#benny magalong x you

[the-hinky-panda]

Day 17: Brambles

10/17: Brambles

Universe // Characters: Den of Thieves - IT Reader // Benny “Borracho” Magalon x IT Reader 

Rating: Explicit 

Benjamin “Borracho” Magalon is sharp. His slicked back hair, hawkish nose, goatee, tattoos. His eyes are sharp, attuned to pick out details around him, forget big picture bullshit. His words are sharp, when he decides to use them. When asked for information on a crime scene, he’s quick and concise with the facts. When asked a question by the brass, his answers are mostly one word. When getting busted on by the guys, his retorts are quick flicks of sarcasm and low blows.  

Everything about him is honed like a razor’s edge, safe if you rub your thumb over it one way but incredibly damaging if you don’t. He likes being this way. When you’re sharp, people are cautious of you, keeping you at arms length to keep themselves from being cut and hurt. Even the guys in Major Crimes handle him cautiously in the bullpen but not when they’re all out in the field. They use him like a knife: sheathed until needed then wielded with abandon. 

You apparently have missed the memo completely. 

He hears noise coming from the server room and goes to investigate because it’s a slow day and he’s tired of listening to guys share their conquest of the flavor of the week stories. As he gets closer, he hears a variety of beeps and then a muttered “fuck.” Peering into the room, he sees you sitting on the floor, a laptop balanced on one knee and a handheld device in your hand scanning for something. 

“Did you try turning it off and on again?” he quips. 

But then karma knocks him on his ass swiftly. You turn your head surprised at his sudden appearance, and you’ve got a small flashlight in your mouth. Your lips are wrapped around the cylinder and your cheeks hollow when you spit it out and drop it on the floor. All his blood rushes southward at the sight and the innocent, wide-eyed look you give him isn’t helping matters either. 

“Can I help you?” 

He glances around looking for the guys or video cameras. Surely he’s getting pranked. Or else he just walked on the set of a very poorly funded porno. This actually has Big Nick written all over it, he’s sure of it. Well, if he’s having a joke played on him, he’s going to take it as far as he can. 

“Maybe. I’m a little bigger than that flashlight though.” 

It takes you a minute to understand the innuendo but when you do, you roll your eyes. “Disgusting.” 

The realization that this isn’t a prank hits him like a cold bucket of water. Before he can apologize, you slam the door shut in his face before going back to your work. He shoves his hands in his pockets and heads back to the bullpen, trying to shrug the nagging feeling of guilt. 

He’s sharp and you got nicked. But there was sharpness to you and he got nicked as well.  Now you both know better for next time. 

***

“Internet is down.” 

“Again?” 

“Z, call IT.” 

“I ain’t calling down there again.” 

Henderson laughs. “Oh that’s right, that little girl boxed your ears last week.” 

Borracho lifts his head up and glances around at the guys. “What happened last week?” 

“Z tried to ask that cute little IT girl out on a date last week,” Henderson is overcome with laughter for a couple beats. “And what did she say to you, man? ‘Not if you were dipped in-” 

Tony Zappata is not used to being turned down by women and this is evident by the glare he’s giving Henderson. “I actually offered her a bite of my sub and she said no.” 

“Actually,” Connors chimes in, “She said ‘not if you skipped it to me across a pool of antiseptic.’” 

Seems like Borracho isn’t the only sharp one. He picks up the phone and calls down to the IT department. 

“Dan in IT.” 

“Magalon in Major Crimes. Internet is down up here.” 

He sighs. “I’ll send MIT back up.” 

Back up. It might be you so he heads over to the server room and sure enough, you turn the corner with your laptop and bag of equipment. You have white headphones wrapped around your neck with some kind of podcast playing through the speakers. You tap one side of the headphones and the talking stops. You glare at him as you approach the server room so Borracho holds up his hands. 

“I’m sorry about last time.” 

“Really?” 

“I thought the guys were setting me up. Playing a prank.” 

You open the door and prop it open. “What made you think that?” 

“Because you’re too cute to be a computer nerd.” 

You’re back to glaring at him but Borracho stands by what he said and holds your stare. You eventually sigh in defeat and turn towards the servers. 

“Why do they call you MIT?” 

You give him an incredulous look. “Because I graduated from MIT.” 

“Wow. That’s impressive.” 

You glance over your shoulder before opening your laptop and pulling up a diagnostic program. “So which one of the Major Crimes guys are you?” 

“Borracho.” 

“The drunk?” 

“You know Spanish?” 

“Born and raised in LA, yeah, I know Spanish.” You hit a couple of buttons. “I’m not going to call you a drunk, so what’s your real name?” 

He’s sharp but so are you. Iron sharpens iron. “Benny.” 

You reach behind one of the server boxes and snap a wire back into place. “There we go. Loose cable. Internet is back on for you guys.” 

He watches you close your laptop and stand up, dusting off your jeans. “So what’s your name.” 

You smile at him. “MIT works for now.” 

***

Borracho stops by the server room a couple days later and unplugs the cord that you had fixed. He goes to the bullpen but hears Henderson calling down to IT, apparently giving whoever is on the other end of the line some grief. Borracho turns on his heel and goes back to the server room. He’s propping open the door when you come around the corner. 

“Again, Benny?” 

He shrugs. “Looks that way. Was thinking I was going to try to fix it.” 

“Oh, you have a degree from MIT now?” 

“Yeah, course I do.” He grins and points to his neck. “That’s where I got this tat.” 

You laugh, a genuine soft sound, before going into the room. He has to remind himself that he’s sharp and needs to be careful with you. He’s not sure when it happened, but he likes you. You’re pretty, sweet, and smart. You’re sharp but only when you need to be. Genuinely, you’re soft. And his palms itch to find out just how soft you really are. He wants to kiss you, feel your perfect mouth against his. He wants to feel how you would fit in his arms, underneath him, staring down at him. 

But he doesn’t want to hurt you, get you caught in the brambles of who he is. You’ll only emerge with cuts and scrapes that will heal but will leave you scarred. He’s sharp and he doesn't want to leave his mark on you. 

“Benny?” 

He snaps out of his thoughts just in time to see your toe catch on your equipment bag and send you stumbling towards him. He instinctively reaches out and catches you as you crash against his chest. Details start gathering in his brain: the nervous flex of your fingers in his flannel shirt, the wild beating of your pulse in your neck, the nervous huff of a laugh that leaves your lips. Oh God, your lips. 

You’re going to hate him, hit him and never come back up to the server room but he can’t help it. He kisses you and knowing this is the only time he’s going to have with you, he holds nothing back. He kisses your top lip, scrapes his teeth against your bottom one, and even risks sweeping your mouth with his tongue. 

He feels you moan more than hears it, a vibration in your ribcage that his hands are holding. Your hands hold either side of his face and press him even closer to you. He feels your tongue slide against his and all his senses short out momentarily. Is this happening? Are you really kissing him back? Are you okay with this? 

A door slams down the hall and you both jump back away from each other. You end up staring at each for half a heartbeat before you grab your bag and laptop and dart out of the room. He stands there for another moment before pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

“Fuck!” 

***

Three days pass and Borracho can’t stop thinking of that kiss. He can still feel you under his hands, against his mouth. The guys are starting to notice he’s more surly than ever. He needs to get you out of his system. And if he can’t have you, then he’s going to have to find a replacement. Nick always gets more than enough girls for the post piss test party and maybe he’ll take advantage of that tomorrow. The door to the bullpen opens and there you are, eyes roving around the room. He can’t breathe.  

“I figure with all the issues you guys have been having with the internet, I may as well show you how to do basic troubleshooting.” You look around at them. “Who’s the most reliable?” 

Z stands up. “I am.” 

“Sit down, Subway boy,” you snap and your eyes land on Borracho. “You up for the job?” 

He’s sharp and he notices little details. He sees the minute smile that touches the corner of your mouth. You know exactly what you’ve just said and also know that you’re making him walk across the room to get out of the bullpen now that half his blood is on its way to his groin. 

He’s in love with you, he realizes, at that exact minute.  

He throws his pen down on the desk. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?” 

You make a hasty retreat towards the server room, your pace picking up the closer you get. He hears you giggle when you swing the door open and stumble through it while he grabs the doorknob and closes it behind him, locking it for good measure. You’re on each other immediately, lips crashing together, hands pulling at clothes. Did he still have a condom in his wallet? Please let there be a condom in his wallet. 

“Wait, wait a minute,” you whisper, pushing him away slightly. 

He tries to refocus, calm down, but he just wants and it’s been so long since he’s felt this way, desperate and…not sharp. Your hands run over his chest, his shoulders, around his back. You smooth your palms over the planes of his body and it doesn’t hurt you. It hurts him though. He feels vulnerable, like you’re the one with the razor blade, getting ready to nick and slice and cause him to bleed. As he stares down at your face, lit with the blinking lights of the servers, your eyes searching his face for what, he has no idea, he realizes he would cut his own throat and bleed out for you if you wished for it. 

But you’re too kind to ever wish that on him. You would sooner turn the blade on yourself than hurt him. He can see the apology you’re trying to muster, to offer for your abrupt departure the last time you were in here together. He knows the kind of person you are because he’s come across so many people that are your opposite. Criminals, party girls, girlfriends, ex-wife…coworkers, you are the antithesis of all of them. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally manage to say. “For running out last time. I…got scared.” 

He lets his hands drift down your arms, feeling the smooth skin against his fingertips. “I get it. I do.” 

“I don’t have the best track record when it comes to relationships.” 

He tries to not laugh at that. “You don’t have the best track record? I’d like to bet it’s better than mine, mamí. 

Your smile is one of pure relief. “You’re different from the other guys.” 

They’re grenades and he’s a dagger. They explode and cause as much damage as possible, not caring who gets caught in the explosion. He’s for up close and personal damage and does it well. That’s why he has to be more careful with you. 

“You’re kinder than they are.” 

He scoffs at that. “That’s not a word that’s usually used for me.” 

“That’s because people don’t take the time to notice you. Or you don’t let them get close enough.” You press yourself closer to him. “I’d like to get to know you better.” 

“Aren’t there any other boys closer to your age?” He doesn’t really know how old you are but you certainly look significantly younger than he is. 

You wrinkle your nose. “None worth the time getting to know.” 

Good enough for him. He leans down to kiss you again but stops. “How old are you?” 

“Thirty-one.” 

His heart almost stops. He’s forty-six. Fifteen years difference. That was definitely something to address. Later. Maybe this is all you want, a quickie in the server room. If he’s lucky, you’ll want a couple of them before you grow tired of the sullen, middle aged man and move on with a computer programmer who lives in the suburbs and telecommutes to Silicon Valley. 

“Benny?” 

He immediately refocuses back on you. “Yeah?” 

Your hands go back to kneading the soft fabric of his flannel shirt. “Is this…I mean, are you okay…we can-” 

He kisses you as sweetly as he can in the moment. He holds you gently, kisses you softly, and does everything in his power to keep from spinning you around and taking you against one of the single server boxes. He feels your lips curl into a smile against his and suddenly the game is back on for the two of you. 

As sweet as your mouth is, he wants to taste all of you. He breaks away from your lips, and starts nipping and sucking on the column of your throat. Your hands are just as busy as his mouth as you tug his flannel off his shoulders and then pull his t-shirt over his head. You lean back and trail a hand down his chest, a small, deep groan coming from your throat. As if he needed any more encouragement to keep going. 

He pulls your shirt off over your head before filling both his hands with your satin encased breasts. You were gorgeous. All soft skin, everywhere he touched was smooth, firm…young. He stops that train of thought by pulling your bra off and immediately drawing one of your nipples into his mouth. His tongue flicks over the hardening peak while you run your fingers through his hair and bite your lip to keep from making noise. He drops a hand to the button of your jeans and flicks it open, dragging the zipper down. You squirm just enough for him to get his hand inside your panties and his fingers slip easily through your folds. 

“Dios mio, mamí,” he presses his cheek to the swell of your breast, “you’re so wet.” 

You scrape your fingernails through his hair. “All for you. Can’t…can’t stop…” 

He slides a finger inside of you. “What was that?” 

The moan you give is full of sin. “Can’t stop thinking about you. About this.” 

Benny returns to your mouth, kisses you with zero gentleness as he slides a second inside of you. He swallows down your moan as you try to spread your legs further apart. Your hand slips below the waistband of his jeans and firmly runs over his length. You break away from the kiss and smile up at him, eyes almost black with lust. 

“You are a bit bigger than the flashlight.” 

“Fuckin’ tease,” he grumbles as he pulls your jeans and underwear off in one movement. 

You reach into his back pocket and pull out his wallet, slipping the black and gold foil packet out and tearing it open. 

“How did you know-” 

You shrug. “You seem like a guy who’s always prepared.” 

He pushes his pants and underwear down just low enough to roll the condom on before pulling you to the end of the server box and lining himself up. “You sure this is okay?” 

You hook one of your legs around his hip and plant your other foot on the floor. “Yes, please.” 

You keep eye contact with him as he pushes forward, easily sliding into you. He rests his forehead against yours as you both take a moment to adjust but the sounds you’re making, the quiet whimpers, almost send him over the edge right there. He either has to move or this is about to be over before it begins. But then you roll your hips and he takes that as his sign to move as well. You’re perfect. Your body fits perfectly against him, his hands molding perfectly to each curve and rise of you. You’re tight, but not uncomfortably so. He moves his head slightly so his lips brush your ear. 

“Feels so good, like you were made for me.” 

You don’t say anything but you shift, canting your hips at a different angle and then biting your lower lip hard enough to draw blood. 

“Does that feel good?” He’s murmuring nonsense, anything to stave off his orgasm and let this last for as long as possible. “You like feeling me inside of you?” 

“God, yes. Please,” you gasp and dig your fingernails into the meat of his shoulder blades, “Please don’t stop.” 

He couldn’t stop if he wanted to at this point. “You’re going to come for me, mamí?” 

You bury your face against his neck. 

“Let me feel you come. I want to feel you co-” And he does. He feels you clench down on him, hard, and then your entire body shakes with the force of your orgasm. He presses himself as deep as he can as he spills himself into the condom. In the back of his mind though, he wants to know what it feels like without that barrier, to come inside of you and watch it drip out. Maybe, if this continues to be more than just a once and done thing, you’ll let him. You’ll trust him enough to do that. 

He peppers kisses along your neck before pulling out. Both of you set about cleaning up and getting re-dressed. He ties off the condom and drops it in the trash can in the corner of the room, while you cover it with the tissues you used to clean yourself up. When you’re both dressed and look more or less presentable, you lean forward and kiss him. 

“Thank you.” 

He kisses you back. “Thank you.” 

“We should do this again sometime,” you smile up at him. 

“I think we’re going to have to, considering you didn’t show me anything about troubleshooting the internet.” 

You pick up your bag and laptop. “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep coming up here whenever there’s a problem.” 

Oh no. What a shame, he thinks to himself. He watches you unlock the door, give him one last smile, before leaving the room. He gives himself another moment, a chance to enjoy the dwindling lightening feeling under his skin before heading back into the bullpen. 

Benjamin “Borracho” Magalon is sharp, but you, despite your intermittent sharpness, are ultimately soft. He only hopes you’re soft enough to bend when the blade passes over you so you won’t be cut.