to finish cleaning up her kitchen.

Butcher ended his call. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to say.

“I’ve gotta go,” was what he settled on.

She shrugged. Butcher nearly sighed. He went to her though, while she was wiping down the counter with a clean rag. His hand reached out to touch her back, but at the last moment, he thought better of it. His arm drifted back to his side.

“You okay?” he asked gruffly.

“Like you care,” she said. Her tone was one of both snark and exhaustion. “Just go.”

Reluctantly, he went.

Helena was angry, to say the least—at Butcher, at Soldier Boy, and even at Hughie. She was also angry at herself for not having been able to leave well enough alone when Butcher left the first time.

Which first time? She snorted.

But she was especially mad at herself when she allowed the three men to traipse back into her home, a week later.

“‘Ullo, love,” Butcher greeted at her door.

They were covered with dried sweat and dirt, like they’d been hiking. She only let them in because of how they looked—each a bit rattled by whatever they’d faced. Her house was safer than the Legend’s at this point, Butcher explained.

“Just one night,” he asked. “We’ll fuck off in the morning.”

“Fine,” she agreed, despite her better judgment. Again, it was that look in his eyes. Unsteady.

Ben gave her a predictable once-over of her pajama shorts and tank-top, but it seemed he didn’t have it in him to volley with her like usual, especially after what happened last time. He didn’t acknowledge that as he made his way to one of the guest rooms.

Helena followed Hughie and Butcher upstairs…but something made her grab Butcher and steer him away from the second guest bedroom.

He wasn’t sure what she was doing while she guided him into the bathroom in her room. There he leaned against the counter of the bathroom sink. She picked the twigs out of his hair and brushed the dried mud from his shirt.

“Did you take a dirt nap or something?” she asked.

“Something like that,” he replied.

“What the hell happened then?”

He looked down at her. “Mindstorm is dead.”

She sighed at that, but something else was there, behind his eyes. Just under the surface.

“And what else?” Helena asked.

Butcher remained quiet, hesitating. She slowly took a chance by reaching for his scarred hand. She held it with both of hers.

He couldn’t help himself. He brushed his thumb over the back of her warm, tan, smooth hand, reminding himself that she was real and alive. And he wasn’t locked in his mind.

“When I left for the SAS,” he said, “I left my little brother behind…with our raging cunt of a father.”

Helena inhaled deeply; she remembered what Butcher had told her about Lenny, about how he died young. But somehow, Butcher had left out this detail. He met her gaze with tears forming in his red-rimmed eyes.

“I shouldn’t have left him,” he confessed.

Helena was half in shock as she watched the first tear roll down his cheek. She realized then that she had never seen the true depths of this man. Not until tonight.

Her eyes burned with sympathetic emotion as she reached for him and pull him into her arms. He held her back, burying his face in her neck and grounding himself in her as his body shook. Those brutal memories, along with the grief that had been locked deep inside had loosened, and the doors were now swinging open on their hinges.

“Jesus Christ, Helena…I’m sorry,” he said. His voice wavered, and his hand clenched in her hair. “For what I keep doing to ya. Dragging you down with me with every goddamn step.” 

He pulled back enough to see her, to be faced with her tears as she bit her lip.

“And for what I said…to you, and to the kid. I’m fucking sorry,” he said.

Helena broke down just as much as he did then. She nodded in acceptance, and she held his face in her hands. Then she brought him down for a tender kiss. Butcher gave into the soft warmth of her as he held her against him, unwilling to let go this time.

And she led him back into her bed.

In the late hours of the night, Butcher returned to Helena’s bed after a shower. She was already fast asleep. He slid in behind her, gently caressing the back of his hand up her naked back and over her shoulder, down her arm…

And he saw it. A purplish, yellow band around her arm.

It looked like a bruise, formed by a large hand. A man’s hand.

Butcher was damn certain it wasn’t his own, and he’d just finished tracing all the contours of her body tonight.

Though he was reminded of what happened a few days ago…

His brows drew together. “What did he do?”

Helena refused to answer.

Butcher went to her and tried to grasp her arm, but she pulled away from him with a flinch. Her eyes flicked away from his.

Soldier Boy. That old cunt.

Rage built and built inside him. That unfathomable rage that so often fostered lethal energy in Butcher’s blood.

Carefully he slipped out of bed. He got as far as the doorway before he looked back at Helena. He focused on her easy breathing, her messy dark hair splayed on her pillow.

The rage he felt began to simmer down, bit by bit, into self-loathing. Because he did this.

She’d been right before. Butcher made the deal with Soldier Boy. And Butcher brought this shitshow into her home.

So he forced himself to join her back in bed. He traced down the back of her neck, down the length of her lotus tattoo. It made her shiver in her sleep.

Butcher had failed his brother, and Becca. But he couldn’t fail this time. He’d keep Helena and Hughie safe, and alive.

Butcher’s phone was on silent, but the light from his phone on the nightstand illuminated the dark room and stole his attention. He grabbed it and frowned at the strange number on the caller ID. He took the phone into the bathroom and closed the door.

“Hello?” he answered.

“I need to talk to Hughie. Where is he?” Annie asked.

“Oh, Starlight. How delightful,” he muttered. And then he lied.“He’s just popped out for a bit.”

“Okay, well he’s not answering his phone.”

“Bit hard to keep a phone when you’re teleporting all day, innit, love? How can I help?”

“Temp V is going to kill you both,” she said.

“Well, it’s gonna have to join the queue,” he quipped.

“I was just in the lab. It causes lesions, okay? It turns your brain into fucking Swiss cheese!” she shouted. “So please be honest with me, and tell me how many doses have you taken?”

Butcher hesitated at that. His stomach began to churn.

“Just a couple,” he replied. Or a few.

“Jesus Christ,” she said. “Butcher, five to six doses kills you. Got that? You need to tell Hughie.”

Butcher hesitated. “Yeah…yeah, I will. I promise.”

“Okay, but I’m calling every five minutes until—”

He hung up on her. All the while, his mind was reeling.

Fuck, he thought. Fatal after five doses. He’d already had three. Hughie’d had two.

And they needed more, if they were going to face Homelander and Black Noir.

“Scorched earth” was going to come at a price. Butcher had known that going into this, but it suddenly took on new meaning as he opened the bathroom door and looked over at Helena, peacefully sleeping in bed. 

Butcher thought of Ryan, and all of his broken promises.

But come the morning, Butcher didn’t tell anyone of what he’d learned.

AN: Oooh, we're getting so close to the end here, folks!

Next Time:

“Why are you being so fucking stubborn?” Butcher asked.

Her head tilted as she gave a wry smile. “What do you mean?”

His grip on her waist tightened a little.

“Why’re you staying with me?” he pressed. “Hel, you know where this ends.”

“Billy, I don’t have a death wish,” she told him. She squeezed his arms back. “But I don’t just want you alive for me. Ryan needs you too.”

Keep Reading: Part 19

The Boys Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

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[furious-rogue-stuff]

Heat Chapter 43: Still

I apologize for the long hiatus! Hopefully this chapter makes up for the delay in posting 😊 This is the longest chapter to date, so sorry in advance!

Pairing: Javier Peña x OFC | Javi x Querida

Disclaimer: Written in 2nd person narrative, you can safely assume our heroine and love/lust interest is a Latina, written by a Latina. Here's my philosophy on my writing, for further context.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 28,000+

Summary: As you try to achieve peace in your personal life, you find yourself struggling against melancholy and self-reproach during an important anniversary. When all you want is for time to stand still, can you find serenity with Javier in the emotional chaos?

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of sex, including masturbation and unprotected sex. Mentions of raunchy sexual acts, grieving, melancholy, toxic coping mechanisms, and loneliness. Descriptions of power play, praise kink, and dirty talk. Allusions to mourning, family strife, foreboding threats, and emotional angst. Some Protective!Javi, Dom! Javi, Boss!Javi, Sub!Reader. In the vein of Narcos being a bilingual show, and Javier Peña being fluent, I felt it was apropos to include Spanglish and Spanish throughout.

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Previous chapter - Chapter 42: Reflection

Chapter 43: Still

There had been a time, not so long ago, that you'd made peace with being alone.

It was mostly subconscious – the idea that you weren't on the same track as everyone else, but after you'd left Puerto Rico at the end of that summer, you'd felt like a different person than the one who'd reluctantly arrived from graduating college. If forced to articulate it, you would've struggled to decompartmentalize everything enough to be able to adequately represent why you'd felt different.

Even after years of working and building your professional life, you'd seldom let new people into your personal one. When you'd worked in the New York offices of the State Department, you'd always spend your free time with Irina and Sasha. And during your brief stint at the Washington D.C. offices, you'd kept to yourself, only making superficial connections with some of the other clerical staffers; making acquaintances you kept at arm's length.

You'd avoided dating during that period especially, feeling lonely but settled. Once you'd volunteered for the placement at the U.S. embassy in Bogotá, the protective bubble you'd crafted for yourself ebbed away by the time you'd settled down in the Colombian capital.

It helped to feel in a familiar, yet different place. But mostly, with your mother's side of the family being so accessible, you'd been able to soften more to the idea of a life shared pleasantly with others.

Ellis had worn you down – quickly going from the annoying gringo you shared an office corner with to a very close confidante and dear friend. Thanks to his congenial wife, they eventually dragged you out to be more social, and soon you felt like a normal, single, professional woman in a big city that still felt homey and sheltering. You dated, but nothing serious that ever lasted more than a few outings – or sleepovers at their place – and you had no qualms about keeping yourself guarded from being truly courted by anyone.

Just when you'd finally felt confident in your space and accomplished with yourself, you'd ended up staring when a cool, ridiculously handsome guy had crossed your field of vision one afternoon while you'd sat with the building's cleaning ladies during lunch at one of the gazebos facing the path leading into the building's back entry.

You'd looked over at the building in mid-answer to something Marisol had quipped, and saw Javier striding down a couple of steps to stop someone and chat. He had on aviator sunglasses, the kind with the amber-tinted lenses, dark hair combed with a side-part that was practically non-existent with how his unruly hair curled about in thick tufts. His tall muscularly built torso filled out the tropical blue button-down shirt while his brawny arms crossed over his strong chest as he nodded along listening to the other person he was conversing with. You were tantalized by the ratio of his broad shoulders to narrow hips, and how those dark grayish Levi's jeans seemed tailored to his strong long legs and perfect tush. He seemed almost unreal – a throwback to a handsome 70's stud you could've only daydreamed about.

Gaze lingering on him, you'd been thankful that you were far away enough to be able to stare from the safe distance, and ask Marisol, "Who is that?"

Marisol and the girls had looked over and exchanged varying snickers, and girlish giggles, before the older woman chimed knowingly, "Oh, that is one of the agentes de la DEA. Has made quite a reputation for himself, eh, girls?"

You couldn't get over how handsome he was and how he looked out of place for the buttoned-up vibe of the consulate, but really what got you was how he had a jawline for days. Quickly, all your pining from afar accelerated to lust when you admired how his full lips had pulled into a wry smirk before he tipped the sunglasses down amusedly at something the other person had said, which gave you a view at the way his smile made his eyes crinkle.

Heat had radiated in the apples of your cheeks as you'd feigned aloofness before going back to the conversation, ignoring Marisol's knowing smile, with aplomb.

It'd been the first time your pulse had raced for someone since…well since a time you'd worked very hard to put behind you, so it'd given you pause.

What a silly thing. Crushing over some tight-jean-wearing, mustachioed DEA bad boy, had been your internal scoff as you'd stubbornly shelved the notion.

You hadn't expected for said crush for the roguish agent to become even more concrete from afar after witnessing him leaving to some kind of raid one late afternoon.

He'd marched confidently through the embassy lobby in his army green tac vest like a man on a mission and laser focused, none the wiser to having caught your eye. You had just come around the corner from the atrium and almost got whiplash from doing a double take, only to then end up watching him stride towards the exit in those classic-blue Levi's jeans, a light khaki-colored button-down shirt with the sleeves tapered at his muscular biceps, and his dark, unruly tufts of hair curling boyishly after they got tousled by his thick fingers absently carding through them as he stormed off.

If the woman who'd stood there, idly replaying the smirk you'd seen grace his gorgeous features prior, would've known you'd be the woman who'd gotten that swagger-rich DEA stud to fall madly in love with, let alone gun-ho about wanting to live a life together, even? That he'd forsake the trappings of his previous rakish lifestyle? And that you would end up being the woman who was now unable to see the rest of your life without him in it? You're sure your psyche would've burst into blazing sparks at trying to rationalize it all.

And when you'd woken next to him and ended up staring at his serene, sleeping features in the waxy orange veil of dawn that'd begun filling your bedroom the morning after your spectacular Valentine's Day night, the need to rationalize your feelings did not intrude into your mind or heart. Instead, you couldn't help fawn at how grateful you were to have found your way back to each other. To feeling loved and safe again – no longer content with being alone, and relieved to be free of the loneliness that had been your anesthetizing companion since you'd left your life in Colombia.

To say that the night of the double date had cemented things between you and Javi as being back on track, would've felt much too simple to properly do everything that had transpired prior and led up to it, proper justice.

At least that's what you're telling yourself after having had time to reflect back on it.

However, new worries settled in now, like knowing how much to share with the people around you who'd surely noticed the shift in your day-to-day routine and the priorities of your personal time. Of course, the usual suspects didn't worry you.

Ellis and Anita, as well as Steve and Connie obviously knew. And when you'd called to thank Zoraida for the reservation again, she'd made you divulge, telling you not to spare a salacious detail of the night. You'd been happy to do so – albeit giving her the abbreviated version of your history with Javier to date. She'd been cheekily enthralled to hear about the guy who'd be monopolizing your time, showing not a hint of umbrage when you'd scoffed and assured that you wouldn't pull a her and just disappear on a long tryst.

Hell, she'd even gone as far as to snicker to you, "Sure, like you don't plan on going missing every weekend from now on – catching up on all that fun with your papisongo!"

You trusted she'd tell the other girls so they wouldn't get too peeved with you skipping out on the group hangouts over brunch or happy hour drinks.

So, the only remaining hurdle you figured would require a finer tact around, would be your father.

Still, there was nothing you wanted to let intrude in the rekindling of your relationship now, and by the way Javier talked, his only concern was making up for lost time with you. You were more than content with that, and were committed to just going with the flow – to not putting pressure on yourself or worrying about setting expectations for things to come.

It was your time to embrace the hopeful feelings you'd taken for granted. To enjoying what you'd both missed out on prior: being together without the stigma of ominous judgment or danger.

After all, even that morning, when you had amorously kissed Javi awake, and he'd surprised you by surging out of bed to get in his running clothes as he jibed, "Rise and shine, malvadita. Let's go for this grueling jog of yours," the prospect of being seen with him out and beyond the haven of your stomping grounds? Of taking it to your professional territory by getting spotted canoodling with the DEA's Special Agent in Charge, in and around the Federal building? It made excitement bloom in your chest.

When he'd yanked his shirt over his head and eyed you challengingly, you'd ended up snickering, totally enticed by his suggestion and his debonair airs enough to toss the blanket aside as you'd climbed out of bed and hurriedly got dressed before heading out on the early morning jog route with him.

You two hadn't gotten to the elevator before running into Jodalys, who you'd go on jogs with on occasion when she wasn't going with her group of girlfriends. Your neighbor and friend had given you a conspiratorial wink of approval after you'd introduced her to Javi and parted ways at the courtyard's entry. She'd also made it a point to tell you how hot Javi was the next time you ran into her in the lobby later that evening.

But then you'd gone up to your place right after and listened to a voicemail on the answering machine from your father reminding you of the plans for Sunday, and you'd hedged on calling him back.

Later that night, when Javier had come over and you'd vivaciously taken him to bed, you'd sidled close to him after the amorous coupling, and whispered, "When should we put it out there?"

"What – us, you mean?" he'd murmured, and at your nod against his chest, he'd cupped your cheek and tipped your face up to his in the dark of the bedroom, admiring your features thanks to the scant light coming from the lamp left on in the living room. "I'll send out a memo building-wide tomorrow," had been his quip, smirking when you scoffed irreverently at the notion. "This isn't like the embassy, so, we can be as discreet or overt as we want, I think. Mercer isn't really empowered to do much, and it's not like there's any ethical conflicts of interest. We don't impact each other's departments—"

"Still, it's about keeping professional appearances and avoiding any possible HR concerns. Rumors about us aside, it's something we'd have to address, since we've rekindled things," you sheepishly muse, and at Javi humming in acknowledgement of your point, you add, "I think we'll have to disclose our relationship to Mercer, at the very least."

"Hmm, ok. It'll have to be after I come back from Santo Domingo, ideally," Javi had mused, then detailed his upcoming trip, which would coincide with the anniversary of your mother's death. "—I'm flying out Friday end of day so I can meet with the commander of the operation there and try to be back before that—"

You'd kissed his cheek, then assured, "It's ok, Javi. I…I usually spend that day by myself anyway. Just, promise to call me? So I know you're all right?"

"Of course, mi amor," he'd answered devotedly and kissed you before wrapping his arms around you after you curled into him and sighed.

You were fine with waiting. After all, the foreboding worry that had once hung over you both like the sword of Damocles was no longer there, and even with Javier traveling for work more than he'd done before, he was nowhere near the action. And with Steve overseeing the field ops on the island, you felt a keener sense of security that Javier wouldn't be hung out to dry, or end up being the heavy, or the fall guy.

The night before he was due to fly out, you'd both gone over to Steve and Connie's for dinner. It had been a charming evening, spent enjoying the meal and internally fawning at how cute Isabel was when she'd smile and reach for Javi to pick her up. The six-month-old seemed to be drawn to him, and you'd be in denial if you neglected to acknowledge how something warm and fuzzy tingled in your tummy watching Javi prop her up in his arms while making silly muecas when she tried to reach for his moustache.

And little Olivia was a riot. Javi had told you so beforehand, but the precocious little girl hadn't missed a beat when you'd walked in together and Javi had introduced you to her.

"Are you uncle Javi's wife?" she'd queried and given you a guileless, warm-eyed stare, looking rambunctious in her little blue and white-butterfly-patterned overalls and pink polo.

You could feel Javi tense behind you, before you'd crouched down at Olivia's level.

With an impish smile, you'd began to say, "No, I'm his friend—"

"His girlfriend?" she piped and smirked up at him when Connie comically admonished her while Steve shook his head and held Isabel in the crook of his arm.

"Actually, yes. And that makes him my boyfriend, too," you'd chuckled and winked at her before remarking, "That probably sounds silly, since we're both grownups, huh."

Sitting now on the bench across from the 'Kid's Escape' upstairs and adjacent to the mall's food court, you were just fawning at the memory of Javier trying to suppress a kooky grin at the way Olivia had stated, "All grownups are silly. But you should marry each other so you can be happy and silly together," when Connie sat next to you and pulled you from your reveries.

You'd volunteered to keep watch over the strollers – one empty thanks to Anita taking Delilah for a diaper change, and the other with a sleeping Isabel next to you while Connie had taken Olivia in to run around in the playscape.

"It's going to be hell, getting her out of there," Connie snickers as she plops her purse next to her so she can take a load off.

"But she'll be tuckered out for sure on the drive home," you muse as you smirk at her and over at the indoor playground bustling with precocious kids.

You could see the little girl happily crawling up the tunnel to get to the slide, and it makes you think of how cute she was when she'd asked Javi to help her color in the latest page of her coloring book after dinner the other night.

Isabel sleepily shifts in her stroller, little fist curling into her cheek as she settled back down before she lets out a soft sigh that stirs your attention back at her.

Noticing your stare, Connie can't help endorse in an inconspicuous lilt, "Javi is great with her. Same with Olivia, when she was that little."

Pursing your lips knowingly, you tuck your hair behind your ear as you give her a side glance and drawl, "So you've let him babysit, then?"

"Not yet, no," Connie chuckles, adding, "Up until recently, I'd been under the impression that he was spending his free time galivanting around—"

"You mean 'skanking' around," you interject wryly, snickering when she gives you a nervous laugh. "It's ok. He had that rep when we met."

"I have to say, if Steve had that ladies' man status, I don't know if I would've been able to overlook it," Connie confides as she idly folds one of the baby's blankies into a neat square. "Although, I don't think I could keep my guard up for long. Not with how sweet he was."

"Well, Javi wore me down," you quip, and give her a musing shrug before adding, "I mean, not to say there weren't bumps in the road. Bumps shaped like conniving floozies, for one…"

Hands pausing in their absent folding and refolding, Connie's wide blue eyes stare at you as she whispers, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to dredge it up—"

You shake your head and exhale humorously. "No, it's fine! That probably sounded bitchy. Really, there was only one time I had any right at being miffed," you dismiss, but at Connie's curious stare, you can't help elaborating, "Early on, after the siege at the Palace of Justice? He'd been MIA, and then he'd called me one night – when we'd had plans for him to come over, to tell me he couldn't make it, and some woman was in his apartment. She was like, 'How're we gonna handle this arrangement, then?' with this seductive tone?"

Connie's expression etches with sympathy and guilt, as she mentions, "I remember that time. He and Steve were helping out an acquaintance of mine, who was worried she was a target for the cartel and the government."

"Don't worry, I know all that now. But at the time? I'd been crushed. And he'd tried to say nothing was going on, but I hung up on him and didn't talk to him for a while. And then we reconciled after that Tolu raid he was part of, and while we'd been arguing in the car about what happened, he let it slip that he had been with her," you find yourself volunteering, feeling like you were telling a story about someone you used to know.

Her reaction, though, grounds you back in the reality that it had happened to you, not someone else.

"Ugh, I'd tried to set him up with Elisa, but had I known then about you two, I would've never even introduced them! Oh but then the siege happened and she showed up outside the apartment begging for help, and I could only think to take her to Javi's so she could lay low," Connie tells you contritely before frowning as she recalls, "Oh no…on the day I drove her out of the capital, she'd mentioned something about that – the call."

"Oh?" you query, arching a brow.

"I never thought much of it and didn't put two and two together, until now. I guess she'd heard him. She'd said he sounded preoccupied, and she'd simply wanted to remind him that she wasn't just furniture being kept in his care," Connie answers, frowning, as she adds, "That he'd had the gall to gab with one of his girls like she wasn't even there—"

"I knew it," you can't help hiss as you cross your arms and shake your head. "He swore that he didn't even know why she said that while he was on the phone, and that after that, she'd been naked and waiting for him in bed—" you bite back your retroactive disdain and scoff, uncrossing your arms and looking down to make sure you didn't wake the baby in the stroller. "…Good to know I wasn't just inferring things."

Connie pats your shoulder. "Safe to say, he's made up for it, since?" she asks in a light tone.

You huff amusedly, and nod. "Yes, he's more than made up for it. But best believe, if I ever run into that Elisa, I'm beating her like a piñata," you tell her glibly, but your narrow smile speaks volumes for how serious you are.

At that, Connie can't help liking you a whole lot more than she already did.

Anita returns with Delilah, looking a bit harried as she puts the now fussy baby in her carriage. "Oof, sorry. She's all cranky," your friend explains as she tries to get her to settle.

"Ah, nap time?" Connie asks as she gives her seat to Anita so she can more comfortably tend to the baby.

"Yeah, she's just like her father. Whiny when she can't get any sleep," Anita jokes, and you all chuckle. "Did you want to check out Sears before heading out?"

Brightly, Connie agrees, "That'd be great! Let me grab Olivia."

You and Anita stay with the strollers so Connie can go collect Olivia from the playscape while you try to entertain the squirmy little one with silly coos and playful bops of her binky onto her chin, giving Anita a chance to finish her soft drink.

"Oh, did I tell you Ellis wants to do a barbecue?" Anita chimes as she tosses her finished cup into a nearby trash receptacle. "I'm going to invite Connie, too."

Smiling, you chit chat some more until Connie returns with Olivia in tow.

The mall outing was a nice way to spend the morning, and by the time you're exiting the department store, you're all agreeing to coordinating a good day to hang for the barbecue.

On the drive home after dropping Anita and the baby off, you can't help reminisce on the other night. Of how nice it'd been to stroll from Steve and Connie's to Javier's house a block or so away, walking hand in hand in the cool night air. The sound of the coquí filled the ambient hum over the breeze as you both talked, and served as the main nocturnal chorus once you both got into his bungalow. You hadn't finished placing your purse onto his dresser before he'd come up behind you and wrapped you up in his arms.

The sex had been ardent and magnificent after such an emotionally fulfilling week.

Javi had made you feel like the most sumptuous, scrumptious being as he unspooled pleasure from you with every part of him. His lips, hands, the press of him spreading you out into a pliant, writhing thing underneath him while he fucked you with all the passion that blazed in his heart and burned in his veins for you while he husked sweet, fervent things to you had been your undoing. He'd made you reach bliss so many times that night, you'd been quivering – reduced to a sinewy vessel, burned down to embers. But when you'd sobbed his name and begged him to make you his, new life had tingled through your nerve endings and pulsed in your core from how fierce and carnally he'd stared down at you as he'd reached his climax.

You're thinking of how his mouth had fallen open on his shout of ecstasy as he'd thrust home into your fluttering sheath and surged down to bury his wrecked whine into your neck as he spilled his orgasm deep, and the sense-memory of it has need blooming like a throbbing ache between your thighs, as you drive. It has you yearning for Javi, and having to remind yourself it's only been a day since you've been apart.

Annoyed with yourself, your mind wanders back to spending the night at his place, post-mind-blowing coupling.

Javier had reasoned with you beforehand to stay over, and you'd happily been cajoled into bringing a travel bag with a change of clothes for work the next day. He'd gone to the trouble to make his place immaculate and stocked the fridge with your favorite juices and drinks, which you couldn't help melt over.

Your infatuation has you thinking now of the quirky thing Javi did, as you pull into the driveway to your condo and punch in the security keycode.

After taking a soothing shower together and affectionately lotioning each other up with some silky cream you had in your travel tote, Javier had gone to the kitchen to get you a glass of water while you dreamily sat under the sheet on the side of the bed closest to the bedroom door, idly massaging the remnants of the lotion you'd used on the rest of your body along your arms. He'd come in, rounded the bed to the unoccupied side, placed the glass of water on the nightstand, then gone to shut the light off in the hall before tugging the towel around his hips off to be tossed into the bathroom before going to where you were under the sheet and lifting it to bossily, albeit affectionately, herd you to glide over to the opposite side of the bed as he climbed in after you.

You'd been so tired that you'd just exhaled an amused huff, greedily chugged half the water in the glass, and flopped down to curl into him after he'd shut the bedside lamp off on his side and pulled the rest of the covers up to snuggle up with you.

Riding up in the elevator now, it dawns on you.

Javier has always made sure to put himself between you and the door.

He's done it since you'd first been together. You'd not noticed before since you'd always absently preferred sleeping on the left side of the bed, and your place and Javi's back in Bogotá – hell, even his crash house in Medellín and the hotel room in Cartagena – had the doorway closer to the right side of the bed. But here? Your condo and his place's bedroom had the doors close to the left side.

Awestruck, you wander down to your door and key in, floored by the realization that Javier has always been compelled – maybe hardwired, even – to put himself between you and possible danger.

It makes butterflies flutter in your tummy the more you think about it.

The reveries of all the ways Javi's made you feel worthy and precious fill your head and keep you in a daydreamy bubble the rest of the day as you busy yourself with chores.

Javier, on the flipside, is trying to make heads and tails of what's before him in this latest anti-cartel crusade that he'd signed up for.

At the time, what no one knew, and what he was starting to suspect, was that the drug trade network between the islands of the Greater Antilles were supplied by several cartel factions in Central America. The biggest distributor, the Gulf cartel, had shipping lanes mapped into the Caribbean for years. And even though things in the Sinaloan, Guadalajaran, and Juárez plazas had become a veritable civil war, the coastal factions eked out revenue focusing on pumping marijuana, heroin and cocaine into the Caribbean, avoiding the hassle of increased boarder security and aggressive surveillance from the U.S.

Instead of 'trampolining' product over the boarder like Amado had perfected, traffickers in the Gulf cartel were applying a 'slingshot' style tactic for transporting the product to the network across the islands. That, however, required establishing partnerships with local gangs, who by coercion, bribery, or intimidation, succeeded in moving the drugs throughout their territory.

Junior Capsula's crew had been the best at cornering the market on the larger islands, and with time, he'd kowtowed rival factions to falling in line and working for him and his other capos. Nowhere was that more prevalent than in the Dominican Republic.

After getting the leads from his contacts, Nic Lopez had briefed Javier on how La Familia got their inventory for local trafficking from Santo Domingo, the capital of the Dominican Republic. A few calls and a lot of political compromise later, and Javier had coordinated a joint taskforce with the authorities there, so he and Nic flew out Friday to hit the ground running.

The plan was to find the pipeline there and turn the spigot off, or at the very least isolate who the players were and who they used to ferry the product and cash to the network of public housing points, just like what was found at the crime scene at the caserío hit.

Javier's counterpart was the head of the Dominican Republic's Dirección Nacional de Control de Drogas, aka their version of the Colombian National Police that specialized in drug enforcement. A man known as Comandante Ayala. His first impression of him was good, but he'd learned never to let first impressions dissuade him of a sad truth:

Most men could be bought. No matter how pious, or principled they're lauded to be.

One thing he did to give Javier a hopeful outlook, though, was confirm a few things only the well-connected knew: José Figueroa Agosto had ties on both islands. The narco wannabe kingpin had homes all over the Dominican Republic and Puerto Rico, tons of luxury cars, boats – and deep pockets for bribes.

No matter how many busts or seizures were undertaken, how many drug points or transport operations were dismantled, the inconspicuous thug was always ahead. Nothing had been making a dent. But, curiously, the massacre at the public housing complex had shaken some partners. Enough to make them gripe to those who didn't mind passing the complaints along to diligent and crafty guys like Nic Lopez.

At dinner, when it was just the two of them in the crowded cantina across from the military base they were staying in, Nic had confirmed what had now become the most obvious.

"…There's some other pipeline of distribution. Maybe someone in the syndicate is trying to mobilize everything to flow from that rather than out of Santo Domingo? It would explain why no reprisals have happened," is the intrepid agent's musing as he swirls his tequila idly. "That bust in St. Thomas? It could be from that other stream—"

"Yeah, that's what I've been thinking," Javi cuts in before downing the rest of his whiskey, letting the burn of the amber liquid temper his next statement. "Or, it could be a diversion. Their attempt at 'diversifying the portfolio.' Cali did the same thing, with Medellín, with the Sinaloans…"

It was a possibility. Really, anything was. Still, it didn't give him or Nic much comfort.

Deciding to call it a night not soon after, they both returned to the private dorms they'd been given to stay in for the next couple of days.

Once showered and in a pair of dark green boxers, Javi stretched out on the narrow bed against the wall to lounge in the direction the window-unit air conditioner was undulating cold air, and let himself unwind. Closing his eyes, he let his mind relax.

Of course, it wanders over to thinking of you.

He remembers how good it'd been to wake up with you in his bed the other morning. How wonderful the night before had been.

A primal yearning had pulsed beseechingly within him at watching you with Steve's kids. You hadn't missed a beat at contending with Olivia and her precocious questions. No matter how silly or nosy. He swore she got that trait from Steve. But he couldn't muster an ounce of umbrage when it came from the adorable little girl.

The image of you holding Isabel and smiling at the way she yawned before resting her head on your shoulder flashed across his mind's eye now, making that effervescent feeling expand behind his sternum and heat his blood. It had him aching in his chest for the future – for what it would feel like to look upon you while you held your future first-born, to cuddle and smile lovingly down at his child.

Was it a wonder that he could barely think straight the rest of the evening you all chit-chatted around the coffee table? Coloring with Olivia before she'd been herded to bed had been the only way he could keep from staring at you with want in his dark eyes. Hell, the urge to claim you had been so intoxicating that he'd almost considered coming up with an excuse for you two to leave abruptly. He'd even debated about taking a sleeping Isabel from your arms in order to hand her to Connie so he could grab your hand and tow you away back to his place already.

As soon as you'd made the overture to call it a night, Javier had been burning with a feral, primordial need for you. He'd barely contained his impulses on the stroll home, but the moment you were in his bedroom, Javi's restraint dissolved, and he'd been on you – stripping you with deft hands while his mouth claimed yours.

Parting ways the next morning had weighed on him more than he'd expected, especially knowing what you would be dealing with.

He'd called you that first night in Santo Domingo, and you'd told him the plans you'd confirmed with your father for Sunday. You'd been so tired from the workday, though, that when you'd stifled a sleepy yawn, Javier had insisted you go to bed, and promised to call you every night.

You'd needed to keep yourself occupied. The chores had helped, and so did fawning over Javier most of the day. Hell, even now, you sighed dreamily after staring over at the lovely bouquet he'd given you for Valentine's Day. It was sitting in the vase at the center of your glass dining table, still looking vibrant and lush thanks to your doting to keep the roses and lilies luscious as long as possible.

But now that you'd finished with the last 'to-do' – having just folded up the ironing board after leaving the starching and steaming for last to do while the TV played the evening news, you were just resigning yourself to the melancholy waiting for you, when the house phone rang.

Picking it up from the base as you simultaneously grabbed the remote from the side table, you turned the TV off as you pressed the button to pick up the call.

"Hello?"

"Hey, hermosa. How're things?"

You feel that beaming, tingly glee crest up in you at the sound of his canela-spiced baritone.

"Better, now that you've called," you tell him with genuine delight as you shut the lamp off in the living room and start to lope down the hall towards your bedroom. With a sigh, you murmur, "I miss you. Been thinking about you all day."

"Oh?" he purrs in that roguish tone that hints at intrigue.

"Mmhmm. After this week, can you blame me?" you flirt now, entering your room after switching the hall light off.

"Not at all, especially since I miss the hell out of you too, and have my mind wandering. I was just remembering how sexy you looked in that little jogging outfit from the other day. Among other things," he chuckles in a velvety rasp that has arousal tickling warmth into your core.

Tossing yourself onto your cozy bed, you chime casually, "On the drive home from spending the day at the mall with the girls? I kept replaying the other night."

You expect him to take the bait you just so meatily dangled for him, but instead, Javi hums, "Have fun shopping?"

Pursing your lips to stifle your goofy huff, you roll to adjust your lounging position on the bed so you can sit up against your propped pillows. "Yes. Oh! We have tentative plans to go over to Ellis and Anita's for a barbecue. Us girls will coordinate on the date and let you boys know," you tell him spiritedly, smiling when you hear him hum a pleased grunt. "How're things there? I don't imagine you and Nic had enough time to go sightseeing around the capital?"

"Pfft, not in the least. It's bustling, and the base is close to the shoreline, but aside from some government office meetings, all we've seen a lot of is the cantina and the taskforce headquarters," he retorts, and you can hear him shifting onto a bed before he lets out a relaxed exhale. "We're going to Punta Cana in the morning to ride along on a raid. I have a meeting at the Fortaleza Wednesday morning., so I'll have to be back by then. Hopefully we get the intel we need from here quick," is his remark before he tentatively asks, "Everything still on? I mean, you and your father are still spending the day together?"

With a sigh, you absently toy with a few strands of hair as you reply, "Yes. I'm meeting him in Dorado."

He hums, and you can sense he's being cautious, not wanting to linger on the topic for fear it could trigger your melancholy. It actually makes your heart twinge – knowing how much he cares.

Javier is thinking of a delicate way to ask whether you really would spend the day alone on the anniversary of your mother's death, when he hears the shifting of the pillows you're lounging on, as if you'd just stretched out.

"So, what're you wearing, papisongo?"

Heat flares from his apex to radiate arousal into his loins at your seductive query.

Stretching to lie on the bed so he can rest his head on the pillows, propping the phone between his shoulder and ear, Javi adjusts himself, already feeling want pool in his core and fill out his length. He licks his bottom lip before rumbling, "Just a pair of boxers—"

"Oh?" you purr in his ear, and the timbre is playful, full of promise. "Paint me a picture, stud."

He gets rock-hard at the petition.

With a gravelly hum, he drawls, "Not much to paint, guapita. I'm in a military dorm room, on a narrow bed that's more of a cot than anything, and lying on it so the air conditioner can fan on me. This Caribbean heat is something else."

You chuckle at that.

"Which boxers?" is your melodious ask.

Smirking, he tucks his hand behind his head to stretch more comfortably while his other palm caresses down his torso languidly. "The dark green ones," he answers before scoffing at himself, admitting, "Christ, you're getting me worked up already…"

"Tell me, Javi," is your smoky murmur that sends a charge of pulsing desire to throb in his cock.

Palming himself over his boxers, he closes his eyes and lets out a raspy exhale. "I'm so fucking hard. You got me turned on, wishing you were touching me right now," he tells you in a husky pitch. His hand slips below the waistband to stroke his heavy erection, and a shiver goes up his spine when you hum a pleased sound of approval. "W-What're you wearing, mi amor?"

Looking down at your worn, oversized plum t-shirt and the slouchy sleep shorts your fingers paused skimming along the crotch of, you bite your lip before fibbing in a sultry chime, "I'm wearing the red lace teddy."

Javier blows a raspberry at your answer before grumbling freshly, "Yeah fucking right. C'mon, what do you really have on?"

Snickering, you gripe, "Nothing sexy—"

"I doubt that. Anyway, you gotta paint a picture for me too, seductora," is Javi's puckish drawl that has thrill pulsing warmth between your thighs.

"It's a ratty and baggy sleep set, chavón. I'm laying on my bed, thinking of you looking like a sexy centerfold and touching myself. Does that do it for you?" is your haughty mutter, expecting him to snort at you.

Instead, he lets out a husky hum that sends a tickle down to your core, before he sets it aflame with, "Mmm, it does, naughty girl. Tell me: you grinding that sweet little clit, thinking about me?"

Clenching your thighs around your hand to rut against the heel of your palm, you let out a breathy mewl while your other hand keeps the phone to your ear. You get wet, picturing Javi naked and stretched out on his back as he pleasures himself for you. "Yes. Yes, Javi. Wish I could watch you, like that time. Wanna see you get yourself off for me," you're telling him as you slip your hand beneath your shorts and start to circle your fingertips over the hood of your clit before grinding just the right amount of pressure that has you aching for climax.

You can just make out the sound of him shifting over the covers of the bed he's lying on over his gruff swear of, 'Fuck,' before you whine, "Javi, talk to me."

Javier's just finished hastily kicking off his boxers so he can pleasure himself without the barrier of them stifling the vigor of his stroking. And at your needy order, he audibly spits in his hand before fisting his cock, groaning at the added glide. "You got me jacking off like a hard-up fucker, bravita. F-Fuck, wish I was with you. Need to feel you, smell you, taste how wet you are—" at your flitty mewl, he bares his teeth from how hard he squeezes himself and husks, "You like that, baby? Knowing how fucking bad I wanna drop to my knees and bury my face in your pussy?"

"Oh Javi!" your cry of bliss shoots electricity through him and has him chasing his orgasm. It snaps loose within the tangled pleasure in his apex when you beg, "Please, I need you, mi rey—"

"Dios mío, Celina—!" he croaks out as his wits are stolen from him when his hand mindlessly strokes him into rapturous completion. So much so, that he doesn't even realize he growls in a pitched baritone, "I'm coming—f-fuck, m'coming!" as he spills his climax, shooting thick ropes of pearly seed to coat his stomach.

The sound you let out at hearing him reach ecstasy and being propelled by it into your own searing orgasm anchors Javier back from the fuzzy afterglow to coo in a velvety husk, "Such a good girl. Sound so sexy and sweet, coming hard for me like that. Helping me get off so fucking good."

In a warm, tremulous fog, you lie in a relaxed heap on your bed, languidly gliding your touch through the slick damp of your climax as it seeps into the crotch of your shorts. "Yeah?" you dreamily lilt, and at his mellow hum of confirmation, you smile and silkily sigh, "How good, mi cariñito?"

He lets out a sated, humored exhale from deep in his chest, before purring over the line, "Got me laying here on this glorified cot, naked and covered in my cum, still buzzing. That's how good, malvadita. Can't move yet…"

The image he conjures has delight zinging through you. "Sounds like a delicious sight. Wish I was there to take care of you," is your sultry murmur. He grunts drolly at that, so you tell him, "I kept my pjs on, but now my shorts are damp; fingers are all slick—"

He groans, as if lamenting he can't be there to do anything about it. You snicker, wiping your digits on the pant leg of your shorts before using the back of your hand to push your hair away from your forehead, chiming, "How you feeling over there, hm?"

"Hmph, like a dirty perv," is his deadpan, but you can hear the lopsided smile in his tone. "Shit, I needed that. Been tense. Felt good – having the release," he tells you in a relaxed murmur, then adds acerbically, "And I've been too sore to hit the gym since that insane jog you took me on—"

"Hah, oh yeah? And you'd been so sure that my 'little jog' would be no sweat for you," is your deriding snicker, loving how he gives you a grumpy huff in response, so you goad, "Guess I'll have to skip the beach leg of the jog to accommodate you—"

"My quads still ache from trudging through the sand trying to sprint after you," he haughtily razzes, and you can't help recall how he'd pouted when you'd heckled him to keep up.

"Well, I did offer to rub them for you, but you decided you'd rather spend the time being a filthy beyako instead," you singsong daringly, squeezing your thighs together idly at the reminder that plays in your head.

He remembers too. How he'd greedily chugged the green juice you'd gotten at the stand on the way back through El Condado. How surly he'd been while you both strolled through the park across from the busy avenue leading to the pedestrian bridge to the residential area your condo resides in. How he'd stared at your ass when you bent over to tie your sneaker's shoelace while you tutted at him about the folly of trying to show you up. The way your sweaty skin had made him buzz with salacious need while you'd both rode up in the elevator. And how amazing you'd tasted when he'd stripped you of your jogging clothes to bend you over the foot of your bed so he could eat your pussy out from behind.

"As if I would've passed up the chance to get you in that 'downward dog' pose," he smugly quips, smirking when you chortle at his logic, so he adds, "I'd opt for sore muscles over skipping having you any day." At your unconvinced laugh, he gloats, "Hey, we took advantage of the workout hormones already in our systems. I know I felt fucking great the rest of the day—"

"Hah, well I can't argue with that. It felt amazing," you cut in impishly while caressing your fingertips languidly along your exposed belly as you think of how content he'd looked after the raunchy post-workout sex, all freshly showered, watching you get dressed while he towel-dried his hair.

His velvety hum at your comment filters through the phone, stirring a warm smile to tug your dreamy features as you tuck wayward strands of hair behind your ear, and when it's proceeded by a yawn, you murmur dotingly, "Alright, I love you, bebito. Now be a good boy and come home to me soon."

A familiar, incandescent feeling fills his chest, making him ache with a yearning and prolonging the wistful post-bliss daze clinging to him. It has him professing worshipfully, "I will. Eres mi vida, preciosa. M'gonna take care of you. Make you come for me, have you feeling as amazing as you always make me feel. Show you how much I love you—"

You giggle enchantedly. "Javi. You already do all of that," is your sultry insistence, which makes him smile. "You're mine, and I can't wait to have you in my arms again, so I can kiss you silly and get you off like you deserve, chulito."

He grazes his teeth over his bottom lip and grunts an enticed sound as he sits up and snatches up his rumpled boxers, using them to wipe the sticky mess from his midriff. "Well, with promises like that," Javi drawls cockily, and you scoff spiritedly at him. "I'll be home soon, corazón. Until then, be sure to keep thinking naughty things so you'll have plenty to tell me," is his velvet over steel rumble, smirking when he hears your charmed hum. "Goodnight, querida."

"Goodnight, mi amor."

You set the phone aside on the nightstand, turn the lamp off, curl up under the covers, and dream of Javier.

It's a wonderful one. You're both together, lying under the mango tree in your grandmother's backyard, the grass cool and soft under you while you gaze at Javi while he sits up on his propped elbow and caresses your cheek.

He's murmuring to you about catching Escobar, telling you how great it was to see him in prison with the Cali Godfathers, watching them all fight each other. That it was all over, and that he had all the time in the world now to be with you.

"What else do you want, Javi?"

With a beaming smile that unearths his boyish dimple, he cups your jaw and guides you closer so he can whisper, "I have everything I want now, Celina."

The breeze whooshes around you both and rustles the leaves of the tree above head and undulates the cornucopia of flowers that fill the yard around you. A few petals get carried up in the current and waft towards the house. You follow their trajectory and notice your mother standing on the back patio. She's wearing a flower-print wrap dress that accentuates her round baby bump, and she's waving at you while cradling the basket filled with viandas and eggs against her hip.

You're just about to call over to her, but the breeze whips around you now, and just as you feel Javier caress his big, warm hand over your tummy – stirring you to look up into his stare and get lost in his coffee-brewed brown eyes, your alarm goes off and snaps you awake.

A flood of warm, fuzzy tranquility fills you as you lie there, trying to keep all the pieces of the dream from slipping away into that obscure haze that tends to muddle the details the more alert your mind becomes.

What a weird dream, you think, but your smile doesn't wane as you get out of bed and set out to get ready for your day.

The smile is on your face now as you sit at the table in the club house's outdoor dining area, stare faraway as you look out at the rolling green of the nearest golf hole just beyond the shade-covered terrace.

You'd gone over to your father's place, like agreed, and he'd cajoled you into having brunch before going off on the daytrip he'd planned. Of course, though, you hadn't gotten to enjoy the savory dishes you'd both ordered before your father was pulled away by a jovial member here and there who just had to bend his ear about this or that.

Truthfully, you didn't mind having the distraction to gaze off and think about the dream some more. Wondering what the meaning behind it could be naturally led you to thinking about Javier, and fantasizing about him in a dorm room's cot, naked and in a rut for you. It made heat tingle up to the apples of your cheeks while it warmed your core with cloying desire.

You're sipping your passionfruit mimosa, continuing to stare off at the palm trees in the distance while thinking about how gorgeous Javi looked asleep in your bed post-Valentine's Day, when your father finally returns to the table and slips back into his seat across from you.

"Sorry about that. Anyway, where were we?" he's asking in his cool, bass-filled baritone stirring you back from the mental image of Javi's eyes looking like dark chocolate chips when the sunlight made him squint after he sat up in his bed and smiled down at you the other morning.

"…You were promising to have a nice surprise at the end of this road trip?" you retort, adjusting your napkin over your lap before resuming eating. "And I was asking if the surprise would be to make up for Camille's inevitable stupid comment—"

"Mija, don't start," your father quickly grumbles, eyes plaintive as he murmurs, "She is more than aware about the importance of today, and has made arrangements to stay at her sister's. So no, she won't be around to make any comments—"

"Good. I'm so glad she's learned her place," you cut in facetiously before taking another sip of your mimosa.

His deep, mustachioed scowl tells you how unamused he is by you, so you change the subject with an aloof hum of, "You mentioned you'd be traveling back to D.C.?"

With a grunt, he nods as he cuts into his omelet. "Yes. I suppose I can tell you now, that I'm being considered for an Admiral position—"

You pause in your noshing and place your cutlery down to give him your undivided attention as you exclaim, "Really?! Congratulations! That's great, Pá—"

He holds up a hand to gesture for you to not get too spirited as he mutters, "None of that. There isn't anything to congratulate over. Not yet, anyway. It's a very competitive process for the appointment. So, I'll be meeting with the chief of naval operations. If all goes well, then I meet with the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff."

Giving him a defiant scoff, you insist, "Just being considered for that is an accomplishment, Pá. It's a big deal, so quit trying to be so cool."

Raising his brows sardonically at you, he deadpans, "I've never had to try at being anything. I just am, chistosa."

You snicker and grin, impish as you chime, "Whatever you say, Admiral-in-waiting."

His chuckle is amused, but he shakes his head ruefully at you.

A pleasant lull passes between you in which you both finish your brunch and partake in idle chit-chat over your second drink before he gestures to the server for the check.

You're just grabbing your purse in preparation to leave after he's just handed the server the bi-fold, when he reclines in his chair to nurse his iced parcha drink before conversationally inquiring, "How're things going with Javier Peña?"

The standoffish part of you winds up like a rattlesnake seething in your chest, but you feign neutrality in your demeanor as you aloofly retort, "Is that your best attempt at getting some form of corroboration regarding my personal life?"

Instead of the overbearing recrimination you expected, your father answers you with a mild remark, delivered cavalierly after he finishes his drink.

"Your acknowledgement is enough corroboration, tesoro. So, ready to go?"

A bit miffed, you take your time finishing your grapefruit mimosa before plunking the empty flute down on the table, pushing your chair out, and swiftly rising before sauntering out from the terrace through the crowded club house – without waiting for him.

Without batting an eye, your father vacates the table and strolls out, finding you sat at a bench overlooking the parking lot.

You know he's testing your boundaries because you only divulge things to him when you're activated and want to put him in his place, but you learned long ago that is a futile endeavor, because you end up walking away more upset than victorious.

So, when he approaches the side of the bench that's vacant, clearly expecting you to tell him off, you look up at him stoically.

"I don't want to be baited by you. Not today."

His stony expression dissolves, and his wide, expressive eyes soften the split second before he diverts his gaze and turns to look in direction of the car.

"Is it so wrong, that I would want to know if this man is making you happy?"

You exhale and stand, gripping your purse to be pinned at your hip as you reply, "You forfeited that privilege a long time ago, so please respect my privacy," before walking away from him to go wait by the car.

With your back to him, you don't see his genuine frown as he watches you go.

While you both drive away in silence out of the Dorado Beach golf club's gated entrance en route for the destination your father had planned to take you in order to celebrate your mother and honor her memory, Javier is walking through the seized warehouse acquired during the military raid just that morning.

He and Nic rode along, but did not go in with the soldiers until after they'd taken the site and ushered in the 'all clear' callsign over the radio.

Compared to Search Bloc, this was a relatively bloodshed-free outing.

"Jav, take a look at this," Lopez calls over from just inside the loading dock's storage area, gesturing at a large crate that had just been crowbarred open.

Coming over to peer in, he's not surprised to find bricks of cocaine hidden under a fragrant layer of coffee grounds. However, it's the contraband found in the adjoining room that surprises him.

"Looks like they were in the middle of breaking down a shipment for local distribution. Notice anything?" Nic queries as they move through the room of tables with the product broken out.

"It's all packaged the same way as the stuff found at the caseríos," Javi ruminates out loud.

The interrogation of the suspects swept up in the raid doesn't net out much, but with confirmation that the warehouse was a stop off for getting the heroin and cocaine from the Mexican cartels, he had enough to piece together some possible routes used to ferry the stuff from the Dominican Republic into Puerto Rico.

Still, the organization was so opaque, it was hard to conclude who of the Familia was responsible for facilitating the operation from D.R. to P.R.

What Javier doesn't know, and what is established almost a decade later, is that Junior Capsula ran the operation that had made him a millionaire, with the help from two trusted partners: Elvin Torres Estrada, aka El Muñecón, and Ramon Antonio Del Rosario-Puente, aka Toño Leña. The three of them had been able to carve out a racket thanks to the spillover from the Mexican and Colombian drug wars of the late 80s and early 90s, using their organization to transport cocaine and heroin from three routes. While the cartels fought for turf and supremacy in trafficking drugs up to the U.S., Junior and his associates took advantage of the bottlenecking and provided the alternate routes needed.

The Caribbean had long been a way station for drug shipments to the U.S. and Europe, but with the increasing militarized 'War on Drugs' along the southern border, traffickers began to look at Puerto Rico as a sought-after drug territory. This was due to the island's status as a U.S. territory, and a major perk that came with it: much of the cargo transported from the island did not have to clear customs before entering the eastern U.S. seaboard. That allowed Junior – who'd began his career in narco-trafficking as a drug-boat driver until 1993, when he struck out on his own by carrying out a hit on a truck driver who'd allegedly stolen a shipment of Colombian cocaine – to build the narco network that had him controlling 90% of the drug trade in the Caribbean.

With Toño Leña overseeing the transportation side, they would use small airplanes to drop bundles ferried from the three drug pipelines, dropped them in the Dominican Republic where they'd be collected, repackaged and moved to Puerto Rico or the U.S. The product that made it to the island would then be distributed out by El Muñecón, who'd supply the Puerto Rican drug gangs with the most territory and dealing points the bulk of the product. Said gangs, like the ones hit at the caserío massacres, would then supply drugs to smaller dealers who'd kick up dues to them, as well as to other traffickers with networks moving drugs up to the Northeast and over the Atlantic to Europe.

In all, Junior's core organization was made up of hundreds of people, insulated across all echelons of society, who helped obscure the hierarchy of the network to outside forces. The millions made went into luxury cars, boats, homes – all under shell company names, or "straw owners" or "jockeys." The latter were co-conspirators with legitimate standing who would help conceal the true ownership of assets, as well as facilitated laundering the money through property and business ventures. They'd do so with 'reputable' facilitators who'd assist with the placement, layering or integration of the organization's narcotics proceeds within lawful economic or financial systems.

In essence, Junior was the mastermind of making an illegal organization that acted as a symbiote for 'legitimate' business entities, developing a beneficial relationship, encouraged by corruption and greed. Which meant there was little appetite to uncover the organization's dealings, no matter how much violence and bloodshed skyrocketed on the island.

Javier suspected there was a system at play, just under the surface, though. So, he and Nic requested to see any deeds, titles, and business licenses with any association to the people and places that had been raided.

They'd been walked into a stuffy, humid back office Comandante Ayala supplied for them so they could dig through everything on the case so far, and for once in his life, Javier lamented not having a computerized way to research everything. Instead, there were boxes and boxes with no discernable filing system piled around the room for the two of them to work their way through.

"So…you take the ones on the left, and I'll work on the ones to the right?" Nic quips dryly as he wipes the back of his palm along his brow to sweep away the already beading perspiration dripping from his hairline.

"…Whatever we do find in all this shit? Remind me to have someone scan and copy it all over so it's on a computer," Javi deadpans as he flips the top of the nearest stacked box off, digging into the cluster of manila folders as he gripes, "At the very least, we'll be able to type into a search bar when we need to find something…"

Nic grunts flatly, already plunking down into a swivel chair by the window, and reading through some files while he unseeingly fiddles with the air-conditioning unit's on switch and temperature setting.

It isn't until he sits himself and lets out a weary exhale that his mind triggers a realization: Jesus. I actually would kill to have all of this in a laptop.

He smirks to himself, knowing how gleeful you'd be to know he's been worn down of his abhorrence towards the 'digital age' you've been foretelling to him, let alone that he'd kill to have the convenience of a file search at the tips of his fingers. Well, more like the tips of his pointer fingers.

While he internally admonishes himself for already starting to daydream about you instead of concentrating on the file he's buried in currently, you're trying not to succumb to the impulse of putting your guard up even more than you already have with your father.

The drive on Route 2 West had never been your favorite, and doing it now when there's so much tension definitely had your hackles up.

"Why didn't you take the highway?" you can't help ask as you stare out the window at the traffic trekking by.

"Because, you can't get any of those off the side of the highway," he answers and points ahead to a cluster of stands just ahead. "Your mother loved stopping and perusing. She'd make me pull over, no matter if it was a sunny day or during a downpour."

You look out the windshield to see the kiosks lined up along the right side of the busy road. They were bustling with patrons who'd pulled over to stretch their legs and have a look at the fruit, viandas, artisanal treats and crafts, or to grab something to nibble on or drink before heading back onto the route.

Unbidden, you crack a smile as the memory of your mother holding your hand while she talked to the fruit stand owner whilst they bagged everything, crossed your mind. It was then proceeded by the image of her patiently watching you while she let you pick out the mangos and guayabas you thought were the best from the bunch.

Blinking free from the memories, you realize your father's pulled the car over along the grassy side of the road up ahead from the bulk of the other parked cars.

"Just a little pitstop?" your father suggests and gives you an expectant look.

You relent, smiling at him as you nod. "But I get to pick the fruits," you tell him as you eject your seatbelt and grab your purse.

"Fine by me, tesoro," he chuckles as he follows suit.

Before long, you're cradling a paper bag with a bounty of fresh fruits tucked in it while you wait in line at the food truck selling pastries and fritters, as well as a fragrant-smelling coffee that has you swooning.

Your father had gone back to the car to drop off the bundle of plátano, guineo, ñame and panapén he'd gotten from one stand, so you had a moment to yourself while you stepped to the front of the order window and requested the two coffees, then stood aside to wait. Hope Javier's doing ok, you can't help think as you idle, and are so lost in thought that you miss when they call out your order.

When you realize it, you rush to the pickup window, but your father has come just in time to grab both to-go cups for you. Placing a few folded bills into the tip jar, he takes each cup and gestures for you to walk ahead back to the car.

Once the bag is secure in the back seat and you're in the passenger seat, your father passes you one of the cups.

"Are we going to veer over to the coastal route next?" you ask as you peel the plastic lip on the lid back before taking a sip of the coffee.

"No, I wanted to take you somewhere special. A place I used to bring your mother to," he answers in a pensive baritone timbre that stirs you to look curiously at him. For some reason, your stare looks dubious to him, so he grumbles, "We had moments like that, you know—"

"I didn't say anything to the contrary," you scoff and squint at him before sniping, "You seem to forget I was around and remember a time when you and her were happy…"

That douses his umbrage instantly with cold water and has him exhaling before tersely muttering, "It's going to be a winding, bumpy drive the rest of the way, so get comfortable…"

Needless to say, the rest of the drive from Route 2 up into the mountainous roads winding up through the lush terrain that makes up the scenery of most central municipalities of the island, is a silent once, save for the radio playing Puerto Rican oldies. At least when the signal would be unincumbered by the occasional flare of static caused by the interference of the elevation and surroundings.

Still, you manage to use the silent drive to gain some docility by continually reminding yourself, He's trying. You have to try too.

You're so invested in your internal recitation of this new mantra that you don't realize you've stopped until he's turned the ignition off. Snapping out of your faraway daze, you look around at the site he's parked in front of and gape in awe.

"Come, I set a reservation for us," your father is remarking as he exits the driver's side.

Bemused, you quickly undo your seatbelt and follow, still staring at the expansive view before you.

He turns and notices your transfixed look and smiles, coming to stand next to you so you both can look towards the almost ethereal view of the splendor that is being on top of a mountain at the center of the island that looks down at rolling hills and valleys of every shade of tropical green you can imagine.

"Your mother always said being up here reminded her of Medellín," is his rumbled remark. "The view is even better from the restaurant."

Indeed, your father was right.

Once you've been sat at the top terrace with the veranda that faces out to the sprawling view, you dreamily stare at how the sunset cresting in the West casts a bronzed, blushed hue over the valleys over yonder, with the twinkle of distant lights from humble homes dusting through the frondy foliage and canopies that make up the timeless terrain.

"Estamos en el campo," you remark wistfully as you admire the scenery, unable to avoid being reminded of the lovely view Javier had taken you up to once – overlooking that gorgeous dusky view of Medellín in early twilight.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say the jibarita in you misses being in the peace and calm of campesina life," he can't help jibe before he sips the ron he ordered.

You snicker, musing, "Well seeing as I had no say in the matter, I'd learned to appreciate living en el monte and getting bossed around by grandma."

He hums, smiling ruefully as he concedes, "My mother wasn't the easiest to deal with, but she loved having you stay with her. You came back much more self-reliant—"

"That's because she made me fend for myself when I complained. Once, she said, 'You're not sleeping and eating in my house if you don't know how to be grateful'," is your charge, but you sit back in your seat to sip your Cuba libre before shrugging, and adding, "But when she found me by the river a few days later where I'd set up camp – eating boiled plantains and eggs I'd foraged – she told me I could go back to the house."

Your father frowns. Sure, he'd taught you survival skills from the time you were old enough to talk and retain information, but hearing you inoffensively replay having to put them to use because of his own mother, has made the knot in his chest loosen.

"She never told me that. Why didn't you ever mention it before?" is his low-octave query, intense gaze softening at your dismissive wave of your hand as you finished your drink.

"Because you left me there, so I figured you'd intended for her to teach me lessons like that," you tell him honestly.

After all, you'd been ten or eleven years old, and not unaware of the tension starting to form between your parents, so when he'd gotten stationed overseas for ops training, and your mother had agreed to go with him, they'd thought having you spend that time with family would be for the best. That they could try to rekindle their relationship without having you see any more arguments and fights that would likely occur when things were tenuous between them. At least – overtime – that's what you concluded was the reasoning for getting dropped into the rural hills of Puerto Rico, or left for months at a time to live with your 'Buela in Medellín during summer breaks.

So, the juxtaposition of having a splendid, charmed life at your Buela's house in Medellín, versus the more rigorous, jíbara life of your Grandma's finca in Orocovis, never bothered you, let alone figure into any of your resentments. No, those would come later…

Still, you'd also compartmentalized so many of your feelings towards those times, that looking at the sad expression on your father's face now has you vacantly wondering out loud, "What? You always said experiences fortify the person you become; turns a person to steel towards the hardships of life. That being forged by adversity makes for the strongest steel of them all."

His silence is weighty, expression carving into a stony scowl at your assertion, while his eyes shone with conflict.

Just as he's about to open his mouth, though, the waitress appears with your entrees.

The mouth-watering mofongo con camarones a la criolla – your favorite dish – is piping hot and steaming with the fragrant aroma of the sazón, onions, tomato and garlic that comprise the bisque-like creole sauce saturating the shrimp-covered dome of fried, mashed plantains. You're eager to indulge in the delicacy, but once the waitress departs, you can't help notice how your father just stares at his arróz mamposteao y bistec encebollado guardedly – not making a move to place his napkin on his lap and pick up the utensils to dig in.

Thus, you find yourself sighing, before changing the subject.

"So, what would Ma order when you brought her up here? I bet it wasn't anything with gandules in it," you drawl goofily, cracking a smile when he scoffs and shakes his head. "She thought they were so gross—"

"Which I think she only said so to annoy me, since I like arróz con gandules and ordered it for us the first time we came here. I learned never to make that mistake again," is his snickered rumble as he shifts his chair further into the table and drapes the napkin over his lap now. "Her favorite was the white rice, red beans, and carne guisada. With a big slice of aguacate on the side," is his wry remark, chuckling when you playfully point your fork at his own hefty piece of avocado on his side plate. "It's the best up here. Have some."

Humored, you cut a sliver of it with your fork before partaking. "Mmm, like butter," you sardonically swoon, earning a warm chuckle from your father.

The rest of dinner is nice, filled with irreverent chatter and the delectable meal. After you're both sated and the bill is settled, you exit to return to the car, where you expect to just hop in and make the trek back down the mountain, but instead your father surprises you by going into the backseat for something.

"Before we head down, I thought we could have another of your mother's favorites."

He produces a rectangular carton from a paper bag, and you instantly beam with mirth. "A brazo gitano?! I haven't had one in ages," you marvel after he's handed it to you. "When did you get this?!"

He sits on the front of the car's hood and watches as you merrily open up the box to produce the Spanish cake roll that was filled with guava. With a nostalgic smile, he murmurs, "While you were picking fruit, I got the last one for sale at the pastry truck. I figured we could have it for dessert while looking at the view before it gets dark."

You sit on the hood next to him and offer him first slice of the artisanal roll, which he cuts into with the Swiss Army knife he's produced from his pants pocket.

Once you're both eating the fluffy and sweet confection while admiring how the sun finally dips behind the mountain range and a shroud of stars is revealed in the navy blue of the sky above while the cool breeze flits across the fronds and tall grasses, you spare a glance towards your dad.

"Was this the surprise?" you ask, affection lightening your tone.

"Nope. That's still to come."

Intrigued, you are more than content to drive back and wait for said surprise, especially when any tension between you both has finally dissolved away. You both talked and joked, reminisced about long ago family trips, silly anecdotes, and even bantered about old times. Like the time he'd taken you to see The Godfather in the theater with him, and him insisting it was a completely acceptable film to let an elementary school-aged child watch at the cinema.

"—Movies are for everyone! Especially great cinematic films like that."

"I don't disagree, but do you remember the looks you got from the ticket taker?"

"Looks que looks – as if I gave a damn what some punk with long hair thought—"

"Ok, fair point. But you did take me to Rosemary's Baby when I was little—"

"…That was your mother's fault. I didn't know what it was about," he rasps in a bass-filled grumble, scowling when you laugh. "I thought about grabbing you and heading for the exit pretty close to the start of it, but we were sat too far in the center of the row—"

The irreverent giggle bubbles out of you just before you snicker, "Was it the bedroom scene?"

You're unaware that he has a vivid recollection of how you'd watched, perplexed at the infamous scene. And he can still hear your little voice, piping up with a barrage of questions the entire drive home after the movie, with your child-like innocence, albeit perturbed confusion, inquiring, 'Why all the lady's friends were bad,' among other things.

"Yes. That was definitely not a film for a child. Your mother eventually agreed, albeit amusedly…" is his dolefully sardonic retort as he pulls into the driveway now to the stately tropical home in the gated, beachfront community in Dorado he uses as his main residence on the island.

Once he's parked in the vacant carport adjacent the two-story house with the tiled roof, you both unload the car of the road stand purchases and head into the home via the door located in the interior of the marquesina. And once you've placed the bag of fruit onto the kitchen island's counter, your father hangs his keys on the nearby hook next to the pantry before gesturing for you to go into the living room.

"So, the surprise," he announces as he rounds you to go to the entertainment system against the far wall that the large tufted couch faces, and retrieves something before turning to you. "I had this made for you."

You blink at him curiously before looking at the jacketed VHS tape he's handing to you, perplexed when you don't see any feature film or studio labels on it to identify what the movie cassette could be. Before you can ask, though, he gestures for you to sit on the couch, and after you've sat down, you finally notice the file box tucked in a bottom shelf of the entertainment system once your father has bent down and grabbed it.

"And, I thought you could have these so you can put them in an album, if you want," he's telling you as he puts the box down on the coffee table before he removes the lid and sets it aside.

He sits next to you and watches as you lean forward to peer into the box.

It's filled with neatly-stacked photo envelopes filled with developed prints. When you look closer, you realize many of them have your father's scribbled handwriting on the corner, marking the location and year the photos were taken. Some even have your mother's cursive script. One reads, Celina's first beach day, 1963.

Overcome, you look with wide, tear-brimming eyes at your father.

"I don't think you've seen most, since we moved around so much, but I always kept them stored, for safe keeping—" your father's calm baritone elaboration is cut short by you hugging him tight.

He reciprocates by winding his strong arms around you and relishing the tender moment.

When you're sure you can pull away without so much as an emotional sniffle, you clear your throat and ask, "What is the video tape of?"

His smile is barely subdued as he grabs the VHS and removes it from the sleeve before going to the VCR. Once the tape is in and he's turned on the television, he presses 'Play' on the remote and goes back to sit next to you.

The screen crackles to life with an at-first granny countdown sequence before the beginning of a super 8 home movie starts to play. The camera lens is pointed up at the clouds of a sunny day before the camera pans down and over at someone sitting under a leafy tree.

The instrumental melody of 'Here Comes the Sun' by The Beatles plays over the home movie as the person holding the camera nears the figure under the tree.

Looking up and over her shoulder, your mother smiles and scrunches her nose at the camera, mouthing what looks like, '¿Que haces con eso?'

You realize the camera is held by your father when he comes into view after sitting next to her on the blanket and pivoting it so he can film them both as he leans in and kisses her cheek. She smiles and funnily pats his clean-shaven features before wrinkling her nose cutely at something he says, which from your lip-reading, looks like, 'Bellísima.'

"Most of these don't have sound. I remembered how much you both liked this song, so I had them use it," he tells you, watching your transfixed expression while you watch unblinkingly as more footage from different home movies play.

While the video of your mother wearing a bohemian dress and doing a silly cha-cha dance for the camera plays, you remember that indeed, your mother would sing this song to you in the car to cheer you up when you were in a mood, sat grumpily in the backseat, or obstinately in your room while refusing to go play outside.

Your heart swells with pure joy seeing her vibrant and youthful, as she holds up the basket of flowers she's just picked up to the camera and grins at something your father must've said to her whilst he filmed.

The delighted bubble of laughter bursts in you at the footage going to your 'Buela sat on the front patio of her house, waving at the camera and giving a Cheshire smile when you toddle into frame and drape over her lap, little hands pulling on her skirt for her to give you attention before your 'Buelo comes into the shot to pick you up and hold you up to bounce you in his arms.

Happy tears brim and spill from your eyes to roll down your cheeks as more wonderful moments you'd been too little to remember play out over the instrumental song.

You feel still, completely content – like you've been dipped back to a time when nothing had been lost.

So, you don't expect the added surprise of when the song's ending chords are strummed, for a new series of home movies to play, that have actual recorded sound.

"—Ay Diego. You're really going to mess around with that camera now?"

"Why not? Vamos, bellísima. Give me a smile? Before la fiera comes down—"

"Don't call her that!" your mother chastises and swats his arm, causing the camera to swivel momentarily about the Sunday afternoon sun-lit kitchen before your father scoffs amusedly and resumes pointing it to your mother as she stands near the sink in mid-lunch prep. Squinting impishly at the lens, she derides, "Salió a ti, chistoso—"

"Oh, no. Not in the least. Es pura hija tuya—"

"You're really using that camera for the first time and wasting the fancy film con huevonadas?" is her wry snicker as she goes back to chopping a green pepper.

"Yes."

"Ah pues bien."

"Mami, is lunch ready?"

The camera pans around to focus on the doorway just as you come around from the living room and don't even spare your father a glance.

"Not yet. Come help, and it'll be ready quicker."

"Ok," you say dutifully as you retrieve the foot stool and carry it over to place it down next to her.

"Look, Celina. Smile for the camera," your father cajoles from behind the lens as you stand on the stool and get ready to help wash the rice sitting in the bowl by the sink.

You roll your eyes and look at the camera lens, brow furrowed. "Daddy, that's stupid. Why would I smile when I'm washing rice?"

At your mother's humored hum, you relent and smile, showing your child-like grin that's missing a few baby teeth before shaking your head and going to work sifting your hands to rinse the rice grains in the bowl with water they've been soaking in.

"Ah, look at my two beautiful girls, in the kitchen," is your father's smug, albeit affectionate observation. At your mother blowing a raspberry and pursing her lips derisively at his musing, your father makes a quippy grumble before heckling, as if to the audience, "Rosario, ever the skeptic. Mi bellísima—"

"Ay, Pá, cut it out!" you jeer, grimacing the way a little kid grossed out by her parents being mushy towards each other would while your mother laughs melodiously next to you.

You laugh as the video cuts with your father's grumbled huff before going to the next home movie.

The rest of the time watching the VHS tape is spent that way, with laughter and merry reminiscing. Before long, you end up curled up on the couch, with your head on your father's shoulder, rewatching the anthology of home movies he strung together for you.

When you fall asleep, he lays you down on the sofa and places a throw blanket over you before kissing your forehead and wishing you a goodnight.

You're disoriented when you wake the next morning, and gasp after awareness sets in. Luckily, your father had already put a pot of coffee on and had the presence of mind to have a change of clothes ready for you, so after a quick breakfast, you get ready and make a mad dash to your car, heading to your condo in order to shower and get dressed for work.

As you collect your work tote and rifle through it to make sure you have everything you need, you press 'Play' on the answering machine to check the messages left while you were out.

"—Hola, nena! Wanted to see if you were free for happy hour drinks. Llámame," is the first message, left by Zoraida. No doubt, wanting to catch up and distract you about tomorrow…

The answering machine's robotic recording announces the next message, pulling you from your thoughts.

"Hey, querida. Just calling to check in. Hope you had a nice day, and that all went well with your dad. I'll call you tomorrow. Love you."

Any melancholy that was about to set in was scattered by the light that filled your heart at hearing Javier's soulful baritone voice. You wanted to call him immediately, but decided against it, figuring he'd be very busy.

And, he was, thanks to the bureaucratic hurdles he'd encountered in Santo Domingo that morning.

One thing he did not miss was dealing with the sabotage and stonewalling from officials who should have stopping the traffickers be at the top of their priority list, let alone within their best interests to cooperate. Luckily his lack of patience helped him figure out a resolution.

"—My contact in the State Department made it clear that they would spearhead a measure to increase the U.S. National Guard's patrol of the waters of the Mona Passage. Frankly I'm inclined to lend my backing and speak to the governor, seeing as we're not getting the kind of cooperation we'd hoped for," he's elucidating in a non-negotiable tone now to the government official who'd refused his request for the DEA to have access to surveillance ops data collected by the local authorities.

It seemed to do the trick, since within an hour he received a call from the Ayala confirming he was given clearance to hand over classified surveillance findings to him. While he left Nic to coordinate the handoff with his counterpart assigned to the capital, Javier went outside to get some air.

He was craving a cigarette badly, and was trying not to succumb to the impulse of going to the breakroom and putting money in the vending machine for a pack. So, he checks his watch and decides he needs something to take the edge off.

You're just in the middle of reading over some requisitions while you nibble on a sandwich from the cafeteria when your cell phone starts ringing in your purse. Sitting up from your desk to retrieve it, you answer it as you dab your lips with a napkin.

"Hey, corazón. I'm not interrupting you from anything—?"

"No, not at all," you eagerly cut in, smiling as you sit back down and tell him sweetly, "I wanted to call you this morning after I got in and heard your message, but figured you'd be busy. I miss you."

"I miss you too," he says with genuine warmth, as if he needed to say it to get a load off his shoulders. "So, everything went alright?"

"Yes. It was a nice day. I'll tell you more later," you say easily, more interested in hearing how he's doing than possibly getting emotional on the phone. "How're things there? Everything ok?"

"It's the same shit, different day. But making progress, I think. Hoping to tie up a few things here before we head back," he remarks in that way you know means he doesn't want to give you the particulars. "Anyway, I won't keep you. I just wanted to check in. I'll call you tonight—"

"Oh, Zoraida badgered me to go out for drinks tonight," you tell him, frowning before you assure, "I'll try and make it an early night—"

"No, don't do that. She's been after you to catch up for a while," Javier insists good-naturedly, adding in a rumble, "You gotta tell her all about your jevo and how good he gives it to you, no?"

You snicker coquettishly, feeling titillated by his confident, umbrage-free recall and his ability to make it a sexy taunt. "Mmm, well I can always count on you to remind me of such things, mandón. I'll try and keep it as PG as possible," you silkily muse as you idly run your fingers through your hair, toying with a few strands as you add, "Can I call you when I get in? I'm going to need my jevo to make sweet, naughty promises to hold me over for another night without him."

Javi groans, as if tantalized by your suggestion. "Yes, call me, guapita," he tells you in a gravel pitch. But then he pauses, before asking concernedly, "What're you planning to do tomorrow? I mean, are you going into work? Or taking the day?"

You sigh, tugging on the strands of hair you've looped around your finger. "I have a big meeting in the morning that I don't want to miss, but I'll probably take a half day…not sure I'll be of much use after that, so I'll go to my place and just…just decompress and not be in the way…"

Scowling, Javier feels a pang of hurt, knowing you'll be self-isolating for fear of being too emotionally vulnerable in your bereavement.

"…I'll let you go. Promise you'll keep your cool and stay safe?" is your pensive query.

"I will, querida. I love you."

"I love you too. Call you tonight, hermoso. Be good until then."

He smiles, despite himself, before purring, "Mira quien habla. Take care, cariño."

"I will, chulito. Bye."

The rest of both your day are busy. You're thankful for it, seeing as that stubborn melancholy keeps trying to wiggle its way free from where you've buried it deep down. Javi, on the other hand, is getting more and more aggravated by the red tape regarding getting all the copies of the financial documents transferred to the office in San Juan.

He had a few DOJ lawyers putting pressure on the banks trying to block complying with a subpoena, but he was loathe to idle around for another day while you were in self-imposed solitude. It was weighing on him.

Nic could sense it.

While they both sat eating dinner in the stuffy file room that they'd made their homebase, the other agent eyed him over his can of beer before finally deciding to do some fishing.

"Something on your mind?"

Javi popped a plantain chip into his mouth, crunching on it and shaking his head while he kept his eyes on the file he was skimming over.

"Some one on your mind, then?"

That got him to give Nic a flinty glance before he chewed on the next chip, but this time, he didn't give an answer.

"You know, we heard the rumor. It made it all the way back to headquarters," the keen-eyed man muses, adding nonchalantly, "Must've been a nice coincidence, you two ending up in the San Juan federal office—"

"Let's just keep it to the case, Nic," is the sharp retort Javier lobs his way as he shuts the file's folder and reaches for his own can of beer.

Nic raises his brows and leans back in his chair, so Javi assumes that's the end of his querying.

"…If by chance you needed to head back before things are squared away for the financials transfer, I could stay and oversee that," Nic comments, the suggestion woven into his aloof tone. "No need for both of us to sit here sweating our asses off."

Javi glances sidelong at him while he sips his beer. Nic gives a one-shouldered shrug before returning to his own log he'd been tinkering with all day.

"…I might take you up on that…"

It was the most admittance he'd be getting from the boss man, so the other agent smirked to himself and nodded.

You, on the flipside, are admitting it all to the girls over drinks at the go-to beachy bar your clique loves hanging out at.

Coming straight from work, you'd walked into the bar expecting only Zoraida to be waiting, but were surprised to see Naida and Tayra at the corner booth as well, ready to shower you with gifts. The former gave you another wonderful scented candle she'd gotten you addicted to since moving back to the island, while the latter slid the box of rich dark chocolates you love across to you with a wink.

Zoraida broke the ice regarding the long-awaited topic of your love life by handing you a gift bag with a cunning smirk. You pulled out the very risqué see-through black lingerie – a halter-top style onesie with a thong crotch – and balk at your friends before they bossily cajole you to tell them everything and not spare a single detail.

So, you do. Albeit skipping as much of the tumultuous times of your on-again-off-again relationship with Javier to date. Over a couple of hours and several tropical cocktails and appetizers later, you've dished everything, including the absolutely wonderful weekend leading into the spectacular Valentine's Day. You'd even gone into your purse and retrieved the group photo from the dinner with Steve and Connie so you could show them how handsome your jevo is, as well as give them proof at how infatuated you two are for each other.

"—Ok, he's guapísimo and you got him wrapped around your little finger. Tell us how good he is—"

"Zory, obviously if she's put up with him this long? El señorito Javi sabe chingar," Tayra counters sassily.

"And she said he was a papi chulo when she met him, so what else does she need to say?" Naida tries to give you a reprieve in giving raunchy, salacious details.

But Zoraida will have none of it. "Detalles ahora, doña," she singsongs playfully as she taps the table to the rhythm of her cadence.

You dramatically roll your eyes, but your smile is mischievous as you declare, "He's the best lover I've ever had. I don't think I could be with anyone else…which is why I was celibate the whole time after I came home."

The girls exchange looks of surprise, floored by your candor.

"Javier is the most sensual, selfless, and shamelessly amazing amante – like, there's no one else who even compares. And, he's loving, but naughty, secure in letting me take the lead when I want to be in control, but super sexy when he's in control. I sometimes tease him just to get him riled up to manhandle me – to get all bossy and dominant – and make me his. He talks dirty like no one else I've ever been with, but not like in a meaningless way. Everything he says is hot, but caring – like, he checks in and makes sure he's doing what I want—"

You pause in your rambling admittance when the waitress comes by to check in, and you all politely ask for another round.

Snickering, you continue in a hushed tone, "I've never been with someone who cares so much about me, and who's so committed to my needs, and is so attentive towards my desires and my pleasure."

Naida whistles at that, while Tayra nods as if that is a glorious statement.

Zoraida narrows her gaze and hits you with the question you know she's been waiting to blurt.

"Does he make you come?"

"If Javi doesn't make me come at least twice when we do it, he takes it as a personal failure – and then makes me come with his mouth or fingers," you state unabashedly before sipping the last of your drink.

That finally cracks Zoraida.

She proudly grins and puts her arm around you as she whispers conspiratorially, but loud enough for the other girls to hear, "It sounds to me like Mr. Javier Peña is a keeper!"

You snort and nudge your shoulder into her wryly before the girls start teasing you gleefully.

"Can we talk about all your sex lives now?!"

The girls humor you, regaling you of their recent sexcapades for the rest of the time until you all have to call it a night and head home.

It's a while later after, and bone tired after spending the day in the drudgery of file reading, Javier decompresses with a hot shower. He is finishing drying his hair post-shower and eyeing his duffle, wondering if he should start packing it when his phone starts ringing.

He tosses the towel aside and grabs for it off the charger, dropping down on the narrow bed as he answers, "Wild night with the girls?"

You chuckle, drawling, "Drinks and sex talk is hardly a wild night with the girls, stud."

"Sex talk, eh?" he questions appealingly, smiling when you hum flirtatiously in response. The air-conditioned room is cool and comfortable as he stretches out on the bed in his pajama bottoms, so he relaxes backwards into the propped pillows as he idly scratches at his chest while he asks, "Care to share some?"

He hears the shift and rustling of the bedding as you adjust to lounge up in your pillows. "Well, after the girls nagged me to spill everything 'Javi Peña,' they filled me in on their love lives; how they spent Valentine's. Naida's been dating the same guy for a couple of years. They live together, and she told us how they tried roleplay the other day," you tell him brazenly, and he can hear the smile in your tone. "Tayra's a serial dater. She's never kept a guy around longer than a few dates or hookups. She told us about the last guy that she let go down on her in her office late one night. Oh! And Zoraida has a roster of guys she sees – you know, like on rotation, so she told us about the baseball player that asked to lick her ass—"

"Whoa," Javi sputters at the unfiltered gossip, exhaling sardonically before he snickers, "So much for keeping it PG. And what did you tell 'em?"

Your giggle is smoky before you purr, "Que eres el amante más asombroso de mi vida."

That you're the most amazing lover of my life.

His pulse rushes at that, shooting warm desire into his apex and making him lustful, so he murmurs, "Oh yeah? And what sexy details did you give to prove that?"

"Nothing as bawdy, don't worry! Well, actually, I guess the most detailed tidbit was that you always make me come – that if you don't make me come at least twice, you take it as a personal failure and make it your mission to make me come with your mouth or fingers—"

"Cristo amado, woman!" he exclaims, incredulous smile quirking his features while an embarrassed flush rises up from his neck while you guffaw a sultry laugh. Tracing the inner rim of his bottom lip with his tongue, he deadpans, "Great. Now I'm going to have to pretend I don't know that you told them all that—"

"Why pretend? It's not like I said a bad thing! You can tell your friends about how good you make me come, if you want, chulito," you taunt knowingly. "Or whatever naughty details about our sex life you'd want to brag about. It's only fair—"

"That is never gonna happen, atrevida. No matter how much I get hounded," he huffs in a faux-grumpy tone, but he can't help smile when you make a disappointed little grumble. "I think you're just being naughty to get a rise out of me, eh, malvadita?"

You hum dramatically before chiming, "Maybe," then pause, and sigh tiredly before musing, "It was nice, having the distraction…"

Javi hears the sadness just under your tone, and sits up on the cot.

"Querida…you want to talk about it?"

"No, I just…it's late, and I'm being silly. You get some rest, mi amor. I'll be better after tomorrow."

He frowns, running his hand impulsively through his hair to stifle the ache of not being able to instead pull you close and hold you tight. "Ok, preciosa. Sleep well. I love you."

"I love you too, mi cariñito. Be safe. Goodnight."

The solace you felt thanks to Javi promising to be home soon allowed you to go on autopilot whilst you got ready for work the following morning. It also helped that there was just one more day of feeling the pull of melancholy you were weary of fending off already. At least that was the mantra you were running in your head until someone knocked on your door.

You didn't expect your father to be on the other side when you answered it.

"Pá," you greet, bemused before frowning confusedly and asking, "Did we make plans—?"

"No, I just wanted to stop by and drop these off for you," is his remark as he greets you with a kiss on the cheek before crouching to pick up the box at his feet, along with the sturdy shopping bag filled with the viandas and frutas from Sunday you'd left in your haste the morning prior. "I, uh, figured you would be busy today, so figured I would drop them off before you left for work."

You smile as you take the bag from him so he can dutifully carry the box to your coffee table and place it onto an unoccupied corner. "Thanks. I was running late yesterday and it slipped my mind to grab them—"

"It's alright," he assures as he faces you and vacillates, as if unsure with what to do next. He scrubs the inside of his hand over his moustache and mouth as he glances over at the dining room table and sees the bouquet of flowers Javi gifted you for Valentine's. "Well, I'll leave you to it—"

"Dad."

He pauses and looks intently at you, and ends up being taken aback when you approach him to give him a thoughtful hug.

"I'll call you soon so we can have another paisa dinner," you whisper against his chest before clearing your throat and stepping back with a small smile.

Nodding, he kisses your forehead, relaxed as he drawls, "I'd like that very much, tesoro."

You chat a bit more on the way to the door – making sure not to address the heavy meaning of the day, and you part on good terms, waving goodbye to him as he heads for the elevator.

With a deep, cleansing breath, you go finish getting ready for work.

By the time you make it to the big meeting, you're feeling like you can hold it together. That you could maybe even get through the day. So much so, you get lost in some busy work when you get back to your office, the kind that make you start itemizing next steps on projects, department to-do's, forming an absent-minded itinerary of things you need to get to as soon as possible.

But then your mind becomes preoccupied with a sense of obligation, a nagging feeling like you're forgetting to do something. It's the kind of thing that feels like it's been routine – something meaningful, but no longer an option, and it needles you the entire time you trek back to your office, until it finally dawns on you.

Oh! I have to call 'Buela and—

The thought skids off the track and derails into a deep ravine of guilt and grieving, filling you with sorrow at the realization that this is the first anniversary you were without your grandmother.

It's like a cold dagger that seeps icy hurt into your chest, overwhelming you with melancholy.

On autopilot, you manage to scrape your wits together to not start bawling until you've made it to your car and driven out of the federal campus. By the time you make it to your apartment, you are frazzled and flushed from crying. The muggy heat is sweltering in the early and sunny afternoon, so you're quickly sprinting through the door and over to turn on the consola de aire acondicionado that's in the main living area before rushing to crank shut all the windows.

You make it into your bedroom and turn on the wall-mounted unit so that cool air can fill the space as you hastily strip out of your work clothes in order to sit and curl up into the pillows to have a good, long cry.

Once you've showered and gotten into the billowy dark gray t-shirt dress you favor for lazying around the house, you feel better enough to find ways to occupy your time – or at least to try to attempt to divert the melancholy threatening to have you fall into a grief spiral.

Looking over, you see the bag on the counter and the box of photos your father had dropped off to you that morning, and feel inspired with a couple of ideas on how to invest your attention into things that will absorb your time.

Hours later, you lean back into the couch and finish the gulp left in your wine glass before pouring a hearty refill from the bottle you've half drained since you'd set up shop in the living room.

You place it back down on the cool floor next to you as you shift forward to return to your project.

A short while later, once the buzz reaches your head, you take a healthy swallow of what's left in your glass and amble backwards up onto the cozy-throw-covered-couch so you can survey your progress. The box of photos is sat on the chair adjacent to the couch, and you have several photo albums arranged in varying stages of completion over the coffee table.

Leaning heavily into the couch cushion, you close your eyes and let the chill of the air-conditioned breeze fan over your toasty senses for a few minutes, before grabbing the VCR remote and pressing 'Play.'

The montage of home movies your father surprised you with begins to play where you'd paused it earlier.

Setting the wine glass aside and shoving the now-mostly-empty bowl of chips away so you could tuck your legs under you more comfortably and pull the cream blanket over your lap, you watch as the little toddler version of you dressed in blue overalls and little yellow sandals holds your mother's hand while she plucks a mango off of the tree in your grandmother's backyard. She places it down int a nearby basket, and you mimic her by picking up a fallen mango from the grass and dropping it into the same basket before tugging on her hand to continue over to the next mango you spot within reach.

Sniffling, you use the sleeve of your dress to dab at your teary eyes, lip trembling as you take in a cleansing inhale to try and clear the emotion from knotting in your throat.

You're startled when three knocks suddenly rap on your door, making you whirl inelegantly in your seat and perplexedly look around for something to tell you the current time. The VCR display says it's close to 4:30pm, which makes you sputter as you press 'Pause' on the remote and kick off your blanket in order to then rush to your feet.

"Un momento," you shout as you hastily shut the TV screen off and put the clutter of empty snack bowls down on the floor, and shove the tissues out of sight from the door before you rush over to unlock it and open it.

Javier stands at your threshold with his travel duffle hung on his shoulder while he holds a bouquet of pretty pink flowers in his hand.

You're so surprised to see him that you gasp and stare with flustered awe at him before bounding forward to throw your arms around his torso. A little 'oof' escapes him as he holds you to him with his strong forearm not currently occupied by the flowers or the weight of the travel bag.

Nuzzling you lovingly, he gets lost in the soft scent of your hair and how nice it feels to have you in his embrace.

You hug him tight as you bury your face in the soft cotton of his safari beige-toned button down, breathing in his warm scent before you snap to your slightly wine-dulled senses and stumble backwards to pull him into the apartment and out of the heat of the outside hall.

"Oh my god, w-when—what're you doing here?" you stammer as you fluster timidly, feeling too much of a mess suddenly.

"I took the earliest flight I could. Lopez stayed behind," he explains as he closes the door behind himself and sets his duffle aside by the entry to turn and hold out the lovely bouquet, murmuring sweetly, "These are for you."

Your heart flutters as you take the flowers and slowly realize they're pink gardenias. Deeply touched, you hug them to your chest and stare up with glossy, trembling eyes at him as you whisper airily, "You remembered?"

With a gentle smile, Javi nods, and you sniffle – overcome, when he pulls you close and kisses your forehead.

Pink gardenias were your mother's favorite flowers. You hadn't seen a pink gardenia since her funeral, so to see the gorgeous pink blossoms nestled together now – knowing that Javi went out of his way to get them to honor her? It has you feeling breathless.

You wrap your arm around his waist and lean into him, melting when he claims your lips with his own.

Hints of merlot still cling to your mouth, and he's just realizing you're seemingly not wearing anything under the cozy t-shirt dress when you lean back and look up at him with open emotion filling your expressive gaze, hugging the flowers to your bosom as you idly scrub the back of your hand across your tear-streaked cheek.

Javier's deep brown, soulful eyes crinkle at the corners as he tells you, "I, uh, know you were just gonna spend today alone, so I hope this is ok."

"I—" you begin and immediately pause when you realize the state you and the apartment are in. There are dishes in the sink, mail stacked carelessly onto the console by the phone, you hadn't gotten around to taking out the trash in the kitchen, several pairs of discarded shoes were left by the entry where he'd just left his bag, and the conspicuous clutter in the living room. It all causes you to feel shame.

"I-I would've gotten things sorted if I'd known you were coming today—that you were going through the trouble," you attempt while looking at the bouquet cradled in your arm, before flinching as you exclaim, "Oh! Let me get these in water—"

Bemused, he looks around and doesn't see what has you fretting, so he walks towards the couch and further into the nice air-conditioned space, as he assures, "It's no trouble, querida. I had to be back here for that meeting at La Fortaleza tomorrow—"

He spots the bunches of used tissues and bowls clustered on the floor by the corner of the couch. A quick glance at the clutter of albums and developed photo sleeves on the coffee table, as well as the bottle of wine tucked behind the leg of said table clue him into what you've been up to.

You're clumsily rifling through cabinets in search for a vase, and once you find the cylindrical shaped one from underneath the sink cupboard, you place it on the counter and notice Javier's made it over to the couch.

"Oh!" you fret as you scamper around the kitchen counter on nimble bare feet, and go to hastily scoop up the plates and bottle, fumbling with grabbing up the mess of tissues as well as you fuss, "Sit, sit! I'll clean up quick—"

"Let me help you," Javi attempts as he tries to take some of the clutter from your arms, but you recoil with embarrassment and rush back to the kitchen.

"N-No, just sit and relax. I—I'm just going to tidy up," you're thinly assuring as you toss the tissues into the zafacón, then place the dishes to clatter into the sink before hurrying to put the wine out of the way by placing it in the corner of the counter so you can quickly grab the vase. But before you can pivot around with it to run the tap and start filling it with water, you fumble it in your hold and it tumbles out of your hands to fall with a crash to the tiled floor. "Shit!"

He'd been already rounding the counter to come help, so he now rushes over to practically pick you up and maneuver you away from possibly stepping on any shards of glass, as he warns, "Careful, cariño."

Once he's placed you down in the hallway away from the broken glass, Javier spots a paper bag left on the elevated dining side of the counter top, so he grabs it and turns to sweep the larger shards together with the side of his boot as he assuages, "Here, I'll just scoop it into this—"

But you're already dashing into the laundry room and back with the broom and dustpan set, clumsily trying to disjoin them as you fluster, "I'll pick it up! Don't touch the glass, I can sweep it up and—"

You're so frazzled that you yank too hard, and the dustpan clatters to the floor while the broom bangs into the wall when you finally un-attach them.

A wave of something fragile, yet chaotic, swirls up in you, and you're not sure if it's the wide-eyed gape Javi gives you, or the scalding sense of embarrassment that lances through you now, that caused it to flare up like hot air in your chest. The latter has you feeling at your lowest. That he's seeing you be a pathetic, drunken mess, and that this whole thing seemingly is establishing what a disaster you truly are.

Whatever it is – likely a combination of everything – has you so mortified that you're suddenly letting the broom clang to the floor as you hide your face in your hands.

"I—I'm sorry. This—this is why I needed to be alone. I'm just a fucking mess," you haltingly hiss around the sobs now wracking through you. "I hate being like this—hate you seeing me like this—"

"Mi amor," Javi croaks thickly, throat feeling tight from how a tangle of conflicting feelings wedges in his windpipe, so he exhales gruffly and cuts the distance between you so he can pull you protectively into his chest, desperate to take your pain away, but helpless with how to do so. Consolingly, he husks, "You're not a mess at all—"

"Yes I am! I-I just keep falling apart, and here you are seeing it and s-seeing how pathetic and pitiful I am when I can't keep my shit together," you frustratedly exclaim as you wring away from him and angrily pick up the broom, as you rail, "I can't even pull it together a-and not scare you off—"

Watching you spiral is something Javier is bemused, stung, overcome and activated by, all at once. It rakes up so many feelings in him, and makes him burn with the compelling need to give you solace in any way he can. Seeing it happen the first time – when your grandmother had passed away – had branded him with a daunting sense of protectiveness over you. But unlike that time, you were truly adrift now, and not begging for him to tether you back and anchor you from the volatile, emotional tempest you were in. That was likely because you'd been drinking and had so much grief compounded within you over time, that you felt your only option was to suffer alone.

And he'd derailed that for you. So, he now had to haul you back from the chasm you were prepared to fling yourself into.

The broom isn't even in your grasp completely before it's flung away by Javi into the corner of the fridge and wall, just as he sweeps you away from the kitchen to be pressed between him and the hallway wall at your back. You gasp as adrenalin hits your bloodstream and zings a lurid thrill through you that clears the buzz enough for you to focus your wild stare on his purposeful glare.

"Do I look scared off, querida?" is his assertive, husky rhetorical question.

Brow furrowing, you shake your head insistently as you hiccup, "N-No, but—"

"Celina."

You pause and stare attentively at him now, feeling like a tuning fork just got chimed inside of your ribs by his firm, grounded baritone use of your name.

When he sees your eyes sharpen and your brows rise in anticipation, Javi cups your cheek with one hand while the other cradles your lower back. Your breath hitches, stare flicking to his mouth and back up to his smoldering gaze when he leans in and rumbles decisively, "I'm not letting you get all worked. You don't have to have all your shit together, especially today. You're going to let me clean this up, and you're going to stop trying to keep things bottled up."

Your eyes flutter at his command, but you're already stubbornly starting to protest, so Javier insists, "Listen to me, corazón. You can trust me. I don't think any less of you for 'not having it all together' today," and pauses to emphasize his point by resting his forehead to yours as he murmurs, "It's ok not to be ok."

Exhaling shakily, you close your eyes and curl vulnerably into him. You're so emotionally raw, that you can't even muster words.

Javier kisses the top of your head and lets you relax against him before he assures in a gravelly mutter, "Now, go sit for me. I'll clean this up quick."

He nuzzles the top of your hairline affectionately and pats your tush in a 'hop to it' gesture.

As soon as you've scooted onto the couch in a way that allows you to peer over at him, Javi goes to work picking up the large broken shards of the vase to plop them into the paper bag, then grabs the broom and swiftly sweeps up the smaller jagged pieces into the dustpan to be dropped in as well before be carefully closes the bag and shoves it into the now-full trashcan. Once he's sure he's gotten all the glass swept up and that there aren't any shards lingering in the bristles of the broom, he ties up the garbage bag preemptively before setting the broom and dustpan back down in the laundry room where they're stored.

You watch him the entire time, eyes wide and glossy with your pining, as he moves around the space while the anxiety still wriggles in your chest.

Getting to stare at his divine, perfect fit blue-jean-clad ass walk down the hall before he lopes back to come towards you makes delight palpitate some of the anxiety away, though. The kind of delight that tingles excitement in your core and makes you fidget with the heat of your arousal spiking through you now when Javi nears.

The air from the consola fans across you both, and while he's glad for the kiss of the cool breeze against his skin, he can't help notice how it's not cooling you down at all. Your cheeks are flushed, and you look a bit ruffled still, unaware that you're a bit wound up with self-conscious anxiety and yearning.

His dark-coffee brewed eyes lower appraisingly over you as he gets to the side of the couch – lingering on how your nipples are studding through the clingy fabric of the t-shirt dress. Seemingly mystified with the conflict you're exuding in your uncertain state, Javi hesitates on whether to sit next to you, before he settles his features into an earnest regard, and asks in a baritone rumble, "Did I do the wrong thing? Coming over, I mean."

You sit up on your knees and absently clutch the back cushion as you fluster, "N-No, you didn't do anything wrong—"

"I can leave, if you want," Javi says in a steadfast way, a hand at his hip while he gestures with the other to where his duffle sits, as he huffs, "I should've called before coming. It's fine, if you'd rather not have company—"

Deflating onto your haunches, you swallow the lump in your throat before professing tightly, "I don't want to be alone."

It's then Javi sees the indecision crease your brow, and realizes you're truly at a loss, and not used to being out of control like this; at having your desires in conflict and not having a way to regain your calm. He's never seen you so unsure and self-reproachful. It makes him realize you need coaxing towards stable ground.

"Querida. If you want me to stay, then you have to tell me so."

You blink in surprise, and Javier stands his ground – hands on his hips and expression etched in that assertive way from before, but this time his soulful eyes are crinkled almost goadingly at the corners.

A shiver goes up your spine.

"I want you to stay," you tell him, sitting on the couch with your legs folded under you, but still timid.

He cocks an eyebrow and leans his weight onto his left hip as he eyes you challengingly, drawing out in a smoky purr, "I don't believe you."

That gets the reaction he hoped for.

Your brows furrow together and your eyes narrow. "Oh, really. You don't believe me?" you mutter crossly before scooching to the edge of the cushion you're sitting on as you imperiously snark, "And what do I have to do for you to believe me then, hm?"

Javier smirks as he gives you a laconic one-shouldered shrug, before he croons, "Show me that you want me to stay."

A little fire of desire is set inside you at that, and all your squeamish, flustered embarrassment of before is snuffed out by your need to buck up against his challenge.

The buzz from the wine tickles through you still as you stare at him in that searing way that promises sultry, albeit wickedness, from you in response to his self-assuredness, but really, you're feeling the gumption bubble up and clear the fuzzy anxieties of before away. Especially the more you see his dark eyes begin to smolder with lust.

Licking his bottom lip while you stand on your bare feet and cut the short distance between you both, Javi feels anticipation curl deviant thrill up in his apex. That quickly becomes burning arousal when you stand up to him on your tippy toes and grab fistfuls of the front of his shirt to yank him down to meet your kiss.

He ends up hissing in surprise when you suckle on his bottom lip before nipping it possessively and growling, "I want you to stay, Javier."

The urge to just take you pulses in his veins and digs down into his loins, but he wants to wind you up some more – to get the angst and upset of before completely torn asunder; to be replaced with your vivacious, unabashed desires he's become so adept at stoking loose.

"Hmm, is that so?" Javi purrs in that incandescent grouse that always rakes over your titillated senses like sinful velvet, as he gropes his big hands down your curves puckishly before pulling you close so he can order in an audacious whisper, "Fucking prove it, then, bravita."

An exhilarated wave of arousal pulses through you and has you tingling with desire at his instigating command. You want to just pounce on him, but something daring and needy has you wanting to wind him up right back. To rile the urge you saw flash across his dark eyes earlier back to the surface and entice him into carnal hunger with you.

Javier is surprised when you lean back from his embrace and worry your bottom lip between your teeth as you encircle his left wrist and cup his hand, leading it up your skirt and between your thighs.

"I want you to stay, and I want you," is your silky whisper as you guide his digits to touch your warm and bare pussy, emphasizing your point by grinding your slick seam over the pads of his fingers as you look searingly into his hungry stare and ask airily, "Do you want me, mi amor?"

He was hard when you slipped his hand up your skirt, and he's straining against his jeans now from your provocative question while rubbing your dripping cunt along his fingers.

"More than anything," he hoarsely mutters as he starts to part your folds.

At his answer, you nimbly scamper back and out of his reach suddenly, and Javi's expression is priceless when you grin and lilt, "Then fucking prove it, guapito."

It's so brazen and goading, the way you got him wrapped around your little finger only to then snap him back – to push the deviant, primal buttons that spin lurid desire up in him and have him unleashing all his suppressed urges. That provoke him to dominate you in a feral way that has a visceral shudder quivering through him.

Before you can even attempt to sprint off like you'd planned to, Javier's already lassoed his arm around you and pinned you to him as he grabbed the hem of your dress and yanked it up and over your head in a brusque movement that has you gasping and teetering in his hold. He effortlessly spins you around to wring the material off and flings it carelessly away before he manhandles you down onto your hands and knees to the blanket-covered-couch as he hurriedly yanks his belt buckle loose and makes short work of opening his fly.

You're mewling and arching back excitedly when he drops onto his knees behind you and quickly lines himself up before he plunges his ramrod erection into you to the hilt with a rough groan.

His hips slam into you and cause you to almost fold forward, so Javi grips the back of your shoulder and guides you roughly down to position you in a way that'll have you at his mercy, but able to hold onto the armrest for balance.

Just as you arch your spine to rock back into his next thrust, Javi crowds over you and dominates the hell out of you now.

The air-conditioning unit hums along in the ambient beat of the fan swaying to and fro while the sounds of you getting railed by Javi echoes in the living room, getting louder and louder as his pounding thrusts become piston-like slams angled up into that devastating spot inside you.

"Ah! Mmph, oh Javi—" you cry out, feeling spun up by the sensory overload of his weight pressing into you, his cologne and sweat permeating your own overheated scent, his gruff groans and growls of savage approval at how you're reveling in how he's taking you, and the taste of him now when he plunders your mouth with his own in a greedy kiss.

When Javi maneuvers a hand to tease his fingers over the hood of your clit, you whimper, "Nngth!" and break the torrid kiss to bow into the couch cushion under the onslaught of overstimulation.

Your silken walls clench hard around him, making Javi moan and nuzzle you lovingly before he shifts back to balance his weight and take hold of your waist to ground you both in the building crescendo of scintillating sensation that's propelling you both into a tizzy towards release.

He's enthralled on how you're moaning broken little sounds of ecstasy the harder and faster he fucks into your squelching cunt from behind, and he watches you under heavy lids as you reach a hand backwards to cling to his forearm as his grip on your waist becomes more possessive – desperate, even.

Your sheath is fluttering with impending climax, and the throaty way you begin to beg, 'Javi-Javi-Javi!' has something scalding tangling in his chest and making him wild with the need to wreck you with daunting pleasure – the kind that will make you rapturous and euphoric.

Just as your coupling hits an animalistic zenith, you sob his name before wailing a reedy sound as you climax, gushing your orgasm as your sheath clamps down around his cock.

"Oh fuck—!" is Javier's guttural grunt before he pants a harsh groan as his release barrels through him, stealing his breath and having him buckle forward to crowd over you.

In this heightened state, you can feel his climax surge deep inside of you while his heartbeat throbs against your back. The dizzying delight you experience at the bloom of warmth radiating in your womb has you sighing out a luscious sound that makes Javi melt into you.

Before his knees gave out, Javier wraps his arms around you and rolls sidelong into the sofa's back cushions in order to keep you folded backwards into him so he can worshipfully cuddle and nuzzle you while you both recover.

The post-coital bliss has you blitzed out in the most wonderful way. You're dreamily sighing as you come back down from the stratosphere and affectionately interlace your fingers with the hand caressing your womb. As your body temperature begins to normalize, you feel the chill in the air and the cool press of the steel from his watch's band as the wrist it's attached to rests against your sternum. The palm of his hand is just below your clavicle, thumb sweeping soothing along the delicate skin while he noses into the sweaty hair at your nape.

Dimly, you reach around your side to shift your hips so you can turn to kiss him over your shoulder, and end up comically realizing Javier got you completely naked, but left himself fully clothed. He didn't even get a chance to kick off his boots.

"Oh my god," you snicker before caressing your palm along the length of his jean-clad lower thigh before simpering, "Babe, how are you even comfortable like this?!"

He snorts and nudges his temple affectionately against you as he deadpans, "M'not. You got me so riled up though. Stripping down was not a priority."

You laugh, light and effervescent, grinning when he nuzzles your neck and grunts a silly sound.

"Well, it's a priority now, chavón," you simper between giggles as you undulate your hips into him. "Desnúdate, ahora."

Javier impishly pinches your waist and grunts at your order of 'Get naked, now' before eagerly shifting you up with him so he can comply, laughing warmly when you start to help him undress by unbuttoning his beige shirt with hasty fingers, yanking it open and off his shoulders while he hurriedly, and simultaneously, kicks his boots and pushes his jeans off.

Once naked, Javi murmurs, "Lay back for me," and helps you adjust to lie length-wise on the sofa as he maneuvers to sit between your parted legs.

The cool air caresses over you both and keeps you from overheating while Javi takes some tissues from the box on the side table and tends to you. Tenderly swiping up the spill of his seed that's weeping from your still tingling pussy, he makes sure to be delicate with his aftercare so you can relax.

You sigh blissfully and close your eyes as you reach for him after he's set the sullied tissues aside.

"Feel better?" he rumbles when he cuddles up with you across the length of the couch. You nod and tuck yourself against him, so he wraps his arm around your waist and gives you a loving squeeze, as he drawls, "Good."

While you're cooling down together, Javi combs his fingers through the back of your hair soothingly while you caress yours along his forehead and brow, occasionally brushing your lips over his, and sighing happily when he presses soft kisses to your cheek and jaw.

When you start to shiver from the air conditioning, he tries to pull the edge of the throw blanket around you, but much of the length of it is pinned underneath you both, so he murmurs, "Wanna take a hot shower?"

You nod, but before Javier can start sitting up, you hook your leg over his hip and silkily lilt, "But first, I wanna take care of this," and coax his semi into a full erection with a few strokes of your hand before guiding it to your primed entrance.

His groan of approval is quickly followed by him plunging his cock slowly in before maneuvering you both on the sofa so that he can be on his back while you ride him with sensual gusto.

After the amazing romp, you both take a long shower together, dry off, and end up in your bed.

You're under the quilt while Javi lounges with his hands tucked behind his head and in his nude glory, reclined against the propped-up pillows and enjoying the air conditioning in your bedroom while you both talk. He'd noticed you'd moved the vase with the flowers he'd gotten you for Valentine's to the top of your dresser, so you'd explained that you'd intended to pick out some of them so you could tie them together and hang them to dry out in order to preserve them.

"—I'll have to take those out so I can put the new ones you brought in that vase," you're remarking as you shuffle into a sitting position as if you're about to get out of bed and do so now.

Javi tows you close by lassoing his forearm around your waist as he sits propped up on his elbow. "So you're saying you've kept flowers from every single bouquet you've ever gotten?" is his puckish query, giving you a faux haughty look as you scoff.

"No, silly! I've only preserved a few flowers from meaningful arrangements," you insist as you pat his forearm to be let loose so you can shimmy out of bed, and then go retrieve a large ornate cardboard box with an attached flip-open lid and scamper back with it.

He sits up and pulls the quilt back for you so you can slide under it once you've placed the box onto the bed, and gives you his undivided attention as you open the box and reveal that it's where you place very sentimental mementos – including an assortment of individually preserved flowers. Each are wrapped with a ribbon that has the date you received them listed in your handwriting. Along with the flowers are letters, postcards, and other special keepsakes.

"See? These are from the first bouquet you gave me, in Medellín," you tell him as you pull out a trio of preserved red roses tied together by a white ribbon. He is surprised to see indeed, you have the date and location written on it too, and he almost misses your pensive smile as you add, "'Buela saved them for me."

Javi glances at you intently then, so you clear the lump in your throat and retrieve the next trio of dried flowers.

"These are from the time you surprised me for my birthday," is your musing now, smiling as you place them back and gesture to a few others and recite, "These are from my maid of honor bouquet at Irina's wedding, and these are from the arrangement at my cousin's reception—"

You pause before pointing out the white lilies from your grandmother's wake, and the pink gardenias from your mother's velorio, feeling that prickle of grief begin to crest up in you.

Sensing it, Javi interjects in a searching drawl, "What about the roses from the arrangement I had Marisol leave in your office?"

Blinking comically at him, the melancholy is forgotten as you scoff and snipe, "Nope! I didn't get a chance to. And anyway, all of these I saved because they're to honor the moment, or for me to keep the happy memory, and when I saw those roses? I was livid."

His brows rise and his pouty lips are inviting when he irreverently gripes, "So you would've saved flowers from the grand arrangement that mystery admirer had sent to your office—?"

"No, because once you told me you hadn't sent them, I let Ellis take them," you bossily cut in and pat his bare thigh conciliatorily as you tease, "Take a look, tough guy. Only ones I've kept, are yours."

Grunting contrarily, Javi purses his lips and grumbles in a faux huff, "But someone delivered a whole flower shop's worth to you—"

You exhale glibly and busily organize all the flowers to be delicately stored in the box as you sing song, "Yes, mi amor, I've gotten lots of flowers from lots of guys in the past, but you're the only one who's given me a bouquet and made me feel warm and fuzzy, so those are the ones that matter enough to be kept."

You look over at him then, pure moxie in your bright eyes, and Javier feels that funny feeling in his chest that's a combination squeeze and flutter of happiness.

The molten look in those brown orbs makes you tingle, so when he slides the box away in order to gather you to straddle his lap, you're feeling alight. And then he wraps you up in his arms and hugs you so fiercely that all you can do is loop yours around his shoulders and nuzzle into his neck lovingly.

"I felt the same way, giving them to you," he tells you in a soft murmur after you soothingly comb your hand through the back of his hair and kiss the soft skin between his ear and sideburn. At your loving cuddle, he smirks and nudges his temple affectionately into yours as he mutters, "Show me how you pick the flowers and preserve them?"

Smiling against his cheek, you give him a cheeky squeeze before doing just that.

Once the trio of flowers are picked from the bouquet and you've tied a string around the end of the stems and hung them to dry on the curved loop of the dresser's mirror, you rewrap the ribbon around the remaining bouquet and rinse out the vase so you can place the lovely pink gardenias in it.

The entire time, you're telling Javi about the day you spent with your father. He smiles, happy to hear your sentiments, and frankly relieved that it was a mostly pleasant occasion.

When you've finished arranging the flowers, Javi pulls on a pair of sweatpants you'd stored in a drawer for him while you retrieve your silky robe and put it on after having proposed ordering delivery for dinner.

"—All I made were viandas, so want me to order pizza?" you're asking as you pick up the vase now.

"Sure. Whatever you want, cariño," he tells you and chivalrously takes the vase from you and gestures with a nod of his head for you to lead the way.

Feeling a giddy tickle in your tummy, you playfully tow him along by the drawstring of his sweatpants to exit your room and enter the guest bedroom.

He sees you've adjusted your altar of family photos to now include the silver-framed photo of you, your mother, and your grandmother in the center, with a tall continental candle lit next to it. There was a vacant spot on the dresser that Javi places the gardenias onto for you, and before he's able to move back, you take his hand and guide him to stand in front of the wide dresser with you.

"I dreamt about her the other night. Sometimes, I wonder what she'd think – about everything, I mean. What it would be like for her to be around – for you to have met her," you're confessing in a faraway tone, staring at the photo of your mother before glancing up at Javi and smiling dreamily at him, as you admit softly, "I think she would've loved you."

His brown eyes almost shimmer with how the candlelight flickers across them when he caresses his palm to the small of your back while he cups your cheek gently with his warm palm, thumb tracing along the apple of it as he rumbles, "I feel the same, querida. I know my mother would've. I bet they would've gotten along, too."

The sentiment warms your heart, and makes you lean into him so you can stand on your tippy toes and brush a doting kiss over his scrumptious lips.

All the gloomy melancholic feelings of before have been blown away by the beaming unconditional love Javier has given you – by how unrelentingly passionate and tender and irreverent he's been since he showed up at your door like the handsome sweetheart he is.

The rest of the evening is calm.

After you called in for the pizza order, Javier pulled on his college shirt and took out the garbage for you. By the time he was breezing back in, you'd stored the verduras in containers and were finishing with the dishes. He strolled over to start drying the dishware for you while teasing you about being so flustered over nothing earlier.

"—Acted like the place was condemned—"

"I was embarrassed!"

"Over a few dishes and tissues?"

"Not just that. All the clutter, the garbage—"

"Baby, you've not seen clutter. You missed out on the pigsty Steve's place was after Connie went back to Miami. That was some real shit to be mortified by—"

"Ay Javi," you snicker ruefully and cut the faucet before drying your hands on the towel hung on the decorative rack, sighing to yourself before you concede, "The mess felt like a manifestation of how much of a mess I was today…"

Stowing the glass currently in his hand in the cabinet, Javi turns and herds you close by your hip before murmuring, "I know today was hard for you, preciosa. But you don't ever need to feel like you have to keep that bottled up. You can tell me what you need. I should've called before just showing up—"

"No, I just have always thought it would be better to just be alone today…but I didn't want to be alone," you stare up at him with gleaming eyes, worrying your bottom lip before confiding, "It felt safer."

He understands what you mean, but the pang that courses through him is still a sharp one. Hearing you say so and knowing how you've suffered alone out of a lonesome need to protect yourself from more pain has him yearning to be that safe space for you, and leaves him simmering with the need to prove that to you.

Just as he's about to assure that he'll do whatever you need to feel safe, no matter how silly or what not you might feel about it, your house phone starts to ring.

You pick up the phone where you left it on the counter and answer it. "Yes, thank you. Please let them up," you instruct before thanking the night attendant and going to return the phone to the charging base. "Pizza's here. Oh! Let me go put something on," you say hurriedly as you scamper down the hall to put on clothes in order to answer the door.

Of course, though, when you rush back in the matching stretch-knit mint-colored pajama bottom and blouse, Javier's already handing the delivery guy cash and taking the large pizza box, thanking him before quickly shutting the door to keep the cool air in and prevent you from trying to argue with him about it.

"Javi—"

"Hot stuff, comin' through," he retorts glibly as he maneuvers around your cross-armed stance to head to the kitchen. "And the pizza's sizzling, too."

You snicker at his quip and shake your head, relenting in even attempting to admonish him.

"Mmhmm, 'hot stuff' indeed, gracioso," you chuckle and jokingly pat his ass on the way around him to grab plates.

A couple of slices between you and a glass of wine each a short while later, and you're lounging on the sofa together, watching the home video from the start.

Javier loved seeing the younger versions of you – going from adorable baby to sassy elementary-aged little girl – and was intrigued to see the slivers of loving interactions between your parents. Your mother was stunning and sardonic, almost precocious, with a brilliant smile and bright eyes you'd inherited from her. And your father seemed like a completely different person than the hardscrabble, intimidating man with steel in his bones that you'd described previously. Instead, he seemed a wide-smiling, charismatic and wry romantic.

And when the video was rewinding in the VCR, you retrieved the big photo album that had once been your grandmother's and showed him how you'd added some of the new pictures you'd gotten from your father. There was a really nice photo of you as a toddler, holding hands with your father while walking up a hill, and the look in his chiseled features was of pure love for the little girl you were.

"—Oh! And look at these," you're excitedly exclaiming as you pick up a prettily adorned album and show him it contains the photos from your cousin's wedding. You place it on his lap before sitting next to him with your legs tucked under you as you chime, "God, that was such a fun night."

His full lips pull into a mischievous smile as he goes through the photos. "Back in the hotel room? Sure was," he quips, earning a playful swat on his bicep. When he flips to the page that has the photo of you, him and your grandmother, posing at the table together, he's overcome with fondness.

You sniffle, and he quickly clears his throat as he puts his arm around you and kisses the top of your hairline.

With a deep sigh, you sit up and grab for a newer album. It has a shiny cover of blue-on-blue leaf pattern print. As you open it, you amusedly murmur, "Figured we needed our own."

Javi peers down at the open album sitting on your lap, and the delighted pride that fills his chest radiates across his features at seeing the first picture you'd taken together – back in the hotel room in Cartagena. Next to it was the photo of Javi hugging the pillow in his sleep, and below both was the picture you took of him with the sunset warming his handsome visage. When you flipped to the next page, he was taken aback to see you'd clipped out the photo from the newspaper article that had you both standing only a couple people apart, and on the adjacent page was the picture from the Valentine's Day double date with Steve and Connie.

"I still have the doubles from the wedding I can add—" you're telling him when you glance up and find his brown eyes flicking to you with something smoldering that makes a flash of thrill tickle into your core, and before you can finish talking, Javier is kissing you passionately until the album slips from your lap onto the couch from him whisking you up to be cradled against him.

It's all he can do to express just how enamored and happy you make him.

The urge to profess so many things – to blurt out 'Marry me, querida,' – swirl in his heart and have Javier buzzing, but he knows it's not the right time. That you've just achieved a hard sought-after sense of calm, and things between you both were hopeful, albeit delicate.

No, he would wait. He had to, considering there was still so many things he needed to accomplish before being able to drop down onto a knee and ask you.

You're swooning by the time Javier carries you bridal style to bed, having barely had enough time to turn the TV off and place the album back onto the coffee table with the others before he swept you up against him.

Being snuggled against him, skin-to-skin after making love, had you serene – feeling like you wanted to stay still in the moment with him forever.

Waking up early the next morning in his arms was divine, but since he had the meeting at the Fortaleza first thing, you forced him out of bed and into the shower so you could iron his shirt and pants for him. By the time he came back into the bedroom with a towel around his waist, you were already in the kitchen, setting the cafetera onto the stove. He couldn't help smile at how you've picked out a light gray suit, crisp dress shirt, and a necktie already, laying it out on the bed for him.

"Do you want something to eat?" you call out while you retrieve the coffee mugs.

"I'll have whatever you're having," Javi answers back as he quickly dresses. Once he's got everything on but his blazer and dress shoes, he pads down the hall while he fusses with his tie. "Don't go to too much trouble though—"

"I'm just going to heat up the viandas and boil some eggs then," you'd started to say as he started to remark, so you snicker and pause at the stove when he snorts and looks irreverently at you. "What? You said whatever I was having. This is a desayuno típico."

"All right, I'll try it," he assures as he keeps fiddling with his tie. You scoff humorously and swat his hands away so you can do it for him, smiling when he croons, "You trying to turn me into a jibarito?"

"Maybe," you joke and purse your lips teasingly at him as you smoothen his collar and straighten the red, silver and white-striped tie into place for him. "Are you going to the office after the meeting at La Fortaleza?"

"Yeah. The building we're setting up shop in for the DEA field office operations is almost ready, so Steve and me have to spend the afternoon deciding how to divvy up the teams between there and the Federal campus," he explains while you heat up the food and hard boil the eggs after taking the coffee kettle off the burner and setting it aside to cool.

He dutifully serves the coffee into the two mugs you set out while you work around the kitchen as you ask, "So then you'll be splitting your time up between the field office and the main building?"

"Probably not. I'm thinking on stationing Segarra at the field office and staying in the Federal building," he muses before taking a sip of his coffee. He leans his hip into the counter, watching you retrieve bowls from the cabinet before you serve the reheated plátano, ñame, guineo, and panapén into each.

"Oh, that's your ASAC, right?" you query as you retrieve the eggs with a cooking spoon and run cold water over them before removing each from their shell and placing one in each bowl with the viandas. At his dry grunt of acknowledgement, you multitask sprinkling a pinch of salt into each bowl before drizzling olive oil over the meal while inquiring, "So why don't you like the guy?"

Licking his lips of the coffee, he gives a one-shouldered shrug, griping, "He's just an upstart with no real experience. And he's tried to be a get-over, and cut corners—"

"That doesn't sound familiar," you razz as you grab a fork for each of you and wink playfully at him when he frowns with comical displeasure. "Come sit and eat, chulito," is your flirty order as you saunter by him with the food, musing lightly, "You can tell me all about it."

Javier does, explaining all the reasons why he doesn't like Segarra while you have breakfast together at the glass table, after marveling how tasty the campesino-inspired peasant dish really was.

By the time he has to head out for the early meeting, you're seeing him off at the door with an amorous kiss.

"Good luck, agente," you sweetly coo before brushing a rogue wisp of hair back from his forehead for him.

"I'll need it, jefa," he husks and pinches your hip affectionately before giving you a peck on the lips and heading out to the tropically sunny morning.

You feel lighter than you have in days. Like the world has gone still around you and is content to remain blissful, no matter what.

You're practically floating when you get to work later that morning.

All the missed messages and memos don't even make a dent into your serene mood, and even the latest HR nonsense regarding administrative box checking doesn't faze you. Frankly, by the time you're checking emails, you start day dreaming – letting a fantasy unspool in your mind about living a charmed life with Javier. Of being lovestruck peasants who frolic through a countryside meadow and lay in the cool grass together while watching the clouds go by.

Quit being so silly! You have to admonish yourself of the flights of fancy in order to concentrate on your work, but a girlish smile still ghosts your lips as you resume your task.

It's hours later when Javi is in his office, going over the stacks of evidence Lopez had shipped via courier from Santo Domingo. Sans his light gray blazer, he's able to more comfortably stretch out the weary muscles in his back before absently loosening the knot of his tie, eyes remaining glued to the document he's currently skimming over.

After the bureaucratical meeting at the Governor's mansion that morning, he was glad to be back to focusing on the case at hand. He didn't feel cut out for the political jockeying, and while he held his own with the officials and had a pleasant enough exchange with the governor, Javier didn't like going to those kinds of things without something substantial to show. At the very least, though, he had assurances of more cooperation with cabinet departments regarding the leads he wanted to chase down in the privately-owned sectors.

And the promise to put pressure on other leaders in the Caribbean region when it came to cooperating in a joint trans-national task force was one that he felt he could at least believe at face value, for once.

He was just thinking of calling Lopez to check in with him when three swift knocks rap on his closed door.

"Come in," he distractedly calls out as he skims a line at the bottom of a financial disclosure form, trying to make out the signature.

"Is this a good time, Agent Peña?"

Javi whips his attention up to blink surprisedly across at you, almost awestruck to see you peeking around the slightly ajar door. You're in a chic burgundy blouse and matching trouser that looks tailored to perfection on you, hair swept back from your face and up in a bouncy ponytail.

"Celi—I mean, Director Reinosa. Y-Yes, I was just looking over something. Come in," Javi stammers and corrects as he stands from his desk and gestures for you to enter his office.

When you step in, it's then he notices the takeout bag you're holding in one hand. He can see through the momentary vacant sightline out to where his admin's desk faces his door, and spots that the woman seemingly just returned and was shooting him a questioning look. So, Javi intercepted closing the door behind you, and gestured to her in a way that spoke clearly before shutting the door: Do not disturb.

"I figured you hadn't bothered with getting lunch, so I thought we could have a do-over?" you unconcernedly muse as you hold up the bag to show him the logo of the Japanese restaurant from a few weeks prior, leaning up on the tippy toes of your black heels and kissing him on his lips before flouncing towards the sitting area in the corner of his office to unpack the bag onto the glass coffee table in front of the leather couch and side chair.

The unruffled, carefree confidence you're exuding – how unabashedly unconcerned you are about being seen together at work, let alone that you've set up an impromptu lunch date in his office – has heat blooming in his chest, making his heart skip a beat.

As you're setting out the different containers of food, you lilt sardonically, "I took the liberty of ordering you something I thought you'd like more than sushi, and grabbed you more than chopsticks to use this time."

Rolling up his shirt sleeves to his elbows, Javi comes over to join you, and ends up smiling when you kick off your heels and sit lotus style on the carpeted floor instead of the couch before grabbing his steak hibachi meal and handing it to him. He crouches down to sit next to you, and only after you've set everything out and popped the tabs on the soda cans, does he lean over and kiss your cheek.

You grin, giving him a knowing look, so he whispers conspiratorially, "Is this your subtle way of saying we need to disclose our relationship status to Mercer soon?"

"Only if you don't want to sneak around anymore," is your silly counter as you snap your chopsticks apart and prepare to pick up a piece of salmon sushi, as you add, "We can't really go crazy with PDA even after it's known—"

"So I can't just kiss you in the lobby, in front of everyone, you mean?" is his taunt, eyes crinkling mirthfully when you blow a raspberry imperiously at him and squeeze his knee.

"I've had my fill of HR bureaucracy already, fresco," is you snicker, earning a droll hum from him. "So? How was the meeting?"

Javi catalogues all the food in the container before answering, "It was alright. I spoke with the governor for a bit."

"Oh?" you ask before eating a piece of sushi.

"Yeah. He's really gun-ho about the Mano Dura initiative. Promised to make headway with other officials across the Caribbean. Which is good, since we kept hitting roadblocks in Santo Domingo," he remarks before digging into his meal, humming with gusto.

Chewing thoughtfully, you take a sip of your drink before pointing out, "You haven't really talked much about the investigation here. If you don't want to—"

He shakes his head before dabbing his mouth with a napkin to assure, "No, it's just different here. Plus, we've been busy, catching up with each other."

You smile, licking your lips self-consciously before conceding, "True."

"And anyway, I'm still trying to make heads and tails out of things here as it is. We don't have a typical cartel dynamic, like with Medellín and Cali. It's been challenging, figuring out the players, how they network," he elaborates before eating a forkful of fried rice.

You hum thoughtfully, before commenting, "You're right. I haven't really thought about it, but crime is discussed in opaque terms here. There's no reporting on Escobar-level figures or anything like that."

"Exactly. Which is strange. It's starting to make me suspect that it might be by design," Javier rumbles before blinking at your surprised look. "I only mean that things might be more insulated here. Escobar and the Cali Godfathers started on the outside and wormed their way into controlling things by threat and corruption. I'm wondering if it's a different setup here."

That makes you hum bemusedly as you sip your drink.

Deciding to change the subject, Javi leans in to whisper cockily in your ear, "Can we fool around in my office, this time around?"

Huffing sarcastically, you nudge him wryly with your shoulder and sassily scathe, "How long have you been wanting to ask that, beyako atrevido?"

He showily nuzzles your neck, feeling heat zing through his veins at your lovely perfume and warm skin, growling before he gravels, "Only since you sat here licking your lips, smelling fucking good, looking so goddamn sexy."

An exhilarated flutter of desire skitters into your core and makes your pussy throb.

"Well then, I suppose I'll have to make it up to you, sometime," is your silky murmur before looping your fingers around his tie and towing him closer so you can kiss him sultrily on the lips.

Fuck, Javi thinks to himself, beyond turned on now. But even he isn't shameless enough to take a nooner in his office, with a bustling department just beyond his closed door. The filthy allure of it has him so aroused, though, that you end up having to nip his bottom lip when he tries to deepen the kiss into a torrid make-out session.

"Mmph!"

"Down, boy."

"…That's easier said than done, bravita."

You giggle at his grumpy pout, and irreverently use your chopsticks to pick up a piece of hibachi steak in order to feed it to him. He snorts and eats it, winking at you when you hum a silly sound that communicates, 'Be good now?'

The rest of lunch is great, and you depart with a smooch to his smiling lips before exiting with the bag in your grip, leaving only the aromatic scent of the meal as the only evidence of your date in the spacious office.

With all the planning and arrangements for the field office setup, Javier would be busy the next few days, but had asked if you wanted to go to dinner at Steve and Connie's Sunday night when you'd talked on the phone later that night. You were excited for it, and even picked up a nice bottle of wine and whiskey to take over when you went food shopping after the work the following day.

You're merrily humming to yourself as you carry the grocery bags up from your car and enter the lobby of your condo, already thinking of how much you were looking forward to spending the time with Javier and the other couple, when the attendant called out to you.

"Señorita, there was a delivery for you. I didn't want to leave it at your door," the man explains as he retrieves a small bouquet of pink carnations from behind the counter.

You rush over, surprised, and thank the man, taking the cellophane-wrapped flowers that were tied with a baby pink bow with you.

A dreamy smile pulls at your lips as you ride up in the elevator. He must've sent them, just because – and so they'll eventually end up joining the collection preserved in the box. The thought makes you gleeful, so as soon as you're off the elevator, you hustle with everything to your apartment door, unlock it, breeze in, and place the grocery bags on the kitchen counter before walking over to the sofa to sit so you can delicately fish the card out from where it's tucked beyond the stems and sticking to the wrapper.

Plucking it out and free, you set the carnations down on the cushion next to you so you can open the card. It has a simple 'Thinking of you…' written in cursive on the cover.

When you skim the message, your giddiness deflates into perplexed uneasiness, instantly.

Being a shallow, uncaring hypocrite. You deserve to be exposed for it. Only a matter of time.

There was no signature. No other identifiable way to know who the author was, or what they were even referencing.

You were left befuddled first, unnerved second.

Staring down at the carnations, you vacillate with what to do.

You're unaware that the decision you eventually make will only lead to an unexpected confrontation that will tip things into a precarious sequence of events you're woefully unprepared for. Nor do you know how it will change everything in your life.

All you do know, is that you aren't interested in letting anything affect your happiness, so, you decided not to let it.

  ________________

Read Chapter 44: Deserving - Part 1

Spanish-English Glossary:

Papisongo = Puerto Rican slang for a very sexy man; a stud

Malvadita = Wicked little girl

Mi amor = My love

Muecas = Making funny faces

Coquí = Puerto Rican singing tree frog; named for the sound he croaks

Plaza = Marketplace, or stronghold. In reference to the cartels, it means the general territory, or square of power

Caserío = Public housing; housing project

Hermosa/hermoso = beautiful (female); beautiful (male)

Canela = Cinnamon

Guapita = Sassy/foxy/daring/testy lady

Seductora = Seductress

Chavón = A man that's pestering you

Bravita= Tough girl; feisty girl

Mi rey = My king

Dios mío = My god

Mi cariñito = My sweet little darling

Beyako = Puerto Rican slang for horny/naughty guy; akin to "horn dog"

Bebito = Little baby (male)

Eres mi vida, preciosa = You're my life, precious girl

Chulo/Chulito = Cute guy; little cutie

Corazón = Heart; pet name to signify how deeply you love someone

Querida/querido = Affectionate term, akin to expressing one's want and desire

Mija = Short for mi hija, aka my daughter; my girl

Pá = Short for 'Papá' which means father, or poppa

Chistosa = Funny girl; wisecracker (female)

Parcha = Passionfruit

Tesoro = Treasure; darling

Toño Leña = Nickname that roughly translates to 'Tony Firewood'

El Muñecón = Nickname that roughly translates to 'The Doll Boy"

Viandas = Root vegetables, like plantains (plátanos), yams (ñames), green bananas (guineos) and breadfruit (panapén)

Estamos en el campo = We're out in the country

Jibarita = A little peasant girl

Campesina = Country girl; farm girl

Ron = Rum

En el monte = [Up] In the hill

Finca = Rural property

Mofongo con camarones a la criolla = Fried, mashed plantains with creole stewed shrimp

Arróz mamposteao y bistec encebollado = Stewed rice and beans and steak soaked in onions

Gandules = Pigeon peas

Arróz con gandules = Rice with pigeon peas

Carne guisada = Beef stew

Aguacate = Avocado

Brazo gitano = A Spanish cake roll based from a Swiss-roll-like pastry dessert that resembles a "Gypsy's arm", popular on the West side of Puerto Rico

Marquesina = Open air garage or carport

¿Que haces con eso? = What're you doing with that?

Bellísima = Beautiful woman; 'Most beautiful woman'

Ay Diego = Oh Diego

Vamos, bellísima = C'mon, most beautiful woman

La fiera = The savage girl; wild beast

Salió a ti, chistoso = She takes after you, funny guy

Es pura hija tuya = She's purely your daughter

Con huevonadas = With stupid nonsense

Ah pues bien = Oh, well fine then

Mi bellísima = My most beautiful woman

Hola, nena = Hey, girl

Llámame = Call me

Jevo = Puerto Rican slang for boyfriend

Mandón = Bossy man

Cariño = Darling/sweetheart

Mira quien habla = Look who's talking

Cariño = Darling/sweetheart

Guapísimo = Super hot and handsome

El señorito Javi sabe chingar = Little mister Javi knows how to fuck

Papi chulo = Ladies man

Detalles ahora, doña =Details now, missus

Amante = Lover

Que eres el amante más asombroso de mi vida = That you're the most amazing lover of my life

Cristo amado = Christ beloved

Atrevido/Atrevida = Daring man/Daring woman

Preciosa = Gorgeous; precious

Paisa = Colombian compatriot; term of endearment amongst Colombians, especially in Medellín

Consola de aire acondicionado = Air conditioning unit/console

Un momento = One moment

Zafacón = Trashcan

Guapito = Handsome (said in an affectionate diminutive)

Desnúdate, ahora = Get naked, now

Velorio = Wake; veiling ceremony where people sit vigil

Verduras =Vegetables; usually root vegetables

Gracioso = Funny guy

desayuno típico = Traditional, or typical breakfast

Jibarito = Little peasant boy

La Fortaleza = The Puerto Rican Governor's office and mansion; aka 'The Puerto Rican White House'

Jefa = Boss lady

Fresco = a guy who's being 'fresh', or naughty/pervy Señorita = Miss; little lady

Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving a comment and sharing your feedback. I would be eternally grateful. 

[whatsyourid]

[ID: 1. at the center of a black poster is a crying white dove, in flight, with blood dripping from her wings while multiple people desperately hold on to it. on its beak is the palestinian kufiyya. there's text in red and green on the top and bottom of the poster reading "ceasefire now / end gaza genocide"

2. a black and white poster. at its' center is the drawing of a person with a kufiyya wrapped around their head staring angrily up at the sky. behind them, there's a thundering sky highlighting their shape, and a river with violent waves. on the top and bottom of the poster it says "from the river / to the sea / free palestine". the poster is signed by one rad latina

3. a black human shape floats at the center of the poster, a kufiyya wrapped around their neck and a house key in each hand, white light coming out of each key. the sky is a light grey with white stars. on the upper right corner are white curved lines reminiscent of a peeking sun in kid's drawing. on the lower right corner reads "no peace / without / return", and on the lower left is a quarter of a big blinding white star. going from the upper left to where this star ends is the chant "from the river to the sea, palestine will be free"

4. a green poster with a big red dove with the palestinian kufiyya pattern on it. on top and below it reads "gaza lives!" in black /end ID]

google drive of 100 posters for a free palestine

[eddiemunsonsbabygirl]

Guys I’m famous I got my first hater! Let’s goooooo! *said with sarcasm*