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whitewallwhispers · 5 years ago

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Little Lies

Narcos - Javier Peña - Series

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine

A young writer moves to Colombia to perform research on the drug war for her latest novel. She’s willing to do anything for information, which leads her down a rabbit hole that begins to blur the line between pretending to be someone and becoming something she might not be ready for.

Despite the best efforts of D.E.A. Peña, she finds herself out of her depth and everything is falling apart.

Warnings: Mentions of burns, gunshot wounds, blood, stitches, and scars. Mentions of oral sex (male receiving). Strong language (pretty much every expletive under the sun). Unprotected sex (wrap it up, folks)

My hope is that you can imagine this character as any race with any style of hair (as someone with short hair I get annoyed when every fic mentions long locks and ponytails).

Author’s Note: Here I am, back on my bullshit, telling you once more that these dirty-ass thoughts are about Javier Peña and Javier Peña alone. God BLESS Pedro’s acting abilities because I wanna fuck the socks off of nearly ever character he plays but IRL I just wanna give him a nice soft pat on the head. (No offense, bud)

Finally, she was bidding what she hoped would be her last client of the night goodbye. As soon as he was out of her room she all but sprinted to the upstairs bathroom to brush her teeth.

Another blowjob and massage - the only work she could really handle yet. It let her keep her robe on so that the clients wouldn’t see her grisly burns or bandages, and it didn’t put too much strain on the rest of her body. Just giving handjobs and blowjobs all day would be easy - if she wasn’t getting assigned every client who came asking for one.

Don’t complain, she reprimanded herself. It was kind of Giovanni to give her so much work. She was making good money, far better than she had been on her own, and she hadn’t even had to have sex yet. It’d been two weeks since Gio had agreed to let her live and work in the house. She was one of only three girls who lived there full-time. But even though the work so far wasn’t demanding, her body was still not at its best, and a full day left her completely exhausted.

With a sigh she pulled back the top sheet on her bed used for clients to make room for her to lay down on the clean, usable blankets beneath. She couldn’t truly go to bed. Only when Giovanni came to tell her she was done for the night would she be allowed to take off her makeup and get into her pajamas. So she stayed in her hand-me-down stockings and discount lingerie and fake silk robe, laying on top of her covers, ready for a cat nap.

Her eyes were shut. Her wounds weren’t hurting. By all means, she should’ve passed out immediately.

But something kept her awake.

Something seeping quietly through the structure of the house, something unsettling.

There were the faint pounds of headboards against walls, the other girls crying out - she was used to that.

But now there was something else.

A voice, cutting through it all, a voice that sent shivers up her spine.

It couldn’t be Manuel. She’d killed him. She’d stabbed him, over and over, until he’d died. So why did it bring up bloodstained memories? What made every hair on her body stand on end? What made her feel like something bad was about to happen?

Ignore it. She’d been on edge ever since that night. She couldn’t trust her own instincts anymore. Everywhere she felt danger, and as of yet it hadn’t actually appeared. She tried to tune it out, tried to go to sleep, but it was useless. She waited five more minutes before giving up. Annoyed, she launched herself out of bed. After pulling the top sheet back in place she checked her hair and makeup in the mirror - a little mussed, but not bad.

Then she was on her way downstairs and through the door that separated the public part of the house from the private spaces - the kitchen, Giovanni’s bedroom and office, and the bathroom that the girls used to shower before, between, or after sessions. Sofia and Jimena (though since they were working she was supposed to call them Estella and Jade) were there as well, grabbing a snack.

“Eve! How’s your night going?” Sofia asked, holding out a bag of chips as an offering. She shook her head.

“Not bad. Are there any clean glasses around?”

Jimena nodded and reached into the cupboard behind her to grab one.

“How about you two?”

“Pretty much the same,” Sofia said with a shrug. “Better than Lupe’s.” She and Jimena burst into a fit of giggles then.

“What am I missing?” she asked as she poured herself a bit of red wine from one of the many bottles of booze that littered the counter.

“Her cousin came in earlier, he didn’t recognize her name and asked for her,” Jimena gossiped, “and of course Gio had no idea who he was so he approved it. Lupe opened the door for him and then immediately shut it in his face.”

“No!” she gasped, joining in their laughter.

“Estella, what time is it?” Giovanni stepped through the door from the main house, tapping his watch.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Sofia jumped up immediately, tossing her chips onto the counter.

“Wash your hands first,” Giovanni sighed. “Jade, go help Aspasia in the sitting room. She’s currently stuck with two fighting over her, get one of them to pick you.”

“Right,” Jimena nodded and followed Sofia from the room.

“Eve, you’re probably done for now, but stay awake just in case. We’re completely booked tonight, and if I have no one to spare, you’ll have to do a lot more than just hand work. Just keep your robe on as long as possible and turn the lights off so they can’t see your bandages”

She nodded, and with that Giovanni turned to go to his office, pulling out a stack of cash from inside his well-cut cream jacket that he began to count quietly under his breath. With a sigh she finished the rest of the wine in her glass and placed it in the sink. Then her eyes fell on the half empty bottle on the counter.

Well, if I can’t go to sleep…

She might as well find something else to do. She scooped it up and took a swig straight from the bottle as she pushed through the door back to the main part of the house. Giovanni hadn’t been exaggerating - the establishment was full to bursting, and very loud. The music was covering up most of the noise, but that just meant it was cranked all the way up. She could feel the railing of the stairs rattle as she shuffled up the steps, trying to go easy on her hip.

Sofia and the man who’d booked her squeezed by in the small hallway, bumping into her on their way to Sofia’s room.

Maybe that’s why she didn’t see him first.

Her fingers had just wrapped around her own door handle when a voice made her jump.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

She whipped her head around and was shocked to see Javier coming out of Isabella’s room, still buttoning his shirt, his hair sweaty and mussed.

Shit. Since when did he start coming to this brothel? When she’d interviewed the girls some of them knew about him from other places they’d worked, but he’d never come to this establishment.

Until now.

Of course.

She couldn’t even think of what to do for several seconds. She just stood there, blinking, watching the way his chest rose and fell, still out of breath from where he’d been and what he’d been doing moments ago.

Seeing him like this hurt.

Seeing him right after he got done fucking someone else hurt.

Far more than she’d ever thought it could.

Far more than the bullets embedded in her body.

Then she moved without even thinking about it. Instinctually, her body just wanted her to get away from him and start trying to numb the shattering ache in her chest. So she looked away and walked into her room without saying anything. But before she could turn to lock it, Javier was pushing the door open, slamming it shut behind him and enveloping them in soft shadows, the only light coming from the streetlamps outside.

“Don’t walk away from me. I’ve been so fucking worried about you. When you didn’t call I asked at the hospital but they said you’d already been discharged. I went to your apartment but your landlady said you’d left without explanation.” He began moving towards her, so she stepped back, retreating from him until the back of her legs hit her mattress. She hurriedly put the wine on her nightstand before responding.

“I’m sorry, Javi,” she stammered.

“What are you doing here?” He kept coming, unbearably close, giving her no space to think or breathe or collect herself. She could smell Isabella’s perfume on him and it made her feel sick.

“Trying to earn enough to go home.”

“Please tell me you’re not working here.”

She said nothing. Instead she sat down and gripped the edge of her mattress, looking at the floor.

“No. You can’t be doing this yet.”

“No? What do you mean, no?” She owed him everything, but that didn’t mean he got to tell her what she could and couldn’t do. Now she was angry, and it gave her enough resolve to look at him. He’d never seemed more intimidating than he did now, looming over her, his face and eyes visibly furious even in the darkness. “I don’t have a choice. Other members of the cartel knew where I lived, they came and took everything.”

“No, that was me and Steve,” Javier sighed. “That’s why I wanted you to call me when you got discharged. All of your stuff is waiting for you at a safehouse.”

That didn’t help. If anything, it made her feel worse.

“Javi, stop.”

“Stop what?” He sounded exasperated.

“I can’t do this anymore, I can’t let you do this.”

“Do what?”

“I owe you too much. And I’ll never be able to pay you back for it, ever. You can’t keep doing these things for me. You need to cut me off. For fuck’s sake, you saved my life. You’ve done enough. More than enough.”

He scoffed, shaking his head.

“Why is it always like this with you? If I didn’t want to help you, I wouldn’t. I don’t want anything from you. I see you as someone in a bad situation, a situation I can help. I mean - my entire life for the past fucking decade has been about trying to do something good and always falling short. Do you know what that’s like? Do you know how awful that is, to constantly fail? To see good people, people I consider friends, die in the name of a cause we can’t seem to set right? Just let me have one thing I can do that actually makes a fucking difference.”

“I’m not worth it.”

She wasn’t. She was just someone who bit off more than she could chew. She was naive. She put herself in a situation way out of her depth and made all the wrong choices. They were her mistakes. She had to deal with the consequences. It wasn’t fair to let someone else bail her out. Not even her parents, and certainly not Javier.

“You don’t get to make that judgement for me.” He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose as if she’d given him a headache. Then he went to the nightstand and turned on the lamp before taking a draw from the bottle of wine. “Show me.”

“Show you what?”

“Your wounds. How are they healing?”

Now there was something she really didn’t want to do. They were ugly, made her ugly, and she couldn’t bear the thought of looking so disgusting in front of him, not when he’d just been with someone else, especially someone as beautiful as Isabella.

“They’re fine,” she mumbled.

“Show me.”

She didn’t want to, but his expression frightened her. He looked upset and angry and sad and guilty all at once, and while she couldn’t fathom why he’d be feeling anything more than annoyance with her, she didn’t have the energy to fight him on it.

So she stood and began to fumble with the ribbon holding her robe together. Her hands were shaking.

Why the fuck are my hands shaking?

Javier stepped over to her then, his fingers taking over in untying it. Then he gently ran his hands up along the edges of the cloth, carefully slipping under the collar and pushing the fabric down. It fell off her shoulders to the floor with a quiet noise that sounded like a whisper.

She suddenly felt silly standing there in front of him in her cheap black lace. The edges of her burns peeked out beneath the gauze that she’d secured to her shoulder and hip, and all she wanted to do was grab her robe and put it back on, kick him out of her room, and down the rest of the wine in one fell swoop.

That was, until he took her face in his hands, tilting her chin up so she was looking him in the eyes.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Javier murmured.

She could see the faint imprint of lipstick on his neck and the sheen of sweat that remained on his chest and it made her heart wince again. He took his hands from her face and turned his attention back to her wounds, peeling the gauze back carefully. His brows furrowed as he took in the messy sight before him.

The burns had turned a grisly yellow, crackling lines of black and red rimming the edges. A short line of four stitches cut through the center of each burn, the edges raised and puckered.

“Jesus,” he gasped quietly. “How long did it take to get the bullets out?”

She shook her head. “They didn’t. Said they were too close to veins and arteries, that moving them would just make things worse.”

“So they’re still inside you?”

“Mmhmm,” she nodded. His fingers traced across her shoulder and hip, staying far enough away from the wounds to not hurt, but enough to send goosebumps all across her body. Javier’s eyes studied her intensely. It made her pulse quicken.

“Did they say whether or not we fucked it up with the cauterization? You didn’t get an infection, right?”

“They said I probably would’ve bled out otherwise. And no, they put me on antibiotics right away.”

Javier nodded and placed the gauze back over her wounds, gently securing the medical tape to her skin.

“Javi, I literally owe you my life,” she began, but he was already shaking his head.

“You don’t owe me anything. Don’t insult me by suggesting I wouldn’t do whatever I could to save you in that situation.”

She was suddenly aware of how close they were standing. Of how close his face had gotten to hers. After finishing with her shoulder his fingertips hovered above her bandage for a moment before trailing down her arms, then to her waist, grazing along the top of her garter belt.

Neither of them said anything. Together they watched Javier’s hands, bodies drawn so close they were almost resting their foreheads against each other. His fingers made their way down to the tops of her thighs and back again, occasionally gripping her flesh as he began to run his palms up and down her body.

Her left hand wound itself up across his shoulders and into his hair, her breath hitching in her throat. Javier dipped his head to rest against hers.

“I don’t know why I can’t help myself,” he whispered, pulling her closer to him. She whimpered slightly as her hip grazed his thigh. “I shouldn’t be doing this. Tell me to stop.”

“I don’t want you to.”

His palms ran over her breasts then, his breathing growing heavier as he circled his thumbs around her nipples through the thin fabric of her sheer bralette. The faintest of moans escaped her. It’d been so long since she’d enjoyed being touched, since her body wanted to get closer to someone, since she was drawn to touch someone in return.

Her hands moved of their own accord, fingers latching onto his belt and working to undo it.

“We shouldn’t, not here,” he groaned, but he didn’t try to stop her either. “Not now.”

But she had already unzipped his jeans, reaching in to pull out his half-hard cock.

She tried her best to forget that he had just been inside Isabella as she began to stroke it, her thumb circling his tip each time her hand moved up it.

And then he was pushing her back up against the mattress and laying her down, his lips crashing against hers as he reached around her panties and plunged two fingers into her without hesitation. She gasped at his unexpected escalation, her tongue running along his bottom lip before kissing him in earnest.

“I’ve been so worried about you,” he whispered, pulling away to pepper her cheek and neck with kisses as he pumped his fingers in and out of her faster. “I thought I might not ever see you again.” He nipped at her throat. “I thought the worst might’ve happened.”

She continued to stroke him until his member was fully stiff and hot in her hand. He pulled his fingers out of her and took over, guiding his tip to rub against her from core to clit and back again. Then he sunk into her, moaning into the crook of her neck as his hands came to grip her ribs, fingers digging into her flesh as he thrust inside her. One hand hooked itself under her right knee and pushed her leg towards her chest to give him clearance to enter her all the way.

While her right shoulder prevented her from reaching up with both, she took his face in her left hand and ran her thumb over his jaw and cheek.

“I want you, Javi,” she moaned. “But I also want to stay away.” He took her hand from his face and interlaced their fingers before pushing her wrist into the mattress so hard it made her gasp. “But I don’t think I can anymore.”

“Good. Don’t you dare ever disappear on me again.”

He kissed her as slowly as he moved in and out of her, gentle and simmering with desperation and need.

It was different, this time.

Everything felt different.

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whitewallwhispers · 5 years ago

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Little Lies

Narcos - Javier Peña - Series

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine

Despite the best efforts of D.E.A. Peña, she finds herself out of her depth and everything is falling apart.

Warnings: Mentions of burns, gunshot wounds, blood, stitches, and scars. Description of a panic attack. Strong language (pretty much every expletive under the sun).

My hope is that you can imagine this character as any race with any style of hair (as someone with short hair I get annoyed when every fic mentions long locks and ponytails).

Author’s Note: Javi doesn’t appear in this chapter, but don’t worry. He’ll be back.

It was a bleak and lonely two days at the hospital.

Only family members were allowed to visit, and she certainly didn’t have any of those nearby.

Or maybe, in fact, any that would want to see her at all.

It’d been nearly a month since she’d last heard from her parents. She thought about calling them to tell them what happened, but they’d probably either disown her at the first mention of selling herself or come to get her at the first mention of any of her injuries.

And if she had to leave, it’d be on her own terms.

Perhaps she should, though.

For fuck’s sake, her old contact tried to kill her. She’d been shot. She’d almost died.

And once again, that only placed her more firmly in debt to a certain D.E.A. agent.

Javier Peña.

She’d have bled out in her apartment if he hadn’t come for her, would’ve bled out on the way to the hospital if he hadn’t thought to cauterize her wounds first.

First, he hadn’t been angry with her when he found out she’d been lying to him.

Second, he’d agreed to give her information she could use for her book.

Third, he’d saved her life.

When she first came to after she was admitted to the hospital, one of the nurses handed her a note.

Call me when they release you. - Peña

She’d held onto it ever since, reading and re-reading it in the hours she was awake, turning it over and over in her left hand. Her entire right arm still hurt too much to be useful. It’d hurt for quite a while.

Both bullets had missed arteries, but just barely. The one in her hip must’ve gone through her human shield’s body first, because it didn’t make it deep enough to pierce her organs, instead lodging itself within the muscle. It would be too risky to operate to remove them, the doctors told her, so they’d remain inside her. She was to stay for another day on an IV drip of antibiotics to stave off any potential infections from the cauterization, then she’d be sent home with a week and a half’s worth of pills and that would be it.

Her shoulder and hip would be scarred twofold. First, the long, crackling burns from where the knife had seared into her, black and charred around the edges. Then, in their centers, the rough-hewn stitches from when they’d investigated the bullet wounds to see if they were worth removing.

As she brushed her thumb across the words on the small scrap of paper she remembered Javi running his thumbs over her hip bones. Digging into the flesh. Leaving bruises.

Not anymore.

She’d miss it far more than she cared to admit.

It was probably time to go home. She’d have to go weeks without working for her body to heal, and she hadn’t saved enough yet to make that possible. And where would she live?

She couldn’t stay in her apartment. In fact, no one could probably live there anymore. Not now that it was riddled with blood stains and bullet holes and worse.

And she couldn’t ask anything more from Peña. He’d given her enough already - too much, in fact. At this point she could never repay him, in money or favors. All she’d done since they’d met was take. Take his information, his money, his time, his effort. He had enough on his plate with Escobar on the loose.

When she was discharged, she didn’t call him.

There was a new keypad beside the door, and a new door in the frame. Newer, nicer than the old ones.

Perhaps I did the building a favor, she thought to herself grimly. She punched in her code and pulled at the door. It remained locked. She tried again. Still nothing.

Of. Fucking. Course.

She broke out in a cold sweat, beginning to panic. Next she punched in the code that connected to the landlady’s intercom. For a few moments there was nothing, then a crackle of static.

“Yes?” Maria’s voice was terse, an unusual tone for her.

“Maria, it’s me. From Unit 3C. I just tried my code in the door box, and-”

“Oh, you’re back already! Listen, there’s something...you know what? I’ll come down.” Maria’s voice was once again as warm as ever, even when tinged with apprehension.

“I, uh, okay,” she stammered.

It did nothing to calm her anxiety. So she stood and waited, nearly all of her weight on her right leg, her left hand stuffed in the pocket of the hoodie the hospital had given her, her right hanging limply at her side. All of what she wore had been donated to help patients who didn’t have access to other clothing. Even her underwear. She shuddered at the thought that it might be a hand-me-down.

Maria appeared then. But she didn’t open the door to invite her in - instead, she stepped outside and closed the front door behind her.

Fuck. That was a bad sign.

“How are you?” Maria asked kindly. She was a tiny little woman, her flyaway brown hair streaked with grey and pulled up into a bun and large, thick glasses that made her small, soft eyes look enormous.

“I’m fine, but I need to get my things from my apartment, and when I tried the door code -”

“All your things are gone,” Maria said, seemingly confused. “They came and took them.”

“They?”

“Those men. They said they knew you, that they were taking them to you.”

“What men? Police officers?” She could feel bile rising in her throat. Please, please say police officers.

“No,” Maria shook her head. “Not police officers. They had already left.”

So that left only one answer: the cartel.

They knew where she lived. They’d know she killed, or at least played some role in killing Manuel and the others.

That meant she wasn’t safe - she had to leave. Now.

“Right, okay. Thank you for letting me know.”

Maria called after her, asking something about money for the repairs before she could move back in, but she was gone, limping away as fast as she could.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Where could she go?

What could she do?

All of her money was gone. Her manuscript, her clothes, her passport, everything.

She was alone, completely alone, with nothing but the borrowed clothes on her back and the bottles of painkillers and antibiotics in her pocket.

Her head began to swim, breathing becoming short and heavy.

A panic attack.

Her thoughts began to cave in on her, a cataclysm of fear and sorrow and hopelessness.

Before she knew it she was leaning against the wall of the nearest building, her breathing reduced to shuddering sobs, the entire world going dark around her. She crouched and held her head even though it made her hip and shoulder scream with agony.

She didn’t know what else to do.

You’re going to die.

You fucked it all up.

Everything is your fault.

You should’ve bled out. You should’ve let them kill you.

You should die.

You’re going to die.

On repeat. Over, and over, and over.

She didn’t know how long it was before she was able to open her eyes. Her breathing had slowed, as had her thoughts. Not from any conscious effort on her part, but from pure exhaustion. She was already weak, and her body didn’t have the strength to let her panic for long.

When she rose to her feet, she was completely numb inside, a low humming of emptiness emanating from her chest and running up her spine to her head, which suddenly felt unbearably heavy. A few people from the nearest houses looked on at her with confused curiosity.

She began to walk. With no destination in mind. With no idea what the hell she was going to do or where she was going to go or how she was going to get home. At this point, she couldn’t even call her parents from a pay phone. She didn’t have a single penny or peso to spend. Perhaps she would try begging on the streets, perhaps, perhaps...perhaps…

Before she knew it her feet were leading her someplace where the streets and buildings began to look familiar, but even then, she couldn’t place why. Her limping had grown to more of a hobble as her hip protested each step with ferocity. The doctors had told her to go home and rest - lay down as much as she could, only get up when she had to. Ha. So far all she’d done was walk and stand and crouch and walk again.

Then she came to a stop outside of the door of a nondescript looking house in an okay neighborhood. A house with a red door and faint music flowing out from within. Several women stood on and beside the stoop - hair done, makeup perfect, clothing suggestive, several smoking.

“Hey, it’s you!” one of them called. Her hair was dyed a dull blonde and pulled up in a high ponytail that curled its way down to the small of her back. Her perfectly maintained brows framed her beautiful face - high cheekbones, large brown eyes rimmed by thick, dark lashes, a short, straight nose, and full lips.

Oh.

So that’s where she’d gone.

The brothel where she’d interviewed the prostitutes.

And there was Luciana, her main contributor, beckoning her over with a freshly manicured hand that held a half-gone cigarette aloft.

“Come here! Where have you been? How’s your little book going?” The other girls made room for her as she approached. Slowly. With stilted steps.

“It’s been better,” she answered honestly. Luciana frowned.

“What’s wrong? You look hurt! Here, have a cigarette.”

She took it gladly and Luciana lit it for her, her precise brows furrowing in worry.

“What happened to you?”

The other girls crowded around. She recognized more of them as she gave herself time to take in the scene. Isabella, Sofia, Jimena, Guadalupe.

“Made a client angry. Got shot,” she answered simply. Luciana gasped.

“A client? I thought you were a writer?”

“I was. I used your advice to help me get men to talk,” she answered with a forlorn smile, “and it worked for a while.”

“What are you doing here, then?” It was Sofia who spoke next, placing what was meant to be a comforting hand on her shoulder. Unfortunately, it was the shoulder where she’d been shot. She winced.

“I don’t know. I’ve just been...walking.”

“You don’t look like you should be walking,” Guadalupe noted.

“Probably not. But I have nowhere to go. My apartment was shot up and robbed.”

Luciana gave her a sympathetic look but didn’t say anything - instead she whispered in Isabella’s ear, who nodded and headed inside the house.

“So you’ve been working…?” Jimena asked hesitantly.

She nodded. “Yeah. At first for information, then for money as soon as things got...complicated.”

Complicated.

That’s all her life had been for months.

Complicated.

“When did this happen?” Sofia began to run gentle fingers through her hair, trying to make it look presentable. It was a lost cause.

“Two, three days ago? I’m not really sure.”

“Oh my God, and you’re already walking around? You need to sit! Come inside, sit, sit!” Guadalupe insisted. The other girls joined her in a chorus of worries. Before she could say anything she was being herded inside the house into a side room, separate from the main sitting area which hosted several gruff looking men eyeing them hungrily as they passed.

“Waiting for girls or beds to open up,” Jimena said with a smirk. “Sometimes, if we know they’re rich businessmen on their lunch break, we’ll make them pay up front and then just have them wait with a girl on their lap for an hour.”

It brought a smile to her face. It made her laugh. The first laugh she’d had in what felt like forever. The girls all but pushed her down onto a beaten chaise lounge on the far end of the small room as they closed the door on the leering customers.

The rest of the room was dark except for the sparse working lightbulbs that surrounded the mirrors of the outdated, well-worn theatre vanity. Given the number of makeup bags and hair curlers strewn across and beside it, she supposed this must be where the girls got ready before work and touched up between clients. It made sense that it was near the door - best to look as fresh as possible when greeting the men they’d be pumping for money.

Isabella came in then, followed by a man who was sharply dressed and styled. His inky black hair was pomaded perfectly atop his head, his beard and mustache well manicured. She thought he might be wearing a hint of eyeliner, as his large, round eyes seemed too defined to be natural.

A single extravagant dangling gold and pearl earring was fastened to one ear, a modest, small gold hoop in the other. He wore a sharp Italian suit with a peacock feather patterned shirt beneath it. Freshly pressed. Expensive. He had simple gold cufflinks and well oiled leather shoes. A navy silk ascot was wrapped around his throat. He looked poised and polished, as if he were putting on a show - a show of wealth, to be exact.

He must run the place.

“Gio,” Luciana announced. “This is her.”

He surveyed her, his expression unreadable.

“You need room and board?” He asked, voice silky and lilted.

The blatant question took her by surprise.

“I, uh, yes,” she stammered, caught off guard.

“You have experience in this line of work?”

She nodded. “Not much, but some.”

“You’ve been injured recently?”

She nodded again, swallowing nervously. “Shot.”

His eyebrows went up at that, his hand coming to rest on his chin as he cocked his head to the side, observing her more intently. His fingers were laden with gold and jeweled rings.

“Where?”

“My shoulder and hip,” she answered, gesturing to her wounds. Where was he going with this?

“Hmm,” Gio hummed. “I don’t know if we can work with that.”

“She can do all the easy stuff,” Sophia piped up. “The hand stuff and blowjobs.”

Oh.

The girls were trying to get her work and a place to stay. It was so unexpected that she felt tears prick at the back of her eyes. Everything had been so awful, she’d felt so hopeless. And out of nowhere, with no cause, these women were trying to save her.

Would she ever not be in someone’s debt?

“We’ll try her out tomorrow night. When the room closest to the stairs opens up, you can have it.” He gave her one final look over before turning towards the door. “Back to work, ladies.”

She didn’t know what to say. In a matter of minutes she’d gone from homeless and jobless to having a place to sleep, at least for one night, and the chance to earn a job.

“Thank you,” she stammered. “I don’t -”

“Don’t worry about it,” Luciana waved her off. “A spot opened up recently, and we already know we like you.”

She nodded, not knowing what else to do. Isabella took her by the arm then.

“Do you want something to eat?”

She hadn’t realized it until just then, but she was starving.

“Yes, please.”

A few of the girls led her from the room, eagerly scurrying back to the kitchen, while others stayed in the sitting area, greeting the men who had been waiting for them.

#i kind of feel bad for using these tags since Javi isn't in this chapter but #it is a series focused around him so #???#narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos fanfic #Javier Peña #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña fanfic #Javier Peña fic #fanfiction #fanfic #pedro pascal #I guess #lmao Javi isn't in this should Pedro even be tagged #little lies

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whitewallwhispers · 5 years ago

Text

Boulevardier

(pronounced bou-levard-ee-ay)

2 ounces bourbon whiskey

1 ounce Campari

1 ounce sweet vermouth (preferably Antica Formula)

Lemon twist (for garnish)

Kingsman: The Golden Circle - Agent Whiskey x OC (Agent Vermouth) - Series

Part One - Part Two - Part Three

Fledgling Statesman Agent Vermouth’s career has started off more slowly than she’d like, and she finds herself confiding her frustrations to an unlikely ear.

Warnings: alcohol use, strong language.

Tag List: Open! Reply or DM me.

Three months. She’d graduated her training three goddamn months ago, and yet she still hadn’t been sent out on a mission. It was embarrassing. It didn’t matter that she’d been top of her class, apparently. Everyone else had gotten assignments already - Gin, Cognac, even St. Germaine.

And today she’d finally had enough of it.

She knocked on Champ’s door as hard as she could.

“Come in,” he called, sounding a little suspicious. She opened the door, setting her face in a hard expression so he’d know she meant business.

“Ah, Agent Vermouth. And to what do I owe a surprise visit from my favorite niece?” He was seated behind his desk, reviewing something on his laptop with a steaming cup of coffee and half-empty glass of something strong on either side of him.

“It’s been three months since I became a Statesman. Why am I still stuck filing paperwork?” She cut right to the chase. She was sick of waiting, sick of all the bullshit.

Champagne’s mouth opened to respond, then closed again as his brows furrowed in thought.

Trying to come up with an excuse.

“All of my classmates have been on multiple missions. I outscored all of them in training. Why am I being treated differently?”

“It’s…complicated,” Champ sighed. “Take a seat.”

“I’d rather stand, thank you.” She crossed her arms.

“That’s an order, Vermouth.”

Reluctantly she sat down in the plush leather chair opposite his desk with a huff.

“Look. You know it took me three years to convince your mother to let you begin training,” he began. That much was true - she’d hoped to join the Statesmen at 18, but her mother insisted she wait until she was 21. “She was steaming mad at me when I told her you passed with flying colors, and made me promise not to send you out onto the front lines straight away. She knows how hot-headed you are, and she doesn’t want you flying into missions blinded by naive overconfidence.”

“Last I checked my mother wasn’t a Statesman. Why does she get any say in what I do?”

“Because she’s my sister,” Champ said with a shrug. “And I don’t think she’s entirely wrong. You completed your training quickly and eagerly, but you were volatile, too. Took a lot of risks, made a lot of rash decisions. I figured that maybe making you study and log the case reports of other Agents might imprint a little bit of caution into you, teach you that subtlety is sometimes preferable to going in guns blazing.”

“Oh, bullshit,” Vermouth cried. “Tequila and Whiskey are our top Agents and they’re textbook guns blazing.”

“They’re senior Agents, they’ve been in this game a long time. They have the experience to handle themselves in those high-speed, high-risk environments. They weren’t always like that. It came gradually after years of missions. You approached your training already having that attitude. That makes it almost two times more dangerous to send you on assignments than your other, more reserved classmates.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. She scoffed, but she had nothing to follow up with.

“I’m sorry, darlin’, but it’s for the best. You’ll get out into the field someday, I promise.” To his credit, her uncle did look sincerely apologetic.

“So that’s it?”

“That’s it,” he said with a nod.

Without another word Vermouth stood and swept out of his office, heading straight down the hall with one goal in mind.

The rec room was completely empty. Everyone else was out on missions, except for Ginger Ale, who was busy as usual with the Lepidopterist. It’d been a week since they’d found him and she’d barely left her station since.

Out of all the people who she could talk to right now, Ginger Ale was her number one choice.

Perhaps that’s what made her extra annoyed when someone else walked through the door.

Well, less walked and more strutted. He looked as good as he always did - sharp collared white shirt, black tie, grey wool suit jacket with leather patches on his broad shoulders. Even though he was wearing his stupid cowboy hat she could tell his hair was perfectly pomaded and groomed underneath, just like his stupid mustache was, too.

“Well if it isn’t our favorite little spicy sip of wine,” Agent Whiskey called, giving her his usual condescending once-over. Much to her chagrin he took a seat right across from her. “Champ’s got you tending the bar now?”

“No,” she snapped. “I just wanted a drink.”

“What’re you makin’, then?” He grabbed a toothpick from the garnish caddy and began to chew on it lazily.

“Long Island Iced Tea.”

“Phew,” Whiskey whistled, “you sure you know how to make one of those?”

“Well, I’ve made two already, so I’d say yeah, I’ve gotten the hang of it.” She finished pouring in the last of the liquor and gave it a quick stir.

“Come on now, sweetheart, if you’re already two deep don’t push your luck. Pour half of that out for me.”

She bit her bottom lip to test it. Goddamnit. It was completely numb. Maybe he was right, as much as she really hated to admit it.

“Fine,” she grumbled, grabbing another glass and filling it even with hers. She all but slammed it down in front of him.

“And a shot of whiskey, while you’re at it. I feel I have some catching up to do.”

“Why do you care?” She grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels and poured him some all the same.

“Because it’s ungentlemanly to leave a woman to drink on her own. Especially in such large quantities.”

Vermouth rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything, opting to take a large swig of her drink instead. It burned her throat like hell but that’s what she needed.

“No need to stand there, come take a seat,” Whiskey offered, patting the stool next to him.

Begrudgingly, she obliged, though she sat as far away from him as possible to avoid breathing in his stupidly nice cologne.

Everything about Whiskey irritated her. He was arrogant, condescending, and full of himself. That was made worse by the fact that he earned it. He was by far the best Statesman, and he knew it. He fancied himself a smooth talker and figured that his good looks gave him the right to flirt with anything that moved. Sure, he was well mannered and could be sweet at times, but whether or not it was genuine was hard to tell. It was easier for Vermouth to assume it wasn’t.

“So, what’s got you drinking half the booze in this bar at three o’clock in the afternoon?” Whiskey asked, turning in his seat to look at her as he downed his shot.

“It’s…personal.” She avoided his eyes.

“Then why aren’t you drinking at home?”

“Because I have to wait to see who turns in mission reports tonight so I can get them ready for filing tomorrow morning.”

“You might wanna cut yourself off now if you have to be up and in early in the morning,” Whiskey advised. Vermouth rolled her eyes.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Not instructing, just suggesting, sugar,” he answered, holding his hands up in a half-hearted surrender. “Seems like you’ve been on paperwork duty every time I’ve finished an assignment lately.”

“I’ve been on paperwork duty since I fucking graduated,” she mumbled, throwing back another long gulp.

“Now, I know it may seem like you’re given the short end of the stick a lot, but -”

“No, Whiskey. I’m serious. I’ve literally been the only Agent doing paperwork since I joined.”

He furrowed his brows and cocked his head at her. He seemed genuinely surprised.

“Then what about when you’re on a mission?”

“I haven’t been on one yet.”

“Bullshit,” he chuckled. “You’re trying to pull one over on me.”

She leveled him with a fierce glare. “Does it look like I’m joking?”

“Now how is that possible? If anything, shouldn’t you be getting special treatment from Champ?”

“I don’t want special treatment, I just want to be given a goddamn assignment,” Vermouth growled. She finished her drink in anger and moved to get up to make another.

“Slow down, darlin’, I mean it.” Whiskey took hold of her wrist firmly, keeping her in place on her stool. She briefly considered countering by using her other hand to hit him in just the right spot to make him let go, but she was too slow and her eyes telegraphed too much. Whiskey read her move before she could make it and grabbed her other wrist, too. “Don’t try to fight drunk. It’ll only land you in a mess every time. Take it from someone who’s learned the hard way.”

He smiled at her then, and for once he seemed warm and sympathetic instead of distant and smarmy.

“Your instincts were good, though,” he added.

“Fine. Just let me go.”

He paused a moment before doing so, turning back to his own drink. “So I’m guessing that’s what’s got you down here in the middle of the day?”

“Yeah,” she huffed. “I just tried to talk to Champ about it. He says he doesn’t trust me in the field yet.”

“I don’t think any new recruits should be sent out into the field by themselves,” Whiskey shrugged.

“Of course you’d say that,” she scoffed. “Just like you say Ginger Ale shouldn’t be either.”

“She’s too valuable as a techie. Half our missions would fail if she wasn’t stationed here.”

“But she doesn’t want to be just a technician. What she wants should matter. You’re the only asshole who votes against her being active.”

“Like I said, I have my reasons.” He seemed nonplussed by being called an asshole straight to his face, and it irritated Vermouth that it hadn’t gotten a reaction out of him. Especially since he deserved it.

“Whatever. Bring me your paperwork before you leave for the night. Preferably before midnight.” She pushed herself away from the bar and strode from the room without a backwards glance. She’d had enough Whiskey for one day.

Tequila came through around seven. Gin at nine. It wasn’t until eleven thirty that a knock came at her door and she saw Whiskey through the window.

“Come in,” she sighed, immediately turning her attention back to her work to avoid looking at him.

“Sorry it took so long, sugar, your Long Island knocked me on my ass for a good hour or two. How you managed to down three is beyond me.”

As if.

“Save it, Whiskey. Just give me your files and go. I’m tired.”

“I figured you might be. That’s why I brought you this.” He placed his tablet to her right and a steaming mug of coffee right beside the one she was working on. “Bit of cream, no sweetner, just how you like it.”

That got her attention. Vermouth looked up at him quizzically. Suspiciously.

“How the hell do you know that?”

“There’s not much to do in the break room other than people watch,” he answered simply.

“…thanks,” she said at last, taking a sip. “It’s…good.” Vermouth did her best to keep her voice flat and unimpressed, but she was taken aback that Whiskey had noticed something about someone else - about her, in fact. He usually didn’t seem to give her or her classmates the time of day.

“Now I’ll get out of your hair,” he said with a nod. “Goodnight, sweetheart, don’t stay up too late.”

“Right. Night, Whiskey.”

With that he turned and left her office, giving her one last look before quietly shutting her door.

Huh.

She didn’t know what to make of that.

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whitewallwhispers · 5 years ago

Text

Little Lies

Narcos - Javier Peña - Series

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine

With the assistance of D.E.A. Peña she’s been making good progress, but some of her other sources have turned sour.

Warnings: Very Graphic. Guns, gunshot wounds, blood, intestinal matter, knives, burns, more blood. Mentions of vomit. Strong language (pretty much every expletive under the sun). Nothing you haven’t seen in the show, but a lot for a fanfic. Also I feel it’s important for me to note that you should pretty much never attempt anything described in this chapter. Javier observes some of the right safety precautions but not all of them. Don’t try this at home, kids.

My hope is that you can imagine this character as any race with any style of hair (as someone with short hair I get annoyed when every fic mentions long locks and ponytails).

Author’s Note: This chapter is very heavy. If you don’t feel like you can stomach the gore, I’ll give a succinct, clean summary of events in Chapter Eight.

Tag List (Open! Chat or Reply): @fanfiction-trashpile | @sophster1881 | @theringostarfanclub | @thinemineours

“Are you there?”

The sound of Javier’s voice made her jump. She hadn’t fallen asleep, exactly. But she’d lapsed out of consciousness. Not as if she’d fainted, but as if she’d gone inside herself and left this world behind. She’d been somewhere dark, somewhere endless and silent and empty. Like space, but without the stars. There was no light in her, not now.

“Javi?” She knew it was him, but she wasn’t sure if she was really there, so calling out his name felt right.

He stepped through the remnants of her door, gun drawn, surveying the room.

When he caught sight of Manuel’s body on the floor his face froze in an expression of surprise and horror.

He turned to look at her then.

Whatever he saw was enough for him to shove his gun in the back of his jeans and rush over to her, slipping slightly on the lake of blood that filled the entryway and far end of the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” He’d never sounded so panicked. It didn’t suit him.

Her eyes were transfixed on the reflecting light that shimmered on the surface of Manuel’s slowly congealing blood. “Sure.”

“What happened?”

“They came. To kill me.”

“Did you…?”

“Kill them? Yeah, yeah I think so. They’re all dead, anyway.”

“Are you hurt? How much of this is yours?” His eyes were feverishly looking over her, his hands hovering between them as if he wanted to touch her but couldn’t.

“How much of what?”

“The blood. You’re completely covered in blood, is any of it yours?”

That was a good question.

“I don’t think so.”

“Can you stand?”

She tried to, but as soon as she was upright her head became full of static, billowing with hazy pressure that sent the room spinning into blurry chaos. Javier caught her just in time before she cascaded to the floor.

“Fuck. I think you might be hurt,” he cursed.

“I think I’d know if I was injured.”

Would she, though? Now that she thought of it, she hadn’t really been able to feel her own body during it all. The only time she had was when she’d thrown up. She’d been numb ever since.

“God, I can’t even tell, you’re so soaked.” He grabbed a towel from the nearby rack and began wiping at her face and neck. It was useless. The cloth was completely coated in a matter of seconds and then he was merely smearing it across her skin. He let go of her to try to rinse it out in the sink and she slumped right back down the wall again, catching herself on the counter and clinging to it for support.

Javier turned to look at her, then at the towel in his hand, then back to her.

“Fuck it.” He tossed the towel in the sink and picked her up in one fluid movement, her legs dangling limply over one of his arms and her head lolling back over the other. The movement made her feel like she was going to be sick, so she closed her eyes and did her best not to vomit all over him.

She had the vague sense that they were moving through her apartment.

He’d have seen the other body by now, then.

The one she’d shot in the head and used as cannon fodder to keep her safe from Manuel and the boy with the beautiful eyes. Thankfully he was still hidden away behind her bed.

Then, there was the sound of running water. Cold linoleum pressed against her legs as hot water poured over her like a sweltering summer rain. She opened her eyes to find herself on the floor of her tub, the shower turned on and soaking her from her shoulders to her thighs. Javier was sitting behind her, propping her up against his chest between his arms and legs, running his hands over her to try to slough off the blood into the water.

“Your clothes,” was all she could think to say.

They were both fully dressed. He’d be sopping wet. Somehow, that seemed important.

“We need to know if you’re hurt,” he answered. “Can I take off your shirt?”

She nodded weakly, but despite her efforts she couldn’t lift her arms high enough for him to do so.

Javier sighed heavily and gripped the front of her collar. With a grunt he pulled it apart - hard. Hard enough to tear the fabric all the way down the center. He wasted no time peeling it off of her as best he could, his hands once again working to push the blood that coated her into the water to be washed away.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she noted that the fact that her bra, chest, and stomach were soaked in blood, even beneath her shirt, was probably a bad sign.

“Oh my God,” Javier stammered. “I think you’ve been shot.”

“I don’t know. I - I wouldn’t know. I haven’t felt anything.”

“Adrenaline. Holy shit. One in your right shoulder, one in your left hip.”

It was like a magic spell had been broken. The second she looked down at herself and noticed her wounds, they hurt. They fucking hurt, like nothing she’d ever felt before.

“I think you’re right,” she choked, her voice strained with pain and the tears that began to pour from her eyes like a faucet turned on high.

Suddenly, there was a voice calling at the front door.

“Peña?”

“Murphy! In here,” Javier yelled, “hurry.”

“I told you not to bring anyone else,” she said between labored breaths.

“Too risky.”

Then there was another man standing in the doorway of the bathroom, gun drawn. He looked both very similar to and very different from Javier - short hair pushed to one side, mustache, a heavy tiredness in his face that had been etched there by years of chasing druglords. But he was pale, and blonde, with blue eyes that widened as he took in the scene before him.

“What the hell happened? I didn’t hear anything, but the bodies -”

“I think she’s been shot, she’s been bleeding for almost an hour now. Do you have a knife?”

“A knife?” Murphy asked, bemused.

“We need to cauterize her wounds.”

“Jesus, Peña, shouldn’t we go to a hospital for that?”

“Didn’t you fucking hear me? She’s bleeding out.”

“We could put pressure to the wound?”

“An hour, Murphy. The time for stuffing a washcloth in it has passed. They can pump her full of antibiotics at the hospital to counteract an infection, but I’m not going to risk letting her die before we get there.”

“There’s a knife on the far side of my bed,” she piped up through gritted teeth. “On the floor.”

The thought of someone she didn’t know seeing the mess she’d made of the beautiful eyed boy made her wish she’d just bleed out already and die, but Javier seemed so concerned with her survival she answered only for his sake.

“Go get it,” Javier ordered. Murphy nodded and left. “And call for backup.” Then he spoke only to her. “Do you have any alcohol?”

“Like booze?”

Her body hurt so much it was making her head feel like she was operating five seconds behind reality, time becoming a fuzzy smear that clouded her vision and thoughts alike.

“I mean, I guess, if it’s hard. What about rubbing alcohol? Peroxide? Anything that might be helpful for disinfecting?”

“I think I have some nail polish remover in the cabinet?”

“Acetone should work.”

She was vaguely aware that Murphy returned then.

“Jesus. Wash it off as best you can,” Javier muttered before cupping his hands beneath the stream of water and pouring what he gathered onto her shoulder and hip to clear the wounds. Murphy set to work running the blade under the sink, scraping off as much of the blood and intestines as he could.

She couldn’t help but shudder.

Everything was ugly, everything hurt.

She couldn’t even tell if she was crying anymore. She was unaware of any part of her body other than where the bullets were embedded in her. They were agony. There were no words to describe it. They just ripped her apart from their cores. It was impossible.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Javi whispered in her ear. “We’re going to fix this. Murphy, grab the nail polish remover from under the sink and pour it on the knife. But not too much.”

“Right,” he replied, doing as Javier instructed.

“I’m going to lean forward to turn the shower off,” Javi murmured. “It might hurt.”

“Can’t get any worse,” she answered, her words short and staccatoed.

Javier did as he said he would, and oh God did it hurt more than she’d expected.

But what could she do?

She turned her face to bury it in Javier’s shoulder, her hands gripping the edges of the tub so hard she thought she might crush right through the linoleum.

“Hand me that towel and the nail polish remover, then go heat the blade up on the stove,” he ordered. Murphy did as he was told and left the room again. Javier began gently patting her shoulder dry, blood immediately seeping up into the previously pretty white fabric and painting it bright red.

No matter how little pressure he applied, it felt like he was punching her. Repeatedly. She cried out in agony, pressing her face even further into him.

“This is going to hurt even worse,” he murmured. To his credit, he placed a very soft kiss on her temple while pouring what felt like liquid fire over the wound on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

She screamed.

“How long should I do this?” Murphy called from the kitchen.

“Until it starts getting red,” Javier answered, draping the towel over her lower body like a blanket.

No one could really describe what it felt like to burn to death, because they’d obviously be dead.

But perhaps having cheap acetone poured into the gaping hole where you’d been shot was as close as you could get. It certainly seemed that way. She couldn’t conceive of any other way to categorize the pain.

“Bring a shirt or something when you’re done,” Javier yelled to Murphy, placing the bottle of nail polish remover on the floor before stroking her hair.

“Where am I gonna get a shirt?”

“Your own if you goddamn have to.”

“M-middle dr- fuck, drawer, of my d-dresser,” she coughed.

“Middle drawer of the dresser!” Javier repeated, loud enough for Murphy to actually hear.

She might’ve fainted then, however briefly, because the next thing she knew Javier’s voice was in her ear, begging her as if he’d already asked.

“Come on, you have to bite down on this, you’ll hurt yourself if you don’t.”

Her eyes flew open and she realized he was holding something, maybe one of her shirts, twisted around until it was like a rope. She opened her mouth to comply and Javier gently pushed it between her teeth.

“Hold her down, I’ll do it.”

Murphy was looming above her then, his hands firmly taking hold of her forearms and pressing them to her sides.

“I’m so sorry,” Javier whispered. “It’ll only be for a little bit.”

At that point she realized he was holding the knife, which certainly didn’t look like it’d been heated up.

But when he pressed it against her shoulder, she was met with a new threshold of burning she didn’t think possible. The scream that erupted from her was muffled by the cloth in her mouth, which she clamped down on so hard she was sure she’d bite right through it.

Everything was blinding white. Hell. Unbearable.

It was probably less than a minute, and he removed the knife every few seconds, but it felt like an eternity.

And she’d have to do it again.

Her scream turned to a sob, then to a whimper, as Javier held the flat end of the blade firmly against her shoulder. Involuntarily, her body twitched and squirmed and did everything it could to get away. Murphy leaned into her, doing his best to hold her still. She wanted to, but every movement was out of her control.

“There,” Javier panted, finally taking the blade off of her skin for good. “Go heat it up again.”

Murphy grabbed the knife and left.

Javier wasted no time in gathering up the towel, dabbing away at her hip which was still profusely pouring blood. Now, in comparison to what had just happened, the pain in her hip was just a dull throb. That was, until Javier poured nail polish remover over it.

If the fabric hadn’t been stuffed in her mouth, she surely would’ve shattered her teeth or jaw or both.

“We’re almost there,” he soothed, finally ceasing his pouring and tossing the towel down towards her feet.

She turned her face into him again, desperate to feel something other than pain, but her face was numb and even the hand he ran across her cheek to wipe up some of her tears didn’t help.

“Should I do it or you?” Murphy was back, holding a red-hot knife aloft.

“Let it cool down a bit, til it’s not red, then you do it. You saw how I held it? Count to three and take it off. Count to three and put it back on. Just do that for about a minute.”

She closed her eyes as hard as she could. If she watched the blade cool down, she’d surely throw up once it wasn’t red anymore.

A stray thread of thought wove through her mind, a sickening sort of humor that was as dark as the safety behind her eyelids.

She’d wanted pain. Pain makes it easier to keep my feelings as simple as money makes yours.

A half laugh, half sob escaped her and she moved to cover her face. But Javier caught her arms and held them in place.

“Don’t,” he warned.

“I think it’s ready,” Murphy said grimly. “Hold her still.”

Her stomach lurched forward like a sprinter at the starting gun before sinking all the way back down to her spine.

For some reason, some stupid reason, she opened her eyes and watched.

It was the same as before - as if he was pushing hell itself against her skin. On and off. But the pain stayed just as strong even when the blade wasn’t touching her. Her body shook in protest, but Javier held her still, his fingers digging into her forearms as he fought against her. She screamed so hard it felt like her throat was tearing itself apart.

She watched her skin sizzle and burn and congeal together, the blood slowly ceasing to flow from her wound as Murphy continued to press the knife onto her in perfect cycles of six seconds. Three on. Three off. Javier buried his face in the crook of her neck, whispering quiet consolations into her skin.

Ironically enough, he seemed to be the one who was the one unable to watch this time around.

“I think it’s been a minute,” Murphy announced at last.

“Alright. Where’s our backup?”

“They should be here soon.”

“Check with them. We have to move these bodies and the car somewhere else. The cartel can’t know they died here. They can’t know she killed them.”

“She killed them? Jesus fucking Christ, Peña. What if they come here anyway? The door, the blood…”

“Hopefully the only people who knew her address are the two out there -”

“Three,” Murphy interjected.

“What?”

“There’s three. The third is behind her bed.”

“I - okay. Doesn’t matter. If anyone else knows, we’re fucked either way. We have to try, though.”

“Alright,” Murphy sighed. “Should I stay here and wait for them?”

Javier was silent for a few moments, mulling it over.

“Yeah. I can take her on my own.” He hooked his arms beneath hers, wrapped them around her midsection and stood, pulling her with him. The cloth fell from her mouth and the cry that escaped her was at full volume. She hadn’t been wearing her brace while seeing clients, and her ribs were still recovering. Pain seemed inescapable at this point. Inevitable. All-consuming.

And it did consume her. The last thing she saw was her own reflection in the mirror.

Was it even her reflection?

Whatever it was looked like something out of a nightmare.

Pallid, sickly, skin streaked with blood in alternating shades of deep burgundy and pale pink. Eyes that looked sunken, face a haunting painting of tears and pain and resignation unto both.

Something dark, and foreign, and tainted.

Then, as Javier scooped her up in his arms again, everything went black.

#narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos fanfic #Javier Peña #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña fanfic #Javier Peña fic #steve murphy #look who finally made an appearance!#love my dumb blonde boy #fanfiction #fanfic #pedro pascal #boyd holbrook #little lies

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whitewallwhispers · 5 years ago

Text

Little Lies

Narcos - Javier Peña - Series

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine

Her latest target is a D.E.A. Agent named Javier Peña. Now they’re both being pulled into something neither of them were expecting.

Warnings: Smut - unsatisfied partner, cum play, daddy kink. Extreme violence. Very explicit. (Guns, gunshot wounds, blood, brain matter, knives, stabbing, more blood. Very graphic.) Strong language (pretty much every expletive under the sun.) Nothing you haven’t seen in the show, but a lot for a fanfic.

My hope is that you can imagine this character as any race with any style of hair (as someone with short hair I get annoyed when every fic mentions long locks and ponytails). Also (super minor detail) as right or left handed.

Author’s Note: This starts out very lighthearted, I hope it can make you laugh. But then it gets very dark. If you feel like you can’t stomach that part, don’t worry. I’ll have a non-explicit summary in Part Eight to get you up to speed without the gory details.

Tag List (Open! Chat or Reply): @fanfiction-trashpile | @sophster1881 | @theringostarfanclub | @thinemineours

“Cum on my tits,” she mewled, arching her back with faked pleasure and need.

Don’t you dare cum inside me, you bastard. There was only one person allowed to do that.

The paunchy old man began to grunt like some sort of farm animal, his hands hooked under her knees and holding them apart unceremoniously. Uselessly.

She wasn’t even remotely aroused - it was a miracle she wasn’t as dry as a desert, but thankfully at least her body knew how to cover the basics. She’d spent the past five minutes moaning half-heartedly while thinking about what she wanted for breakfast tomorrow.

It seemed to be working for him, though. His pace was already stuttering, his breathing ragged, sweat pouring down his forehead and chest like a pair of greasy waterfalls.

Okay, ew.

She needed to stop looking at him. So she closed her eyes and thought of England.

“Please, daddy, cum all over my tits,” she panted, clawing at the sheets beneath her as if she was unable to contain herself.

Finally, the fucker obliged, groaning like he was about to die. Painfully so. Unfortunately his aim was terrible and a stream landed square across her face.

Oh, God. She braced herself, blocking off her throat so as to minimize how much she’d taste. She wiped his sticky semen up with her thumb and stuck it in her mouth, sucking it clean while moaning as if it was as good as sex itself.

She hadn’t done enough. It tasted as rank as she’d expected and it was all she could do not to gag.

“That’s a good girl,” the man panted. “Lick up daddy’s cum, all of it, and daddy will treat you extra good.”

Fucking everloving fuckity fuck fuck.

She was too desperate for cash not to oblige. But not until she got paid.

“Put it on the table, daddy.”

He rolled off of her with yet another animalistic grunt and went for his wallet, pulling out an unexpectedly hefty stack of bills and putting it on her nightstand. He turned to face her, looking down at her with hungry, piggy eyes as he stroked his cock.

“Lick it up, princess.”

She deserved an Oscar, an Emmy, and a Tony Award for the show she put on cleaning her chest of his spew and swallowing it like it was five-star caviar. By the time she was finished he was half hard again, but she wasn’t about to let things develop into round two - she wasn’t that desperate.

“I have another client due in five minutes,” she lied, laying out on her side and grinning at him with eyes as wide and lustful as if he were a Greek god. “I always lose track of time when I’m with you.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow, then, princess,” he answered with a wink. “Same time?”

Oh, goody.

“Of course, daddy.”

He couldn’t have gotten dressed any slower if he’d tried, his eyes raking over her body the entire time, his sweat immediately pooling and sticking to his shirt as soon as he had it on. Her room would smell like his body odor for the rest of the night - if she was unlucky, until tomorrow morning.

It felt like a miracle when she finally got him out the door, but not before he gave her one last kiss, shoving his slimy tongue in her mouth and making it explore her like a drunken slug. She slid the locks into place and slumped against the door, feeling like she’d just rolled around in a gutter.

The shower was so hot she thought she might give herself a first degree burn, but it felt too good to turn the temperature down. She scrubbed herself three times over before stepping out and drying her body, too tired to do the same with her hair. She slipped into her pajamas and pulled her soiled topsheet from her bed, tossing it in the corner to be washed later. Grabbing a blanket from the couch, she wrapped herself up as she counted her cash.

He’d paid her time and a half, all for that stupid last-minute show. At least he made it worthwhile. She reluctantly got back on her feet to make her way back to the bathroom to roll up her wad of bills and stuff it into the tampon box in the cabinet under her sink.

When her head hit her pillows, she fell right asleep.

The sound of screeching tires jolted her awake.

Immediately, an innate and instinctual fear rippled through her, sending the hair on her arms and the back of her neck standing up straight. Car doors slammed - three of them. Feet shuffled loudly up to the doorway beneath her window, fervent murmurs dampened by the glass.

She was out of bed in a flash, ripping open her sock drawer, hands blindly feeling around in the dark until her fingers found the cold metal of her gun. She pulled it out and cocked it, keeping the safety on. For now.

Bang.

A gunshot. Something shattering. Then the repeated thump, thump, slam of what she could only guess was someone busting open the front door of her apartment building.

Her blood became frigid but her skin felt like it was on fire.

Fuck.

Whoever it was, whatever was happening, it wasn’t good. She raced across her apartment to hide herself around the corner of her bathroom, closing her eyes and trying to steady her breathing. For a while, there was only deafening silence.

And then came the clamor of footsteps thundering up the staircase, the slam of fists on doors, voices shouting “Open up!”

Some hopelessly optimistic part of her hoped that it was the police coming to arrest someone. Someone who couldn’t possibly be her.

“Where is she? Where does she live? The foreign bitch. Which apartment is hers?” The voice was familiar and she nearly vomited on the spot.

Manuel.

He’d found her, and if he’d seen her walking around with her gun it hadn’t phased him.

She was about to make a break for it to get to her phone when there came a violent crash at her door.

“I know you’re in there, you filthy fucking cunt!” Manuel roared. “Police whore!”

The weak wood creaked loudly and she could hear the hinges rattle loosely in their sockets.

Gunshots.

Three, then four, then five.

Wood splintered and metal clanged, followed by fierce, repeated kicks.

All at once, there was a great eruption of tearing and shattering. The lights flicked on.

“Come out, you stupid bitch.”

Several sets of footsteps entered her apartment, and she knew this was it.

Life or death.

She grit her teeth so hard she half expected her jaw to snap. She swallowed, her breathing so rapid it scared her and her heart pounding harder than it ever had before. Adrenaline was coursing through her like high voltage electricity, making her entire body feel like it was being pulled taut, held together by strings and wires stretched to their absolute limit.

One set of footsteps began to grow closer, and she could make out the sounds of her bed and couch being scraped across the floor.

She switched off the safety.

Something came over her.

Live or die.

Kill or be killed.

All of a sudden it was like she was standing outside of herself, watching the scene unfold. Everything slowed down, as if she were moving underwater.

Her hand went out around the corner first, already firing, before she pivoted the rest of her body around.

She’d gotten lucky - she’d shot the approaching man right in the stomach.

As he fell to his knees he fired a shot at her, then another bullet came from across the room.

She crouched and shot the man in front of her again. He was close enough that she got him right in the head, and before his body fell to the ground she launched herself across the floor so that he landed against her.

Three bullets sunk into his back, making the most sickening thuds, spraying blood everywhere. She was vaguely aware that blood and something else was dripping onto her from the gaping wound in his head, but couldn’t afford to care. She gripped his shirt and rammed her shoulder into his chest to keep him upright, the dead weight of his corpse threatening to knock her over.

She reached her hand out around him and began to shoot wildly in the general direction of where she thought the bullets might have been coming from. When another man cried out in agony, she knew she’d at least been somewhat successful.

More bullets flew past her, a few sinking into the back of her human shield again.

Then there were footsteps racing towards her.

“You fucking bitch!” Manuel screamed, firing shot after shot as he ran towards her.

She tried to shoot at him as he came down on her, but he knocked her gun out of her hand and it went skidding across the floor.

He pointed his barrel directly at her head, the scorching metal burning her forehead as he thrust the tip of it into her skin.

That was it.

She’d failed.

But at least she’d tried.

He pulled the trigger.

Click.

Either he was out of bullets or his gun had jammed, but it didn’t matter.

She stood and grabbed the barrel, pointing it up, trying to wrench it out of his grip, but she didn’t have the strength.

He fired a shot into the ceiling.

Fuck. So it wasn’t empty.

With her other hand she punched him as hard as she could in the balls.

He doubled over, collapsing over the corpse of the other cartel member and tumbling to the floor. She sprinted towards the kitchen, turning the corner just as another round was fired at her from across the room.

Whoever she’d shot, she hadn’t killed them.

She could try to run, but she’d never make it. Manuel had already gotten up and was firing at her again. She barely ducked in time, bullets shattering the tile backsplash above her stove. She ripped open the nearest drawer while staying as low as she could. Her hands fumbled for a moment before she found what she was looking for - thank God she barely had anything in there.

Two of those few things were a pair of large blades - one a cleaver, the other a sharp chef’s knife. Staying low she scooted to the far end of the counter. Waiting.

Manuel’s footsteps grew closer and his bullets more accurate, sending shards of the counter raining down on her. He probably could’ve killed her from there, but that wasn’t his style. He’d want to get her point blank in the head, looking her in the eyes as he ripped the life from her.

When he rounded the corner, his gun once again pointed right at her, she threw herself at his legs with all her might, one hand sinking the chef’s knife into his thigh and the other pulling at the back of his knee, trying to knock him over.

He fired another shot into the ceiling as he lost his balance, but by the time he hit the ground she was already swinging the cleaver at his inner thigh, biting through his jeans into the flesh as she yanked it outwards, hoping to lengthen the cut and maybe catch an artery. With her other hand she began stabbing at his stomach, her own turning each time her knife sunk into him with thick, wet sounds.

Manuel screamed, lifting his hand to fire at her again. He got one bullet out before she turned the cleaver in her grip and sliced out at his wrist, slamming the blade through his skin and tendons so hard the handle flew out of her grasp as he yanked his arm away.

He dropped the gun, but his other hand was reaching for her wrist that still stabbed at his stomach wildly. Manuel was able to wrench her hand back, and she thought he might be able to grab the knife from her, but then he coughed.

A cascade of blood flew from his mouth and he began to choke.

His hand slipped from her wrist as he tried to sit up, weakly reaching for the cleaver, but before he could get to it, his entire body went limp. He convulsed for a few moments, a horrible gurgling sound bubbling from his mouth as it overflowed with blood.

And then he was still.

But she didn’t have time to process it.

A bullet whizzed by only inches from her face and she launched herself backwards behind the safety of the counter. She scooted back so she could lie on her stomach and slid herself as far out as she dared to grab Manuel’s gun and yank it towards her. A bullet flew by her arm and sank into what remained of the door.

She had no idea where the last man was. Carefully, she sat up and rested her head against the corner of the counter, turning just enough that she could see a sliver of the room beyond.

He was propped up behind her bed, chest and arms laying across it, bleeding profusely from his right pectoral as he shakily pointed his gun in her direction. He must’ve sensed she was peeking out at him, because he fired right at her again.

Thankfully his aim was worsening, because it sank into the wall instead of her head.

She shuffled back again, trying to think of a plan.

He couldn’t see her when she was low.

There was no way for him to know where she was behind the counter.

So she slid about two thirds of the way across it, by the edge of the sink, and collected herself, dropping her knife and gripping the gun in both hands.

She might only get one chance.

If she fucked this up, she might die.

After what seemed like an eternity, she finally launched herself up, firing as soon as the gun cleared the counter, desperately hoping that she’d get close. He fired back, but only for a moment. As she caught him in the arm he dropped his gun and flopped backwards onto the floor.

But was he dead?

No.

She could hear his ragged breathing, and after a moment he began to shout.

“Fucking police whore,” he bellowed. “You’ll fucking die. We’ll fucking kill you. Where this came from? There will be more. They’ll fucking get you. You’re dead. You’re already dead.”

Slowly, she knelt down to pick up the knife again, holding her gun in one hand and it in the other.

With measured steps she made her way from behind the counter across the room to the end of her bed.

She could see him, then, laying on the ground, bleeding.

Wounded.

Not enough to die.

Upon seeing her, he launched himself up again, making for his gun.

She raised hers and shot at him.

Click.

Now it was out of bullets.

He was desperately trying to reach his firearm.

Maybe he couldn’t have grabbed it.

Maybe she was already in the clear.

But she was still outside of herself, watching her body go through motions of violence and chaos.

So she dropped her gun and closed the distance between them, standing behind him and gripping his hair in a fist. She yanked his head back.

He looked at her.

His eyes were a soft, light brown. He had thick black brows and full lips and a bit of stubble on his chin.

He was a human being.

He was probably younger than she was.

He was afraid.

But she was outside of herself. Her mind registered these things, but her body did not.

So she ran her knife along his throat all the same, slicing it deep and even.

Blood began to gush from the wound so fiercely it scared her and she released him as if he were on fire.

He flopped forward, crashing onto her bed, his hands clawing desperately at his neck as blood poured between his fingers. His body slid to the ground and he looked up at her with his beautiful eyes until they clouded over with the unflinching stillness of death.

Only then did her mind and body became one again.

The first thing she did was throw up.

Right onto his torso.

Out of all the emotions she could be experiencing in that moment, the only thing she felt was guilt. Guilt for defiling his body like that. For some reason it didn’t matter that he’d been trying to kill her. Somehow the crime of puking on his corpse felt like the worse of the two. The concept of death was still sacred to her, and she had just defilied someone in what should be their final state of dignity.

Once her vomit faded to bile, then dry heaves, she was able to straighten herself up. She dropped the knife and ran a shaking hand through her hair. The clatter of the metal hitting the floor was deafening. She winced. There was an unbearable weight on her, something coating much of her body and pushing her down. Mostly her arms, her face.

She looked at her hands.

They were completely crimson, soaked and dripping in a thick coat of blood.

She gagged again, but nothing came up.

Desperate not to look at herself, she surveyed the room.

They’d broken through her door through the hinges, shooting them off and forcing their way in, kicking in much of the half-rotted wood on that side.

All of her locks remained intact.

Something flew out of her then, something that may have been a laugh but was accompanied by a flood of tears. By sound, it continued to be a laugh. A roaring giggle that made her shoulders shake and stomach hurt. But she was crying - hard. Harder than she ever had before.

Then, she was on autopilot. Still laughing and sobbing over the state of her door, the state of her apartment, the state of herself, she somehow made her way to her phone.

She’d memorized Javier’s numbers in case she ever felt unsafe.

Even though her attackers were dead, she’d never felt more unsafe in her life.

Never had a ring sounded so long, so loud, so grating and awful.

One, two, three, four. Again and again.

Then nothing.

His cell phone was a bust.

So she tried his office.

One, two.

“Peña.” He sounded tired. Annoyed.

“Javi.” Her voice was so strange, so strained, so weak and foggy. “It’s me. Something happened. I - I don’t know what to do.”

“Something happened? What happened?” His voice was laced with concern and impatience.

“They came, and then I -”

And then I what?

Murdered three people? Shot and stabbed three men to death?

Covered my apartment in blood and bullets and brain matter?

“Holy fuck, Javi, I think I -”

“Who came?”

“Manuel. The friend who beat me. And other cartel members.”

“Are they still there?”

“…yes.”

In the technical sense, sure. But did a corpse count as the self?

“I’ll round up a team. I’m on my way.”

“No!” she yelled. “No, don’t, don’t bring anyone, you can’t. Just you. Just you, please, Javi, please don’t bring anyone else. They can’t see, no one can see, I can’t…Javi, I can’t. No one can see, no one can -”

“What happened?” Now he sounded concerned. Maybe even scared.

“Javi, please. Just you. Just come. I don’t know, I - I don’t know.”

She hung up then, unable to stand any more questions.

Suddenly exhausted, she leaned up against the wall and sunk down to the floor, latching her hands onto the hair on the sides of her head and curling herself up as small as she possibly could.

#narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos fanfic #Javier Peña #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña fanfic #Javier Peña fic #fanfiction #fanfic #pedro pascal #feel less weird again #little lies

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whitewallwhispers · 5 years ago

Text

Little Lies

Narcos - Javier Peña - Series

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine

Her latest target is a D.E.A. Agent named Javier Peña. And their relationship is growing more complicated by the day.

Warnings: Drug use (cocaine), alcohol use (wine), strong language (pretty much every expletive under the sun), smut - oral sex (male receiving), fingering, I don’t want to call it self harm but it’s kind of self harm, rough sex (choking), unprotected sex (wrap it up, folks)

My hope is that you can imagine this character as any race with any style of hair (as someone with short hair I get annoyed when every fic mentions long locks and ponytails).

This is kind of a dumb note but I feel the need to clarify that this smut is completely aimed at Peña - I love Pedro but in a completely different, non-sexual way. It’s a credit to his acting skills that he can make me want to fuck nearly every character he plays when IRL I just want to be his best friend.

Tag List (Open): @fanfiction-trashpile | @sophster1881 | @theringostarfanclub | @thinemineours

She sat on the stoop of her apartment building smoking her third cigarette of the night, taking a pull from the bottle of wine she held in her other hand. Her parents had finally completely cut her off, demanding that she return to Germany as soon as possible.

No one was hiring foreigners. Why the fuck would they? Sure, her private school education had blessed her with fluency in Spanish, albeit European Spanish, but she could still converse easily with any Colombian. The slang was foreign to her, but she had the basics. But things were hard enough for the locals, who would waste their time employing someone else who surely had other options? She couldn’t blame a single person who had turned down her applications

But that really only left her with one option. Thus far every man she’d fucked here had been interested in her accent. Maybe more men would also be interested in everything else that made her unusual. Maybe they’d relish the chance to fuck some foreign pussy. Maybe she’d found her calling already.

She’d just finished her cigarette when she noticed him walking down the street, strutting the way he always did, infuriatingly effortlessly sexy. She took another swig of her wine and tried to make herself look less like a mess and more like a semi-attractive human being.

“You sharing?” Javier asked as he reached her.

She nodded and handed him the bottle. He took a long drink.

“I prefer whiskey,” he noted, handing it back to her. “But it’s still good.”

“Out of my budget, especially considering…”

“They cut you off all the way?” His face was apologetic, but not patronizing. It made her want to kiss him.

“Bingo,” she answered. She stood then, taking back her wine bottle in one hand and taking his in the other.

“Let me know if anything is too much. I know you’re still recovering.”

They’d polished off the bottle of wine while he gave her as much intel as he could as she scribbled furiously in her notebook. He didn’t even flinch when she took a line of cocaine to keep her alert. What could she do? She couldn’t afford any worthwhile painkillers. She still wore a brace around her ribs, though her black eye had turned more yellow than purple now and her lip was healing quite quickly. The cut was almost gone.

“Pain makes it easier to keep my feelings as simple as money makes yours.”

“I wish it wasn’t like that. I wish just once I could make love to you, not just fuck you.”

“Love?” she scoffed.

“You know what I mean. Something…softer.”

“That’s a nice thought. But no matter what we do tonight, it’s bound to hurt. So just lean into that.”

Javier sighed as he reached into his wallet to pull out her usual fee. Then he placed another twenty on top of it.

“Javi,” she began to protest.

“I’d prefer if you stayed mostly mine. I can only guess how your job search has been going, but knowing what I know about this city…”

“Fruitless,” she laughed, though it was dry and hollow. “So…yeah. That’s the only avenue left to me.”

“But I still want you to be mine.”

“No you don’t.” If she accepted it, it’d hurt her.

“I do. I want you so much, even when I’m elsewhere.”

“Then only come here.”

“I can’t.”

“Then I don’t belong to you.”

“But for right now?”

She closed the gap between them, running a hand over his cheek and down his neck and stopping on his chest. “You took my stubborn ass to a hospital. So, yeah, for now, you have me. All to yourself.”

He kissed her then, so gentle at first. His thumb brushed over the bruises around her eye before his hands dipped down to her side, barely touching her ribs before settling on her hips. As usual. When would he tire of inflicting the same bruises upon her?

“I want to see your face tonight,” he whispered. “I won’t be rough, I promise.”

“I told you hurting me makes it better.”

She brushed past him then, taking off her shirt in one smooth movement and her shorts the next. She sat on the edge of the bed. In nothing more than her bra, her brace, and her underwear. Waiting.

After heaving a heavy sigh, he followed her, already unbuttoning his shirt.

“I don’t like hurting you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Not for real.”

“Too bad.”

His shirt was on the floor now. He was unbuttoning his jeans now.

She went to her knees. Instinctually.

“You don’t have to…”

Sure. Sure I don’t.

He could pretend all he wanted, but he stood before her anyway. She unzipped his jeans and pulled out his cock all the same. It was only half hard. Disappointing. Anything other than wanting to fuck her senseless was disappointing at this point. She took his length in her hand and stroked it gently, eyes locked with his. His breathing picked up almost instantly, a gentle sigh escaping his lips as she licked his tip. Now he was hard.

So she went straight to work.

She relaxed her throat as best she could. She braced herself so that even if tears welled in her eyes, they wouldn’t fall. She wasn’t perfect, but she was better than last time. Even when he began to thrust into her, moaning in earnest, she didn’t gag. She only cried a little bit, and towards the end she was even able to begin to move her head in time when he pushed to get him even deeper within her.

After that, it wasn’t long until he had to pull out.

“You’re too much,” he huffed. “You’ve gotten too good.”

“That’s your own fault.” Still she waited on her knees.

“Get up. Get on the bed.”

“Yes, daddy.” It was a reflex by now, escaping her every time she could tell he was in the moment.

“No.” His response took her by surprise. “Only my name now.”

“All the time?” She laid herself out on the bed as best she could, trying to look as prone and fuckable as possible with her bruises and cuts and brace still wrapping across her ribs.

“All the time.” He emptied his pockets and thrust his jeans down and stepped out of them as he positioned himself above her. He hooked his thumbs expertly around her panties and pulled them off as if they were nothing. Two fingers were inside her before she could even respond.

“Yes, Javi,” she moaned.

He leaned down to kiss her, but only fleetingly. He sat up, brushing some of her hair off her forehead before picking up his pace.

She was losing her ability to keep control of her expressions and her body. She wanted to play pretend, to compensate for her ugly injuries and try to be as desirable as possible. She couldn’t be a mess. Why, not though? What was she afraid of? That if Javier didn’t find her attractive for even a night he’d lose interest?

It was a juvenile concern, but it was there all the same. After what they’d been through, she should feel more secure than ever that he wouldn’t stop seeking her out.

As he brought his thumb to her clit, she had to close her eyes.

She couldn’t look at him.

Goddamnit.

She’d hope that their new understanding and arrangement would make it easier, make her want him less.

No such luck.

If she kept staring into his face, at his eyes half lidded, biting his lip, focused only on pleasing her (at least for now) her heart would start to hurt.

Pain makes it easier. Not that kind of pain, though.

She wrapped an arm around her ribs and squeezed, the breath going out of her as she cried out a little.

It helped.

She was able to open her eyes again, and as she met Javi’s gaze he added another finger and began curling them inside her, stretching her out even further. It felt so good. So she squeezed her ribs again and bit her lip as the stabbing pain washed over her.

But all too soon he was pulling out of her, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean.

“You taste so good,” he murmured, pulling her legs further apart and centering himself over her.

She flexed her fingers against her ribs and gasped in time with the way he sank into her to the hilt. Unfortunately the way he’d prepared her before meant it only felt good, without the usual initial pressure, and she couldn’t help but feel like he’d done it on purpose.

Stubborn bastard.

He placed his hands on her hips, gentler than ever before as he began to massage small circles into her skin.

She wanted what she’d asked for.

So she grabbed his wrists and led his hands up to her ribs, the pressure of his touch sending the most beautiful ache through her entire body.

“What are you doing?” He paused inside her, moving his hands to hover at her sides without touching her.

“What do you mean?” she asked, playing dumb.

“Your ribs, they’re -”

“It doesn’t hurt. It does when you bruise my hips in the same place every time, though,” she lied, pouting a little bit to try to look more convincing.

He didn’t look like he believed her. Instead he seemed hesitant, but when she didn’t back down his expression became defeated.

“Are you sure you want this?” The tone of his voice told her he knew what she was doing, and she wrapped her legs around him to pull him further into her as thanks.

“Mmhmm,” she nodded. With a sigh Javier returned his hands to her ribs, albeit gently, and began thrusting into her again, groaning as she flexed around him for good measure.

The pain coursing through her as he gripped her sides allowed her to run her fingers through his hair, to lean up to kiss him, to relish once more in the way he felt inside her. As he began to pick up his pace his fingers tightened around her. She gasped, half in pain and half in pleasure, mixing together in a high that made her eyes flutter shut. Finally, her head was clear. Finally, she could enjoy herself without her feelings getting in the way.

“Harder, Javi,” she breathed, her fingers curling into fists as she held onto the hair at the nape of his neck. He obliged in both ways, leaning forward to rest his face in the crook of her neck, nipping at her shoulder and throat between heavy breaths. She rewarded him by adjusting her legs to let him slip even further into her than before and contracting the muscles to make herself even tighter around him.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he moaned, biting her earlobe hard as his thrusts became fiercer.

“It’s what you deserve,” she whispered, raking her fingernails down his back hard enough that she might leave scratches. His grip on her ribs became firmer and she cried out, a sound of ecstasy mixed with agony.

Javier seemed to have gotten over his reservations, because the sound only made him go faster, his teeth sinking deeper into her skin. He was sure to leave marks, red and purple and prominent.

“I’d prefer if you stayed mostly mine.”

His words slipped through her mind at that moment and she couldn’t help but laugh.

He was claiming his territory.

I can do the same.

She pushed his chest hard, prying his mouth from her neck and sitting him up straight. She hooked her legs behind his knees and launched herself up, forcing him to turn and lay down. It was only a few moments before she was guiding him into her again, setting the pace as she moved up and down, forwards and backwards, grinding against him hard and fast.

He was out of breath for a moment, not knowing what to do with his hands or his face. But as she let her fingers dig into his chest he regained a sense of himself and latched a hand onto her throat, squeezing so hard she lost her breath all at once.

“This is how it should be,” she whispered, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as she tried to breathe.

“If it’s what you want,” he groaned, his other hand roaming up her thigh and massaging her hot flesh, “then it’s what you’ll get.”

She unlatched her bra and tossed it somewhere to her left, needing to be more exposed, more vulnerable.

Javier responded by sitting up to swirl his tongue around her nipples, gripping her throat harder, his other hand squeezing her ribs, thrusting up into her, sending her straight over the edge.

Her orgasm came over her suddenly and unexpectedly, eliciting a cry as she clung to his shoulders for support, unable to handle the pleasure and the pain. It was exactly what she wanted - the closeness of feeling him inside her, the distance of hurting while he was.

“On your knees,” he demanded, thrusting her down beneath him by her throat, slamming her into the mattress so hard she had to grit her teeth to stomach the pain that rippled through her.

She obliged, of course, turning and resting her head against the bed as she made her sex as high and accesible as possible. He sunk into her without hesitation, his hands naturally digging into her hips before shifting them up to her ribs, for her sake, and gripping them with varying intensity.

It was clear he was still hesitant, but willing to submit to some degree for her pleasure.

If anything, he drove her crazy.

“Javi, you’re so good to me,” she moaned, biting her lip to withstand the ache in her chest. The good kind of ache. The kind that came from her fragile ribs, not her fragile heart.

“Don’t you forget it,” he answered, picking up his pace, wrapping one of his hands around her waist to swirl around her clit. “No one can fuck you like I do.”

It wasn’t long before she was climaxing again, a beautiful fireworks show of tightening muscles and trembling limbs and excruciating pressure on the broken parts of her. Javier was soon to follow, burying himself in her as he did, both his hands slipping up to squeeze her breasts.

He stayed inside her, guiding her down to lay flat on the bed as he peppered kisses across her shoulders, running his fingers down her spine so softly it made her shiver. Only then did he pull out.

“Stay there,” he murmured. She turned her head to watch him light a cigarette and slip into his jeans before he made his way to the bathroom to grab her a towel. He made quick work of cleaning her up before tossing the towel onto the floor and sitting beside her, letting his head loll against the wall as he took a deep draw from his cigarette.

“Want one?” he asked, turning to look down at her with one eyebrow naturally raising itself higher than the other.

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, sitting up to join him. He lit it for her and then put his hand on her thigh, his thumb tracing small circles into her skin.

“There’s something I want to give you,” he said after a few moments of comfortable, hazy silence.

“What?”

She was intrigued.

“This,” he replied, picking up his gun.

Now she was wary. “I - uh - why?”

“For protection. If that cartel member thinks you know too much, he might come looking for you.”

“He doesn’t know where I live,” she began, but he cut her off by shaking his head.

“It won’t take much asking around about a foreign prostitute for him to find you. Carry it in your waistband whenever you go out. If he’s trailing you, it might put him off. But keep it hidden in here so your clients can’t find it.”

She swallowed hard and nodded.

“You know how to shoot?”

She nodded again. Her father was paranoid about nearly everything, which in addition to stockpiling food and medical supplies meant she’d spent several summers taking trips to the nearest forest to learn how to shoot. Pistols, revolvers, shotguns, rifles. She didn’t ask how he’d gotten them, didn’t try to protest that learning wasn’t necessary.

Now it seemed a bit like fate.

“You have a phone?”

She pointed to the far wall of the kitchen where the clunky, outdated phone hung, loose and crooked.

“This is my number,” he said, pulling a small folded piece of paper out of the back pocket of his jeans. “Office and cell phone. If something happens, you call me, not the police. I’ll send officers who aren’t on the cartel payroll.”

“Javi, you don’t have to do this,” she protested. “You have enough to worry about.”

There he went, being too nice to her again. It felt bittersweet, twisting her heart and stomach at the same time.

“Exactly. If I didn’t try to protect you, I’d be worried about you.”

That took her by surprise. She couldn’t think of anything to say. He said it so simply, as if she’d been stupid to think otherwise. He caught her by surprise again as he leaned forward to place a light kiss on her forehead.

“I’ve gotta go,” he sighed. “But I’ll be back next week.”

Without thinking about it she reached up to cup his face in her hands and kiss him on the lips. Slowly, and heavy with the weight of how much she owed him. He’d become the only thing keeping her in Colombia, keeping her dream of finishing her book alive.

“Thank you, Javi,” she whispered, pulling away and resting her forehead against his, eyes closed.

She’d do whatever she could to make it worth his while.

“Yeah.” He pulled away, not unkindly, and finished getting dressed, tossing her her bra and panties before stuffing his belongings back into his pockets.

All of them except for the gun.

It stayed on the bedside table, equal parts comforting and foreboding.

She couldn’t look away, not even when Javier said goodbye and closed the door behind him. She stayed like that, frozen and naked and staring at the cold, gleaming metal until her neck began to ache and she started to shiver.

#narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos fanfic #Javier Peña #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña fanfic #Javier Peña fic #Javier Peña smut #narcos smut #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #pedro pascal #yep still feel weird tagging him #oh well #little lies

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whitewallwhispers · 5 years ago

Text

Little Lies

Narcos - Javier Peña - Series

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine

Her latest target is a D.E.A. Agent named Javier Peña. And things are getting complicated.

Warnings: Brief descriptions of violence, descriptions of blood and bodily injury, mention of guns, strong language (pretty much every expletive under the sun).

Author’s Note: This is a little different than the rest of the series, hope you guys don’t mind the switch-up!

Tag List: @fanfiction-trashpile

Every single breath felt like a knife to her chest. She could practically feel her ribs rattling against her lungs with each step, but her main focus was fighting the way her vision was growing narrower and narrower by the second.

Only a few more blocks left. She turned a sharp corner to move through a back way. A shortcut. Dimly lit, probably a bad idea at any other time, but she needed to get home as quickly as possible. She felt another drop of blood fall from her chin and hastily tried to wipe it up with her forearm, but it was already so caked in dried blood it probably just smeared it around and made it worse.

Her right eye was throbbing, surely swollen, surely blackening by the minute.

She’d gotten too cocky.

She’d asked too blatant of a question.

Now she’d have to find another cartel contact, because she was sure the next time she saw Manuel he’d be giving her a bullet, not his fists.

Without warning, her feet went out from under her and she crashed into the ground, barely catching herself in time before her face could slam into the pavement. If her chest hurt before, it was nothing compared to now. She coughed weakly and blood splattered the ground in front of her.

It probably took her a full minute to stand up again, but it was hard to tell because her vision went in and out and she lost all sense of herself more than once. She walked as quickly as she could without screaming out in pain - which was very, very slowly.

It seemed like a miracle when she finally reached her own street.

But it turned to a nightmare when she made out the hazy silhouette of a man leaning against the door to her apartment building.

Fuck.

Had Manuel somehow figured out where she lived?

Was he here to finish her off?

Or was it one of his friends, or…or?

Whatever the answer, it was too much for her to process in her current state. She felt the ground go out beneath her as she stumbled back and slammed into the building behind her, sliding down to the dirt as her vision finally slipped entirely into nothingness.

“Holy fuck.” The voice was both familiar and frantic. “Can you hear me?”

There were hands hurriedly brushing over her face, fingertips grazing over her eyes and lips. No matter how gently, it still hurt. For one hazy moment she had no idea where she was or what was happening.

But then it all came back to her at once.

She was in danger.

Her eyes flew open to find someone crouching over her.

“Please don’t kill me,” she croaked.

Pathetic.

She always thought that if she were to be in one of these situations she’d go out fighting. But everything hurt so much and her head wouldn’t stop spinning and the taste of blood in her mouth made her even dizzier and there was nothing she could think to do other than beg for her life.

“It’s okay, it’s me. It’s Javier,” the shadow said.

Javi?

“What are you doing here?”

It’d been more than a month since she’d last seen him, that night when she’d decided the information she could extract from him wasn’t worth the way she was growing too close to him.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” he answered.

“No,” she shook her head, even though it hurt like hell. “I don’t have enough money.”

For once she wasn’t lying to him. Her parents had become increasingly wary of her time in Colombia and were trying to convince her to come home by slowly cutting her off financially. Now she really was dependent on the money she made from selling herself.

“I’ll pay.” There wasn’t even a hint of hesitation in his voice. His hands were already reaching to pick her up, but she squirmed out of his grip.

“I told you to stop being nice to me. Go away.”

“You think I’m going to leave you like this?” his voice was strained with something she couldn’t quite pinpoint. “At least let me get you inside.”

Fine.

She’d be an idiot not to admit she’d need help getting up to her apartment.

“You can’t stay. Just get me upstairs. You can’t come in.”

He was lifting her then, pulling her to her feet and ducking to place one of her arms around his broad shoulders. Her feet scraped against the ground as they walked across the street and up to the front door. She punched in the code on the dilapidated old door box. When the buzzer sounded Peña opened it and practically dragged her inside.

It took her several minutes to get up the stairs, taking each step slowly and carefully. Several times Javier tried to scoop up her legs and just carry her up on his own, but she wouldn’t let him.

It was bad enough that he was here, bad enough that she was seeing him again, bad enough that he was seeing her in her current state.

She was embarrassed. Out of her depth again. Being too naive again.

Would she ever feel anything other than stupid around him?

They finally reached her door and she began rummaging around in her pocket for her keys.

“You can go,” she said, pulling them out and sliding the right one into the first lock.

“I’m not leaving you like this. Not after you disappear for an entire fucking month and show up looking like you just got the shit beaten out of you.”

She let her forehead rest against her door. She didn’t know what hurt worse: her broken body or the thought of letting him in one more time.

“I didn’t disappear,” she mumbled through her busted lip.

“I’ve been going to that bar every single free night I have and you’re never there.”

“Must’ve just been going on different nights, then.”

“I asked the bartender. He hasn’t seen you in weeks.”

“Why do you care? It’s not like you don’t have other options.”

“That’s not what this is about. What’s going on?”

“You’ve already helped enough. Thank you. Now go.”

“Stop it. You can’t be on your own right now. End of story.” Javier took her key from her with ease and continued unlocking the door, pushing it open and gently leading her inside. She stumbled to rest against the counter as he shut and locked the door. He threw her keys down behind her and came closer to inspect her face. She tried to shake him off but she didn’t have the strength.

“Who did this to you?” he murmured, gently turning her face to either side to inspect it. She didn’t know how she looked, but given the grimace on his face she assumed it was awful. Great. Somehow that made him being there even worse.

“A friend,” she coughed. She could feel blood in her mouth and glanced down at her right arm. Just as she had expected, it was completely coated and smeared and half dried.

“The friend I told you to see?”

Maybe she should’ve lied, but it didn’t occur to her in the moment. So she nodded.

“Goddamnit,” Javier whispered, letting go of her face for a moment as he stepped back to collect himself. “Fuck.” She’d never heard him sound so angry. “Was it because you were trying to get information out of him?”

“Javi, it doesn’t matter.” She shook her head. It didn’t. She hadn’t been asking for him.

“It’s my fault.” He turned away from her and ripped a dish towel from the nearby rack. She coughed again and blood came pouring out of her mouth. All night she’d thought it’d been coming from the gash in her lip, but now she wasn’t so sure.

Javier soaked the towel under the faucet and came back to her, carefully wiping away the dirt and blood from her face. “It’s my fault,” he muttered again and again, though whether to her or to himself she couldn’t tell.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said at last as he moved to rinse the grime off of the towel.

The pain of her wounds was ebbing while the pain of Javier showing her so much kindness was growing.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want you to be.”

He began wiping her face again, his expression almost as pained as she felt. “I know. This is my fault, I’m so sorry. I can’t say that enough.”

“This isn’t your fault Javi, it’s just -” her words were cut off as he tried to place a reassuring hand on her side and she cried out in agony.

“Shit.” Before she could even process what was happening he was carefully lifting her shirt up and examining her grimly. “Some of your ribs are probably broken, we should really get you to a hospital.”

“Javi, just leave, please.” It took all the energy she had to push him away, and after she did her legs gave up on her again and she slid down to the floor.

“Stop saying that. Why do you keep saying that?” He ran a hand through his hair and looked down at her with a thoroughly exasperated and confused expression.

“I lied to you,” she murmured, closing her eyes to stop the room from spinning.

“I know.” His voice came after a few moments of silence and was both soft and resigned.

“You know?” Her eyes snapped open again, looking at him in surprise and shame.

Of course he knew. She was a terrible liar. She should’ve guessed.

“Your parents weren’t missionaries. Or, if they were, the cartel didn’t kill them. Escobar doesn’t kill religious organizations working in the comunas, it’d go against his Robin Hood narrative.”

“…right.”

That wasn’t the lie she’d expected him to uncover.

“But I don’t give a shit about your parents or why you’re here. I don’t care that you lied about that.”

“That’s just one of many.”

If he wouldn’t leave because she asked him, maybe he’d leave if he knew the truth.

“I don’t give a shit. But we need to get you to a hospital. Now.”

“I’m not going. I can’t afford it. And I won’t let you pay for me. You’ve done that too many times already.”

His expression faltered at that, and he leaned against the fridge, slowly sinking down to the floor across from her.

“Too…too many times?”

She nodded.

“Did you…did you not want it last time? If I… holy fuck, I mean, if I -”

She shook her head.

“Not like that.”

Peña didn’t seem to know what to say to that. So he didn’t say anything. Instead he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and stared at her. He seemed to read the question in her eyes and pulled another out for her, leaning forward to light it for her before returning to his slumped position opposite her.

One cigarette. That’s how long she could stand him being there. That’s how long she could stand looking into his eyes and facing that vast disconnect. There was kindness there, but detachment. Concern, but hesitation. It was the way you looked at someone you knew you should help, that you knew you should care about, but you couldn’t actually bring yourself to love them.

She sure as fuck didn’t love him. But she cared enough about him that that’s where it would lead eventually.

And she’d be completely alone in that. There was no hope of reciprocation here, not in those eyes.

Probably because those eyes had seen too much shit. And would continue to see too much shit.

And who had time to give a fuck about anyone else when you had to go through what he did?

“It all started so simply, didn’t it?” she began, laughing emptily as she took another puff.

“What do you mean?”

“Javi, I can’t be around you because I actually give a shit about you, alright? And I know you won’t feel the same way about me, and that fucking sucks and I don’t want to deal with that.”

He scoffed. At first he looked disbelieving, then furious.

“You think I don’t give a shit about you? You think I’ve been begging to take you to a hospital because I don’t give a shit about you?”

“Why do I want you so much? What about, I think about you fucking someone else and I can’t help but feel jealous. You don’t mean those things when you say them and I know that and I can’t stand it.”

“Isn’t that standard in your line of work?”

She’d have preferred if he’d stabbed her.

“I’m not really a prostitute, Javi. I’m just an idiot.”

“I mean, I know you’re new to all of this but still -”

“I’m a writer.” She cut him off before he could hurt her any further. She’d get it all out now, all of the truth, and then he’d know and then he’d leave her alone for good. “My parents weren’t missionaries. They’re alive and in Germany and they’ve been paying my rent. Well, not anymore, but I came here to do research on a book about the cartel wars. You were supposed to be research. Some other people I interviewed let me know that you’re a whore hound, and I thought if I could get you to fuck me you’d give me intel I could use for my book.”

Javier stared at her, his face stony and eyes growing colder by the second.

“So you knew who I was from the start?” he asked finally.

She nodded. “Yes. I was using you. I was taking your money and your sympathy in exchange for lies.”

“So what changed?”

She blinked in surprise. She’d expected that to be the end of it - that he’d find out she’d duped him and he’d be done with her and her bullshit. But maybe the last truth would be the one to set her free.

“I want you, Javi.” She shrugged, and when she did she caught sight of her bloodied arm and remembered how disgusting she must look at the moment and began to laugh. “Like I said, I’m not a prostitute, I’m just an idiot. I don’t know how to do what they do. I don’t know how to not care, not when someone’s good. Not when someone looks like you, talks like you.”

“I’m not lying when I say I think about you all the time,” he cut her off. “I’m lying when I say I only think about fucking you.”

“You and I both know that doesn’t mean you want anything more from me.”

“You’re right. But don’t think I don’t care about you. Don’t think I don’t want you, too. I just - with what I do, I can’t allot the mental space to really be with someone.”

She nodded. “Okay. But I lied to you.”

He took another draw from his cigarette and shook his head.

“So?”

“So…there’s nothing more for us.”

“Says who?”

“Will you stop seeing prostitutes?”

“No. And I won’t stop paying you, either. That’s what I can give in return. Money. It keeps things…simple.”

“So I’ll have to keep seeing cartel members. So I’ll probably get the shit beaten out of me again. I don’t know if it’s worth it. I should probably just give up.” It hurt to admit, but it seemed now like she’d failed. She lost both her cartel and D.E.A contacts. “I should just go home. I fucked up. I ruined it. Better I admit it now than drag it out any longer.”

“No,” he shook his head. “I can give you intel. Nothing classified, but I can tell you what I know and what I learn from my other informants. Just…don’t see cartel members anymore. Get a different job. Or not. Just see regular men, men who won’t kill you if you know too much about them.”

“How can you say that?” Despite her every effort, she felt herself tearing up. Fuck. Why did she always get so goddamn weepy around him? “I lied to you, Javi. It’d be better to just let me fail.”

“I believe in you. I haven’t read a single word of what you’ve written, but if you’re dedicated enough to this story that you’re putting your life and…everything else on the line, you shouldn’t give up.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It was too good to be true. And maybe too dangerous. Maybe if he showed her this continued kindness it’d only make it worse. But if he did care about her, in his own fucked up backwards way, that would be enough to make her not want to jump out a window every time she was near him.

“I -”

“Enough of this shit. I care about you. I don’t care that you’ve been lying to me, your intentions were fine. Not good, but fine. I don’t want to stop seeing you. But we really need to get you to a hospital, and if you don’t go with me willingly I’ll drag you kicking and screaming. It’s happening either way.”

“Fine.” He helped her to her feet and she grabbed her keys from the counter before he led her out the front door and down the gritty staircase.

#narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos fanfic #narcos fic #Javier Peña #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña fanfic #Javier Peña fic #fanfiction #fanfic #pedro pascal #I feel a lil less weird tagging him when there's no smut #little lies

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whitewallwhispers · 5 years ago

Text

Little Lies

Narcos - Javier Peña - Series

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine

Her latest target is a D.E.A. Agent named Javier Peña. And things are getting complicated.

Warnings: Drug use (cocaine), alcohol use (wine), strong language (pretty much every expletive under the sun), smut - mentions of oral sex (male receiving), rough sex (mentions of hair pulling, choking), unprotected sex (wrap it up, folks), daddy kink

My hope is that you can imagine this character as any race with any style of hair (as someone with short hair I get annoyed when every fic mentions long locks and ponytails).

He certainly left bruises. On her hips, her wrists. Purple at first before fading to yellow in the week that had passed since she last saw him. She’d gone to the bar every night, drinking away her parents’ money in the faint hope he’d show.

He didn’t.

She tried not to take it personally. She tried not to think about the possibility that he’d gone back to his regulars and forgotten all about her.

Maybe that’s why she’d decided to blow through an entire packet of coke, railing line after line off her counter as she wrote, though it wasn’t long before she was running into a dead end of ideas. If Peña had given up on her, she’d have to find another cartel member soon to give her more information. If she couldn’t gain the perspective of the opposite side, she might as well gain more insight into the one she already knew.

Her high made her forget that the next packet of her supply still laid on her bedside table. It didn’t help that she’d gone for the bottle of white wine she had in her fridge, drinking deeply straight from it as she moved to turn on her stereo, dancing to herself to Billie Holiday as she took another pull, her lips numb and limbs buzzing.

Maybe I should call it a night on writing. She’d been stuck for the past hour and even the coke had failed to stimulate her further. Maybe she could drown out the strange strain in her chest with the next packet she had. Maybe the wine would give her a hangover, and she’d spend the whole day tomorrow thinking only about how miserable she felt instead of wondering what Peña was doing and if she’d ever see him again.

Thirty minutes further into dancing by herself she’d drank nearly half the bottle of wine and taken another line from her fresh pouch.

She was being irresponsible.

She thought there wouldn’t be consequences.

She wasn’t thinking straight.

So when there came a knock at her door, she opened it straight away without peeking through the chain to see who it was.

Fuck fuck fuck.

She now had her door wide open to Peña, who was giving her an apologetic look.

“I know I said I wouldn’t turn up unannounced next time, but you wouldn’t believe what a week it’s been.”

Before she could even think he was stepping into her apartment.

“Wait,” she choked. “Hold on.”

But by the time she’d thought to stop him, he was already in the door. He could already see what she was about to do. He’d see her hiding the coke and he’d know and he’d hate her and she’d lose her only chance at writing about both sides of the story. He saw her panic.

“What’s the matter?” his voice was full of concern, too sweet in contrast to the severity of the situation.

“Can you close your eyes? Please? I know it sounds weird, but…”

“I - uh - sure, I guess,” he answered, mercifully shutting them without question.

She reached behind her to the counter to put down her wine and grab her manuscript before sprinting to her bedside table, stuffing the baggie of coke on top of the papers and shutting them safely away in the drawer.

“Okay, you can open them now,” she said, returning in front of him.

He was on her immediately, lips hot and heavy as he pushed her further into the room. It unfolded much like last time. He forced her onto her knees. This time she did a better job of relaxing her throat, and as such he thrusted into her harder than before. She didn’t gag once, and he rewarded her by eating her out before he began to pummel her into the bed in every position imaginable. There were no handcuffs this time, but plenty of hair pulling and insistence on calling him daddy and choking.

He came inside her again, and this time she made sure she got up to go to the bathroom first. He required no cleanup. That should automatically grant her first dibs.

But it was a mistake. After she’d taken care of everything she washed her hands and opened the door, only to find Javier standing there, jeans on but shirtless, his gun held lazily in his hand that rested against the wall as the other held up his badge.

“You wanna know what this means, sweetheart?” His voice was calm and even, but his eyes were dark.

Fuck. Had he looked when he said he’d close his eyes? Had she forgotten to hide something? Or please, for the love of God let this be some weird sort of kinky roleplay bullshit. He took a step towards her and she fought the urge to take a step back. It’d look too suspicious. Instead she tried to play dumb.

“Hmm…American Beurau of Fuckall?” she asked coyly.

“Wrong letters.”

“Unless you’ve been studying up on the Berlin Wall I don’t think you get to quiz me about anything.” She rolled her eyes and turned back to the mirror, frantically looking for something to do with her hands. Lipstick. Bingo. She pulled open her makeup drawer and grabbed the first tube she found before hurriedly applying it. She prayed he couldn’t see the way her hand was shaking.

Javier stepped fully into the bathroom now, standing directly behind her, his arm holding the gun wrapping around her waist while the other returned his badge to his back pocket. He pushed her forward until she was stuck between him and the counter.

“That thing better not be loaded,” she joked, “and your gun better be empty too.” She finished with her lips and began to toy with her hair instead, avoiding his eyes in the mirror.

“What’s this?” he asked, bending so his mouth pressed close to her ear, dangling something small in front of her.

“What does it look like?” she said with a shrug. Holy fuck. It was a baggie of coke. Her coke. She couldn’t tell if she’d left it out or he’d gone looking for it and honestly it didn’t matter right now. The only thing she needed to focus on was sounding as oblivious as possible. “If you want some go ahead, I don’t mind.”

His grip on her tightened painfully, the cold metal of his gun biting into her bare skin.

“Where’d you get it?”

“A friend.”

“What kind of friend?”

“The same kind you are.”

His arm loosened its hold on her slightly, but she was still pinned between him and the sink.

“Do you know who your friend works for?”

“I mean, he’s never said, but given he pays me half in coke I think you and I can wager a guess.”

Javier nodded.

“How often do you see this friend?”

“Not often.” A lie. She’d only seen him once. But he made sure she knew where to find him again.

“Are you friends with anyone else he works with?”

She shook her head.

“Could you be?”

“Why?” she laughed. “Bored of me already? Worried I’ll go broke when you stop calling?”

“I’m D.E.A.”

She blinked. “Yeah, I still don’t know what that means.” Oh, yes I do.

“Drug Enforcement Administration.”

Time to play it up.

“Oh shit, Javi, listen, I can explain,” she stammered. “Please, don’t -”

“Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble,” he reassured her, placing the baggie on the counter and stroking her cheek. “Not unless you refuse my offer.”

“Offer?”

Okay, now she was lost.

“See your friend more often. See his friends. See his friends who are more powerful than he is. And I’ll keep seeing you, and if you tell me where they are or what they say or anything useful about what they’re doing, I’ll pay double.”

She gulped. On the one hand, she’d already been considering seeing cartel members more frequently for info. On the other, she wasn’t sure if she was prepared to really commit to being a prostitute. It wouldn’t be pretend anymore. Instead of a writer playing at being a whore, she’d be a whore who was writing a novel.

“You…you won’t get in trouble for sleeping with someone who does coke?” she whimpered, trying to still sound scared of him while inside she was really just scared shitless of herself and the mess she’d gotten into.

“What, you think you’re the only whore in Medellin who partakes? You think you’re the only one I see?”

She bit her lip. Why the fuck did that hurt?

“Right,” she nodded, suddenly unable to look him in the eyes.

“You’re so naive,” he sighed. He placed his gun on the counter and returned his hand to her hip, thumb brushing over the bone with the same intensity as when they fucked. His lips found her neck and they began to press feverishly against her skin, gently biting her between every kiss.

His free hand reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, briefly letting go of her long enough to pull out a stack of bills and toss it next to his gun.

“The only info I have on him is old, probably useless to you now,” she stammered.

“That’s not what it’s for.” After shoving his wallet back into his jeans he gripped her waist and pushed his body so tightly against her back that her hips ground painfully into the sink. She gasped at the way it hurt, but it only made him groan into the crook of her neck, biting her harder now.

“J-Javi,” she breathed, not knowing which pain to focus on.

“Why do I want you so much?”

She blinked in surprise. His voice sounded so vulnerable. Raw and honest.

“I know I just told you to, but…I think about you fucking someone else and I can’t help but feel jealous.” His hands tugged down her panties and she could feel his growing erection pressing into her lower back.

What the fuck was she supposed to say to that?

Especially since she felt the same way.

Come on, think of something clever.

She couldn’t, her mind was completely scrambled between the way her hips were embedded against the cold porcelain, the way his lips were trailing across her collarbones and shoulder, the way his hands were pulling out his cock and pushing it between her legs.

His hand came to her other shoulder and bent her forward, her reflection flying towards her as she leaned closer to the mirror. She looked at him in the glass, noting the way his eyes were heavily lidded and mouth was hanging open slightly as he breathed heavily.

“I find myself daydreaming about being inside you all the time. It’s so fucking distracting,” he huffed, sliding into her and meeting her eyes in the mirror. She braced herself against the sink, crying out gently as her hips were pushed further into the counter. He pumped in and out of her slowly, keeping his eyes locked on hers.

“See how pretty you look when I fuck you?”

“Javi,” was the only response she could think of. Think of? There hadn’t been any thought in it, it slipped out of her as she threw her head back. He felt so good, and hurt so much. Not just the way he trapped her against the sink, but the way she wanted him.

She’d gotten attached.

She really was too naive, too inexperienced, too out of her depth.

Childish, almost, in the way she let herself develop feelings for him just because he was the first man to make her orgasm, the first man she dreamed about when he wasn’t there, the first man to make her feel desirable. She felt so silly, so ashamed of how she’d lost her professional objectivity.

She was so lost in thought she didn’t notice the tears that welled in her eyes. It wasn’t until one slipped down her cheek that she realized she was crying. Javier pulled out of her immediately, turning her around to face him.

“Am I being too rough?” he asked, eyes searching hers.

“No,” she shook her head, her voice pathetically weak. “Go harder.” Maybe the physical pain would drown out the embarrassment and confusion currently filling her mind.

“I won’t if you’re crying.”

“Please just do it. I’ll use our safe word if it’s too much.”

His eyes surveyed her dubiously for a moment before he turned her back around, pushing her against the counter once more and bending her forward. His hands found her waist as he began to thrust into her again, grunting as she tensed around him.

She watched his face in the mirror, a few more tears spilling out her eyes before they stopped as she steadied herself. Focus on the physical, she thought. She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip so hard she was sure she’d break the skin. Her hips would be bruised again, much worse this time, but she began to relish in the way her bones ground against the sink.

He picked up his pace, slamming into her with stuttering breaths.

“No one feels as good as you,” he whispered.

“Don’t.” She hadn’t meant to say it. But it came out of her mouth anyway.

He froze inside her.

“Don’t what?” he sounded concerned again. Sweet.

Stop it.

“Don’t be nice to me. Don’t say nice things to me. Just fuck me and go.”

“I - are you sure you’re okay?”

Oh, great. She could feel herself getting choked up again. “Javi, just do what you’re paying me for.”

He sighed heavily and pulled out of her. “Fine. But not like this.” He pulled her up and shut the bathroom door, pushing her back up against it and kissing her gently, his fingertips softly brushing over her cheeks and neck. His hands trailed lower, sliding around her to undo her bra, pulling it off of her carefully and placing it on the counter beside his gun. His thumbs circled her nipples as he brought his lips back to hers, tongue hesitantly slipping into her mouth.

“You made your lip bleed,” he said, pulling back and looking at her with furrowed brows.

“Good.” Her voice was flat. The way he was treating her so softly was making everything worse.

“What’s going on?”

Frustrated, she grabbed his wrist and thrust his hand against her throat. “Please stop being like this. I want you to hurt me.”

His fingers flexed weakly against her neck, but still, he didn’t let go. “You’re acting different. Something’s off.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it. Just fuck me.”

“Look, you don’t have to be an informant for me if you don’t want to, I won’t get you in trouble, just -”

She went on her tiptoes and kissed him as hard as she could, her hand wrapping around and stroking his length.

“I’ll do whatever you want if you just finish this the way you started,” she breathed. “Please.”

Her touch seemed to bring his base instincts back into control, because his fingers began to tighten around her throat while his other hand hooked under her knee and pulled her leg up, pushing it beside her chest and testing the limits of her flexibility.

It burned. He held her leg in place so firmly she could feel the muscles straining as if they were ready to snap. As both his hands were occupied it was up to her to guide him into her center, but once he was inside her she let her hands brace herself against the door.

Their height difference made things a little awkward until he finally released her throat and scooped her other leg up, lifting and holding her against the door with his body as he thrust into her again and again. Her hands came to his shoulders, gripping them to feel the way the muscles were pulled taut with her weight.

He buried his face in her neck, panting against her hot skin.

There was no pain now, only pleasure, and it was almost too much to bear. He felt so good against her, inside her. She ran her fingers through his hair and breathed in the smell of sweat and sex and faded cologne that encompassed him.

She didn’t want to cum. But she did anyway, biting her lip again to keep herself from saying his name. She couldn’t do it to herself. It would hurt too much in the wrong way. In the way that came from inside.

“Good girl,” he murmured as she pulsed around him, legs shivering.

She hung her head back against the door, closing her eyes and trying to numb herself to his touch. It sounded like he’d finish soon and then he would leave and then she would never see him again.

She wouldn’t allow herself to.

Fuck it. Her book would only take place from the cartel’s perspective.

It wasn’t worth getting her heart broken over.

Because the money on the counter beside her bra and his gun was all she meant to him, all she’d ever be worth to him. And if she fucked him one more time it might kill her.

He came inside her, groaning as he held her against the door one long moment before gently bringing her down. As soon as her feet the floor she was picking up her clothes and the money, pushing through the door without looking at him. She rushed to get dressed before he could follow her, but she only got as far as her bra and panties and shirt before she heard his footsteps coming out of the bathroom.

“Cigarette?” he asked, walking past her and picking up his own shirt off the ground. He turned to study her while he buttoned it, but she didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.

“No,” came her blunt reply. She debated putting on her shorts but the minute he was gone she’d be under her covers feeling like shit, so she decided it wasn’t worth it. Instead she stood awkwardly against the back of the couch, arms crossed, looking everywhere in the room but at him. When she heard him light himself a cig she thought she should polish off the last of her wine.

Not wanting to risk walking near him in her suddenly unbearably small apartment, she decided to forgo actually stepping into the kitchen to get it and instead leaned over the counter from as far away as possible to grab it, her hips aching in protest as she did so. She took a deep swig before moving to go back to her perch on the couch, but when she turned she found herself nearly running right into his half-exposed chest.

“Why won’t you look at me?” he asked quietly.

Defiant, she met his gaze and was taken aback by how sad he looked.

Goddammit.

All she wanted to do was kiss away his frown and push back the messy hair from his face.

“Don’t show up unannounced next time,” was her only response.

Something flickered across his face so quickly she didn’t get the chance to recognize it before it was gone.

“Meet you at the bar, then?”

“Sure,” she nodded before pushing past him, resting on the back of the couch and taking another draw.

She’d never go to that bar again.

#narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos fanfic #narcos smut #Javier Peña #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña fanfic #Javier Peña fic #Javier Peña smut #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #heeeeeeeeeeere we go #pedro pascal #bye #little lies

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whitewallwhispers · 5 years ago

Text

Little Lies

Narcos - Javier Peña - Series

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine

Her latest target is a D.E.A. Agent named Javier Peña. But she’s already losing her focus.

A little less plot this time, but things are ramping up in the next chapters.

Warnings: Drug use (cocaine), strong language (pretty much every expletive under the sun), smut - oral sex (male receiving), rough sex (handcuffs, hair pulling), unprotected sex (wrap it up, folks), daddy kink

My hope is that you can imagine this character as any race with any style of hair (as someone with short hair I get annoyed when every fic mentions long locks and ponytails).

She raked up her third line of the evening with vigor, veins already pulsing with the intensity only good blow could provide. Tossing her dollar into the drawer, she returned her attention to her pages of notes, eyeing them carefully as she prepared the next segment of prose.

Currently in the story she was writing, the main character was trying to blend into a cartel deal, shifting coke away from the international trade and into the local market. She knew it happened on the regular. How else would she get her supply? The low-tier cartel member she’d fucked for information had told her he took cuts every now and then, thinking since she was foreign she wouldn’t be able to put the information into superior hands.

So far, he was right. And even if she did manage to score a connection higher up on the chain, she wasn’t about to snitch on her own supply.

Was it too soon for a fourth go around?

Fuck it.

She licked her finger and began padding it along her last line, rubbing it into her gums with vigor.

Much better.

There was something romantic about snorting, maybe it was because it was what Hollywood told you everyone did.

But rubbing it into the gums let your high last longer. Not by much, but still. It counted.

In no time she had decimated her final ticket to a high into a sparse assemblage of powder. But she quickly swiped that up too, unwilling to let anything go to waste. This shit was expensive, and while her parents provided most of her income, she felt obliged to use the money she made pretending to be a whore to pay for her illicit substances.

Was she pretending anymore, though?

Three times she’d taken cash in exchange for a fuck.

The barely-even-cartel member. The barely-even-police officer. The very much certified D.E.A. agent.

Maybe all of her interviews and research into the life of prostitutes had rubbed off on her more than she’d anticipated.

She’d just finally licked up all the coke she’d laid out when there was a sudden, sharp and firm rap at her door. With shaking hands she shoved her notes and manuscript into the drawer.

“Who’s there?” she called out anxiously, rising from her crouched position over her nightstand to place herself firmly between her door and the rest of her apartment.

“Me,” came a muffled voice through the thick wood.

She couldn’t make it out quite yet.

She approached the door slowly, undoing the two deadbolts and the lock on her handle, ensuring the chain was still in place before she cracked the door open just a peek.

To her immense surprise, it was Peña. She immediately closed the door and undid her chain, whipping the door open as soon as she could

“Javi?” she asked, unsure.

Instinctually, she wiped her nose.

Please, God, don’t let there be a trace of it on me.

She didn’t know what he’d do if he found out she was partaking in the exact thing he was trying to eradicate, but she also didn’t want to find out.

Thankfully he didn’t even seem to look at her. Instead, he lept on her, kissing her intensely before she could even process what was happening. He pushed his way into her apartment, his hands coming to wrap around her jaw as he pushed his tongue into her mouth before she could take a moment to think about what was occuring.

“The locks,” she breathed, pulling herself away from him with some effort.

“Fuck it,” he answered, “I have a gun. Let them try.”

He kicked the door shut without breaking his hold on her.

She couldn’t formulate a response before he was on her again, lips and tongue ravaging her as his hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips so hard it hurt, pushing her backwards into her apartment towards the bed.

Always ask for payment up front.

His words had stuck with her, and she hoped that if she expressed them now she’d receive some sort of approval.

With some effort she pulled her lips away from his. “How ‘bout that $200?”

“You’re learning,” he whispered. He shoved her back a bit, reaching in his back pocket for his wallet. Without looking at her he pulled a stack of bills out and threw it on her bedside table. Behind it came a pack of cigarettes, his badge, his wallet, and his gun.

The last one made her gulp.

If he knew what she’d been doing a moment ago, what was currently making its way through her veins, would he hold it on her?

Keep it to her temple as he took her into custody?

Thankfully she’d removed every trace of the cocaine from her bedside table. There was no way he could know what had been strewn across it moments ago.

As if he’d have time to examine it. As soon as his belongings were removed from his pockets he pushed her roughly onto her bed, undoing his belt as he loomed over her.

“On your knees. You know what to say.”

“Yes, daddy,” she answered, sitting up from where he’d thrown her to get on her knees before him.

Once again his cock was pulled out without the constraint of boxers or briefs, but much to her surprise, it was already hard.

They had been kissing maybe a minute max, but he was already ready for more.

A compliment? She decided to take it as such.

Given last time, she immediately focused on relaxing her throat, even as she merely swirled her tongue around his tip and took half his length with her mouth, her hand pumping in time along the upper end of his shaft.

His hands reached for her head and gripped her hair harder this time. He didn’t guide her along his member like he did before. Instead he held her firmly in place, thrusting into her faster than she’d been expecting.

Before she could adjust she gagged, her hands holding the back of his knees for leverage.

“Sorry,” he groaned. “I can’t help it, you just feel so good.”

Relax, she practically screamed internally. She did her best, and the next time he pushed into her she managed it better. She still couldn’t help the way her fingers began to dig into his jeans, the way tears spilled from her eyes, the way she could barely focus on what her tongue was doing. Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe all he needed was to fuck her mouth like he did her pussy. Maybe that was enough.

It seemed to be. He was already out of breath, groaning each time he dove into her.

She closed her eyes, entirely focused on relaxing her throat, tears leaking even though she’d hoped to stop them. Her high finally started to kick in, and boy did it help. Everything seemed easier. She couldn’t feel her lips or her tongue anymore, and her throat was soon to follow.

She couldn’t tell how long it’d been when he finally pulled all the way out of her. She coughed, spit involuntarily dripping down her chin. She tried to wipe it away before he could see, but no such luck. Instead he gripped her face hard in one hand and tilted her head up to look at him. With his other hand he gently wiped the saliva away, his face strangely serene.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmured, hands now gripping her forearms and pulling to her feet.

With deft fingers he unbuttoned her shorts and shoved them towards the floor, lifting her shirt above her head and undoing her bra with ease. She hadn’t thought to wear cute underwear, but he thrust them to the ground without second thought.

“On the bed,” he ordered. “Hands above your head.”

She did as he asked, watching as he took off his own clothes. She would’ve been nervous, but the coke was really pumping through her now and she was ready for anything. He pulled one last thing out of his pockets before dropping his jeans to the floor - handcuffs.

“Is this okay?” he asked, holding them up and leveling her with a serious gaze.

“If we have a safe word…?”

She’d never done anything even remotely kinky. The idea of diving right in made her gulp, despite the drugs. The fact that she’d been thinking about what he’d do if he knew about her coke habit didn’t help matters.

“Berlin,” he answered with a smirk.

That put her at ease a bit. He’d remembered something about her.

The momentary pleasure she’d derived in that moment became complicated as he came on top of her, legs parting hers so he was between her, member barely brushing against her stomach as he expertly undid the cuffs and slid them around her wrists.

The metal was cold and uninviting. He crossed her arms and tightened the cuffs until they were pushing into her skin. They were sure to leave marks.

“You do as I say,” he breathed, his hands finding her breasts and circling her nipples slowly. Now he knew it drove her mad - and she involuntarily leaned up to lodge herself more firmly in his grip. Her high demanded it.

“Anything for you, daddy,”

His hands gripped the underside of her thighs and ripped them apart. One came to guide his cock as he led it up and down her slit.

“You’re already wet,” he noted darkly. “I was gonna eat you out if you weren’t. But since you’re already there…”

Luckily, she braced herself. He pushed into her all the way, immediately bottoming out. His hands came to her hips and gripped her tightly as he thrust himself as far as he could again, and again, and again. To his credit, he was going slowly, but still. She wasn’t used to it. He probably assumed she’d had other clients in the days that had passed since she’d last seen him, but obviously that hadn’t been the case.

She wished with everything in her that she could grab onto him in return, raking her fingernails across his back and chest to hopefully give back some of the pain he was giving her, but her arms were trapped, useless, above her head. Even then, though, it wasn’t worth calling ‘Berlin’ over.

Already a warmth was growing in her pelvis, almost thriving on the way her core felt like it was splitting in two, gaining strength from the way his thumbs were most certainly bruising her hip bones. Whether it was the coke or the way she couldn’t stand how beautiful his face looked, slightly contorted, focused only on fucking her, she had no idea.

“Yes, daddy,” she moaned at last, trying to goad him on, “please, daddy.”

He picked up his pace almost instantly. She threw her head back, hands curling into fists as she wished with all her might that she could punish him for the way he was plowing into her.

“Who do you belong to?” he huffed, faltering slightly in his thrusts.

“You.”

“What was that?” came the sharp reply.

“You, daddy.” Her voice was breathless and only somewhat insincere. She certainly hadn’t thought of fucking anyone else since him, not even her fictional or celebtrity crushes that usually filled her head when she was sad and alone. But he was still, ultimately, a source of information. Sure, they had to fuck a few more times before he trusted her, but that’s what she really wanted. Material.

Right?

“Flip over,” he ordered, pulling out of her so suddenly she shivered at the lack of touch. Still, she obliged, trying her best to get on all fours. Surprisingly, he didn’t push her down this time. Instead, after a very brief exploration of her sex, he began slamming into her once more, fingers only further bruising the sensitive skin atop her hip bones.

It was easier to let her head hang down, but he wasn’t having it. One of his hands left her hips to grip onto her hair again, yanking until her back was arched and her eyes were locked on the ceiling as he continued to slam against her.

She was on her elbows, hands useless before her. She let her eyes roll back in her head as she focused on the pressure building in her core.

Unexpectedly, his other hand left her hip to slide beneath her, middle finger briefly searching before finding her clit, fingertip rolling against it in quick circles.

A little moan escaped her lips before she could stop it.

“Like this?” he asked.

“Yes, daddy,” came her loyal response.

“My name, now.”

“Yes, Javi.”

“I won’t stop until you cum.”

To be honest, it wouldn’t be long now, not with the added stimulation.

Now she was familiar with the heat growing within her, and the coke that also pulsed through her veins only heightened it. It was mere moments before she felt herself pulsing around him.

“Good girl,” he murmured, thrusting quicker.

The rest didn’t take long to follow. The burst of heat from her core. The way her limbs trembled through it. The way his continued stimulation made tears prick behind her eyes.

Though she’d been expecting one more position, he began to moan in earnest and soon after he pulled out. She felt him cum on her, hot and sticky, pooling in the crevices of her back before running down her ass.

He fell beside her with a groan, instantly reaching for his cigarettes and lighting one.

She remained on all fours awkwardly, not wanting to make a mess by moving.

“I’ll get you a towel,” he muttered after taking a puff. He was up, and she could hear him shrug into his jeans as he made his way to the bathroom. “I don’t trust you with my cigarette this time.”

She couldn’t help but laugh.

“Hurry up,” was her only response. “I don’t have glitter on my face this time, so you have no excuse to linger.”

“Fair enough, fair enough.” His voice was already growing closer, and soon she felt the soft fabric of her hand towel running across her back and below. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he made quick work of cleaning her off. “Flip over,” he murmured.

She did.

After tossing the towel to the side he reached for the cuffs and undid them slowly, shrugging them off of her gently. Her wrists felt like they were on fire. He laid down beside her, tossing the cuffs to the side but keeping his hands on her.

“Lay down. Come here.”

She did as instructed, her legs thanking her for the rest as she laid on her side to face him. He began to gently massage her wrists, rough fingers surprisingly soft in their movements as he rubbed the sore skin. He paused only to remove his cigarette from his mouth every few moments, working silently until she felt her eyes drooping with exhaustion.

“You have to lock the door after me,” he murmured.

“Mmhmm,” she nodded sleepily.

He put his cigarette out and let her hands go for good. They flopped uselessly onto the bed where he’d been laying. He stood, and she could faintly make out the sound of him shoving his belongings into his pockets.

“Come on now,” he whispered, shaking her shoulder lightly.

Her eyes opened reluctantly. She was so fucked out she could barely think straight.

He leaned down to plant a gentle kiss on her lips.

“I’ll try not to show up unannounced next time.”

“Whatever works for you,” she muttered.

“Let’s go.” He took her by the wrists again, only to pull her to her feet. “Lock the door behind me.”

She nodded sleepily and shuffled after him as he left her apartment.

“See you soon.” He kissed her once more before shutting the door behind him.

Absentmindedly she turned all the locks and strung the chain back in place.

It had been a long time since she felt this tired. It took all her energy to make her way back to her bed and crawl under the covers. Her high had left and her body was aching from everything that had happened before. It wasn’t long before she was drifting off.

#narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos fanfic #Javier Peña #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña fanfic #Javier Peña fic #Javier Peña smut #smut #fanfic #fic #alright here we go again I don't like tagging him but gotta get those CLICKS #pedro pascal #narcos smut #little lies

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whitewallwhispers · 5 years ago

Text

Little Lies

Narcos - Javier Peña - Series

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine

Her latest target is a D.E.A. Agent named Javier Peña. But will he believe her cover story?

Warnings: Alcohol use (vodka, tequila, and whiskey), strong language (pretty much every expletive under the sun), smut - thigh riding, oral sex (male and female receiving), rough sex (choking, spanking), unprotected sex (wrap it up, folks), implied age gap, daddy kink

My hope is that you can imagine this character as any race with any style of hair (as someone with short hair I get annoyed when every fic mentions long locks and ponytails).

It was the bar nearest the brothel, the brothel nearest the Carlos Holguin police base. She hoped to every God in every religion that the intel she’d pulled from the fresh faced fledgling police officer had been worth the subpar sex and chlamydia scare. She was one vodka cranberry and two tequila sunrises in and if Peña didn’t show she planned to go three more deep. Hopefully it’d make up for the shitty music and creepy stares she’d put up with so far tonight.

Jesus Christ, it was 11:48 already. Surely he wouldn’t show. With a sigh she flagged down the bartender and switched back to a vodka cranberry. Always gotta be on the offensive when it comes to UTIs, she thought with a shudder. The police officer really had been a bad lay. The fact that she couldn’t even remember his name was more than proof enough.

“Whiskey. Dry,” came a dark voice beside her. Innocently, without a single thought of preparedness or putting on an act she turned to see the source of the deadpan order.

Fuck.

Leather jacket, button up hardly buttoned beyond his chest, mustache and mussed brown hair.

It was Peña.

If anything, his frazzled expression and the heavy dark circles under his eyes were enough indication even if he didn’t match the police officer’s description to the T. “Lazy fuck can’t even dress himself all the way, always has to look like he’s just rolled out of bed while also trying to seem like a bad boy. Stuck up bastard.”

She took a moment to clear her head, assuming the stance and mindset she’d been preparing all night.

“Such a basic order,” she said with a smirk. He took the bait, at least so far, eyeing her from his peripheral without fully turning, without fully engaging.

“I don’t have the patience for anything that takes longer to pour,” he remarked.

“A man who has somewhere better to be than the bar. Refreshing, so far tonight,” she replied, hoping against all hope that he’d look at her properly.

Her luck was with her. He did, eying her up and down. Quickly, and not as hungrily as she’d hoped. Shit.

“You’re alone?” he asked flatly.

“Yep,” she answered, trying to keep her voice light and inviting.

“Well…” his drink arrived, and after giving the bartender an appreciative nod he took a large swig. More than half of it was gone, she noted with a raised eyebrow. “What did you expect?” He leveled her with a gaze that was, all at once, detached and heavy.

“I’m used to it,” she shrugged, “I’m not exactly a stranger here.”

She was, though.

But he needed to think she wasn’t. She needed him to think that she was fishing for clients, that she was working.

“So you live nearby?”

Thank God. He was continuing the conversation. He was interested, despite the fact that his body language was still closed off and tense.

“Work,” she replied, taking a long sip of her own drink, eying him suggestively as her lips wrapped around her straw.

“Work?” he asked, taking another draw from his drink, following her lead.

“Night shifts, mostly.”

“Then shouldn’t you be there?”

“I am.” He looked at her in full now, eyes raking over her with a new sort of intensity.

“Bartender?”

“Nope.”

“Then what?”

“So forward,” she noted with a flirtatious roll of her eyes and another smirk. She eyed him up and down as well.

Well, well, well. She’d been expecting someone ugly, hard faced and unremarkable. Paunchy. Pale. But his dark and rugged looks actually made him look more inviting and less assuming than the pompous bastard she’d been on the lookout for - and as such it was honestly a mystery to her as to why he preferred the embrace of prostitutes when he could easily pick up women of any profession with ease. Wasted cash, she thought to herself. She held nothing against women who made their bodies their business - in fact, she admired them - but surely he didn’t need to spend money to get laid? Whatever. It didn’t matter how attractive he was. What mattered was what he was willing to tell her in the aftermath of a good fuck.

“So something secret,” he answered with a grin of his own. He finished his drink and motioned to the bartender he needed another. Good. Get drunk. Get easy.

“What about you?” She took another long sip, careful to slip her tongue around her straw before drinking. This time, he noticed.

“Couldn’t say the same, really,” he said with a shrug, taking his second drink and giving it a hearty sip. “I’m just a glorified janitor. I’ve told you mine, now you tell me yours.”

A smooth liar.

“I work nights at a bar where I’m not a bartender,” she replied with a shrug of her own. “I hope that doesn’t scare you away.”

He chuckled. He let his eyes roam her body once again. Instinctively she arched her back and let her tits and ass be the focal points of his exploration. She hoped the way he immediately took a heavy swig was a good sign.

“Quite the opposite,” he answered, though his eyes trailed away from her and instead scanned the rest of the bar.

What should she say in response? She began to panic. She hadn’t expected it to be so easy. Why not, though? He was a notorious horn dog. Doesn’t he prefer his regulars? That’s what her intel had told her. “Fucks the same whores every night in rotation.” That and a bunch of bullshit about someone named Steve Murphy. He was married, with a kid. Who gave a shit about him? He wasn’t crackable. Family men were off limits to her - wives were sacred territory. She couldn’t bring herself to hurt them.

“I’m glad,” was her pathetic response. “You’re the only interesting man who’s sat beside me all night.”

In all honesty, there hadn’t been many others. Plenty of lewd looks - that was to be expected given her low cut tank top and short jean shorts - but it was a slow night and those that had approached her she quickly turned down (with the bartender for backup if they didn’t get the hint). She wondered if it was because she was so obviously not Colombian. She didn’t blame anyone for being suspicious of foreigners given everything going on. She was German, not American, but she didn’t expect them to know the difference.

Thank fuck Peña wasn’t phased.

In fact, he seemed intrigued by it.

She took in the way his dark brown eyes raked over her, the way the faintest of smirks was twitching across his lips. Hook, line, and sinker.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” he stated at last.

That’s because I’ve never been here, she thought.

“I’ve seen you, though. You know some of my friends.”

Please believe me.

He cleared his throat. “Friends nearby?”

“Duh, Peña” she answered it with a devilish grin. She took another long sip from her drink, letting her tongue lull along her straw again, this time while making direct eye contact with him.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath.

“Fuck? Sure, my apartment’s not far,” she quipped.

“I thought you said you only worked around here?” he answered, taking another deep draw from his drink.

“Mmm, no. I just lead with that. How else would you catch a clue?”

He finished his whiskey and motioned for the bartender to give him his check.

“And hers,” Peña intoned when he came around.

“Not just a man - a gentleman.” Time to turn it up a notch. She let her hand slip onto his thigh, applying no pressure but grazing briefly over his obscenely tight jeans. He turned his attention away from the bartender long enough to glance at her hand.

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly,” he answered. He almost sounded sad. Honestly, that was just more ammo.

“But I would, and what I say is what matters right now.” She squeezed his thigh ever so slightly with delicate fingers. Please, for the love of God work.

“What direction?”

“Hmm?” she faked, giving him another coy glance as she sucked up the last of her vodka cranberry.

“Your apartment.”

“North,” she answered, giggling slightly as he shuffled through his wallet for the right bills.

“You smoke?”

“Religiously.”

It was hard to admit, but true. She’d only started when she moved to Colombia. How else were you supposed to deal with the stress of it? Bogota and Medellin were constantly in turmoil. There was no guarantee that the next target wasn’t near you. But she thrived on it. There was no way her creativity could be as stimulated back in Europe, even since the Wall had fallen. The coke simply wasn’t as good back home, and that’s half of why’d she came here in the first place.

“Let me light you a cigarette,” Peña replied, pulling two from his shirt pocket and holding forth the lighter in question. She took it in eager lips with eager eyes, locking with his beyond the flame and hoping the heat that emanated from his lighter reached beyond her eyelashes and struck him to the core.

“Lead the way,” he continued, taking a deep puff from his own cancer stick.

You really shouldn’t be smoking them, she chided herself.

“Yes, sir.” She took him by the hand and led him from the bar, taking a heavy pull from the cigarette in her hand and releasing the smoke into the air with relish. It’s working. All she had to do was make it past a few more roadblocks and she’d be in. Or - rather - he would.

Her hands shook slightly as she tucked the key into the second deadbolt on her door.

“Sorry there’s so many hoops,” she whispered. Her neighbors were sensitive to noises, and she wanted to save her allowance for the rest of the evening.

“It’s good. You should be safe, given…what you do and the neighborhood you do it in,” he answered, a hand absentmindedly trailing down her side.

Perfect.

She undid the handle of her door and pushed it open, revealing the sparsely furnished room beyond. A couch. A TV on an otherwise empty stand. A kitchen full of cupboards of (though it wasn’t initially obvious) mostly empty shelves. A small, ragged rug, originally bright and multicolored, now faded and worn and sad. The result of other apartments with roommates who didn’t give a shit about the longevity of the furnishings she provided.

“Kitchen. Couch. Bathroom’s to the right, bed’s over there,” she noted, waving towards the left side of the room. Seeing as it was a cramped studio, there was no chance that he hadn’t noticed it before.

“Your accent…not American,” he stated, closing the door behind himself and kindly putting all the locks back in place.

“You’re right. German,” she answered, reaching into one of the few filled cabinets and pulling forth a bottle of red wine. Already opened, maybe stale, but enough for the moment. She retrieved two glasses as Peña came to rest against the counter.

“What the fuck are you doing here, then?”

Time to lie. She’d kept the same act throughout her interactions with police and prostitutes alike.

“My parents were missionaries, I came out to watch the house during the day. Eventually, they helped the “wrong” people - at least that’s what the sicarios thought. They were killed because of it. Unsurprisingly, missionary work doesn’t leave much money behind. I’m trying to earn my way home,” she answered with a shrug, pouring and then handing Peña a glass of wine.

“How much do you charge?”

“Pesos or dollars? $70,000 or $200.”

He took a large swig of his wine and nodded.

“Happy to be of service,” he said, his dark eyes locking with hers in a surprisingly genuine expression.

“Thank you.” It was out of her mouth before she could think about it. She didn’t need the money. Her parents were oblivious and safe in Berlin and more than happy to pay her rent. It felt wrong to rely on their kindness, but she wanted this. She needed to prove herself with this novel.

She took a deep draw of her wine, eying him the entire time.

“What’s your first name? The other girls have only ever called you Peña.”

I already know it.

“Javier,” he admitted. Yeah, duh.

“Can I call you Javi? Or do you prefer something else?”

“Something else?” He cocked an eyebrow, lifting his glass of wine to his lips once again and drinking deeply.

“Some prefer daddy,” she answered, “Or papi, or something similar.”

“Don’t call me daddy until later,” he answered, taking a big swig and shaking his head slightly. “If at all.”

“You look like you’d like daddy,” she replied, following his lead and gulping down more wine. Her head was thoroughly spinning now, but it’s what she needed to reach the high where she didn’t care who she was fucking, only what they could say after.

“Looks can be deceiving.”

She nodded, brushing past him to the stereo on her bedside table. She popped it open to check the tape currently inside - Billie Holiday. That’ll do. Taking yet another drink she closed it and pressed play before turning to look at Javi across the counter.

“How old are you?” he chuckled, “This doesn’t seem like something from your era. Or mine, even.”

“Growing up east of the wall, most things from my childhood were outdated,” she answered with a shrug.

She hadn’t. Her parents just had an affinity for old music.

Javi cocked an eyebrow. “Makes sense. Although I’m gonna admit I don’t know much about the whole Berlin thing.”

“You’ve been in Colombia how long?”

“Jesus. Eleven, twelve years? I’ve lost count.”

She let out a short laugh. “I don’t blame you, then. There’s enough going on here to keep anyone distracted from what’s happening anywhere else.”

“You’ve got that right,” he sighed, suddenly looking rather tired.

“Even for a…janitor.” She leveled him with a knowing look, taking in the last of her wine and licking her lips.

“Right,” he answered, throwing his head back as he finished his drink as well.

“Come here,” she commanded softly, setting her empty glass on the bedside table and holding her hands out to him.

“I’m a terrible dancer,” he warned, but nevertheless he left his glass on the counter and crossed the room. Before he came to her he tossed a few things out of his pockets onto her night stand. Cigarettes, wallet, and his badge - which he tucked beneath the cigarettes. Then he moved to join her. His left hand quickly traveled from her palm to the small of her back, pulling her tight against him and filling her head with his scent - heady, leather and amber, cigarettes and whiskey. Their fingers laced together as they began to sway in lazy circles, footwork loose but eyes locked intensely. I can do one better. She slipped her hand beneath his jacket and ran her fingers up the back of his shirt, letting her nails rake through the fabric and into his skin.

“I hope that only applies to this kind of dancing,” she murmured, looking up at him through heavily lidded eyes.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he dipped his head towards hers, lips brushing ever so softly against her own.

She couldn’t help it. Between the drinks she’d had at the bar and the wine and the music and the way his skin felt warm and firm beneath her fingers, she was the one who went onto her tiptoes to deepen the kiss.

In an instant he dropped her hand and snaked both his arms around her, fingers gripping her shoulder and waist as he returned with equal fervor. She pulled her own hand from his back up to his chest, both palms splaying across his pecs before clinging onto the edges of his shirt as he began to turn and push her towards the bed.

She let him. He could pretend all he wanted that he wasn’t the dominant type, but from her (albeit limited) experience men always showed their true colors in the heat of the moment.

Before she knew it her back was hitting the mattress, his weight leaning on top of her as they continued the same kiss, tongues finally peeking out to explore one another and entwine in quick and heated movements. She wasn’t ready to give in yet, though.

She hadn’t grabbed his thigh absentmindedly back in the bar.

She wanted it.

Wanted to feel it.

With very specific parts of her body.

“Sit up.” She commanded, pulling away from the feverish pursuit of his lips.

“What?” He was out of breath, searching her face obliviously.

“Sit. Up.” Her voice was hard. She meant business.

Reluctantly he did so, and as soon as he moved she was on him. Thrusting her right knee between his legs and her left on the other side of his right, she kissed him deeply as she began to drag her aching core against the fabric of his jeans, sparking with the pressure and friction.

“I’ve wanted this all night,” she breathed. For once she didn’t have to pretend. Who was he to walk around looking like that, wearing what he wore? Surely he knew the effect he had, what he made others want so desperately. And now she had consent…right?

His hands moved to her hips and held them tightly, his face finding its way to her neck as he began to press hot kisses into the soft skin, his tongue flicking against it with fierce intensity.

Yes. Yes she did.

Her shorts were interfering with the entirety of her pleasure. The rough denim began to hurt the more she dragged herself across his thick thigh. Frustrated, she stood up with a huff of indignation and unbuttoned her shorts, thrusting them towards the floor unceremoniously and stepping out of them as she resumed her position on top of him.

“Fuck,” he groaned under his breath. His fingers began to trace the lacy outline of her thong, briefly gripping her ass before focusing on her hips, thumbs rubbing against the bones as he began to pull her closer to him in pace with the rhythm she’d set with her own thrusts.

She dipped to join their lips once more, forcing her tongue into his mouth with vigor. He had the rest of the night to exert himself over her, surely he could give her these first few moments?

He did, succumbing to her assertions and melting at her touch.

“How do you want it next?” she breathed. “I’ve been selfish enough. Next one’s yours.”

“On your knees,” he murmured, undoing his belt. She nodded nervously as she did so.

Within moments he stood before her, unzipped and pulling out his cock. Average in length but thick and throbbing.

“No briefs?” she asked with a laugh.

“No time, baby.”

“You’re a mess,” she giggled, taking him in her hand. “Make me a mess, too.”

She gave his tip an experimental lick, surprised by how hot his skin was. She began to pump her hand along his length, slowly licking the underside of his member from bottom to top in time with her hand. He groaned and ran his fingers through her hair, locking onto it with a firm grip.

“In your mouth,” he ordered.

She looked up at him, suddenly nervous. But she did as he asked, wrapping her lips around his tip and licking it to get enough saliva around her lips to get her down his length smoothly. And then she was taking him halfway, hand still pumping near the end of his shaft, moving in time with her mouth as she began to bob gently along his length. She swirled her tongue around him, sucking with varying pressure as she made her way further and further down his cock.

He tilted his head back with a groan, pulling on her hair slightly before pushing her head towards him. Suddenly she was taking a lot more of him in her mouth, even though her throat wasn’t ready. She gagged slightly but refused to loosen her grip on him. I’m supposed to be used to this. He couldn’t know how inexperienced she was. She did her best to relax the back of her throat as he pulled and pushed her onto him again.

She decided to abandon having a hand on him and instead rested her hands on her thighs, tightly balled into fists as she tried to resist her gag reflex as best she could. Her eyes began to water, so she closed them. She decided to focus on her tongue, slipping it around him as his hips began to thrust into her - thankfully rather gently. But it was still a lot to take in, and it took all of her concentration to think about where her tongue was and not how the tip of his cock was now pressing against the back of her throat.

Mercifully, he pulled all the way out of her and she immediately raised her hand to his length, pumping slightly as she gave his tip one last twirl of her tongue, leaning back as she finished, a single strand of spit trailing between her lips and his cock.

“Stand up.”

She did.

“On your back.” He was out of breath, eyes glazed over with lust as he began to pull her shirt up over her head. It hit the floor with the softest of sounds.

She followed his lead by unbuttoning his shirt, trying not to lose her place as he flipped her onto her back, pushing her up the bed until her head hit her pillows and his legs were firmly planted between her own. She finished her work so quickly she surprised herself, forcing him to sit up and shrug out of his clothing. Except for his jeans. They were still on, and now marked with traces of the wetness she was feeling at the base of her sex.

“I’m more naked than you are,” she whined, pouting her lips slightly as she pushed against his chest to keep him off of her.

“Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll take off my pants while you take off your bra.”

“Good boy,” she giggled.

They did so, stripping themselves at the same time.

Her nipples perked at the cold air as she tossed her bra into the oblivion to her right. When next he pressed into her, he was completely naked.

His fingertips expertly wrapped themselves at the edge of her panties and began stripping them off her with no trouble at all. He dangled them in front of her in a moment of triumph before tossing them in the same direction as her bra.

“Come on daddy,” she whispered sarcastically.

“Don’t,” he breathed.

After placing a few kisses along her chest and stomach he descended to her core, his lips expertly wrapping around her most sensitive place and sucking so hard she couldn’t help but gasp.

“Are you sure you want to…?” She asked, trying to keep her hands from gripping the sheets.

“Shut up,” he replied, kissing her inner thighs. “I can tell you’ve barely been touched.”

He wasn’t wrong. A long-term boyfriend in college. Shy and religious: they’d barely done a thing. A quick affair after graduation: he was nothing to write home about. A low-ranking cartel member: done in five minutes, thankfully over her stomach. The police officer: she’d convinced him to wear a condom - albeit a shitty old one out of his wallet - but that was the highlight of her evening. He hadn’t been experienced or giving, except in the pillow talk, when he’d blabbed all about Murphy and Peña. Other than that, she was new to proper sex and completely clean. She’d even gotten checked, just to be sure. And, apparently, he could tell. The way his tongue pressed against her entrance confirmed as much.

“Fuck Javi,” she moaned, “it’s not normally like this.”

An assumption. Everything she’d absorbed from the prostitutes she’d interviewed had been that their clients didn’t give a single fuck about the woman’s pleasure. Most came before the girl was even close to orgasm. However, she hadn’t been able to interview one of Peña’s regulars. She didn’t really have any idea what he was like, other than the fact that he liked it frequently.

“Good,” he muttered, taking only a moment away from licking straight from her center to her clit to respond before he dove back into her with vigor. It was all she could do not to shout his name. She wasn’t a prostitute. She wasn’t nearly as experienced as she pretended to be. The way he let his tongue loll against all sorts of parts of her was driving her crazy. No one had done this to her before, no one had driven her this close to the edge.

But she knew she needed more. She needed to be filled.

“Your fingers,” she begged, surprised at how vulnerable her voice sounded, “or more. I just need something.”

Wordlessly he removed his mouth from her sex only long enough to adjust his hands before he continued, a rough finger exploring her core before she could even prepare herself for it.

“More,” she mewled.

He obliged.

Two fingers entered, and after a minute or so, three. She arched her back so intensely that his mouth was ripped from her clit.

“Still more?” he asked, the faintest hint of a laugh in his voice.

“Please.” She probably looked pathetic beneath him as he lifted himself onto his knees, looking down at her with excited eyes and a suppressed smirk.

“Good,” he murmured, bringing his mouth to hers while his hand rubbed his rock hard tip against her center, parting the folds and gently bumping against the most sensitive part of her sex.

“Javi, please.” She hadn’t expected such a genuine request from herself in this exchange, but good God she wanted him. All of him. Right now.

“Only if you agree,” he said, breathless, clearly restraining himself.

“Agree to what?” She bucked her hips against him, desperate to be filled.

“Agree that I’ll get to choose every position from now on. No back and forth. Just me.”

“Yes,” she answered before she could think about it. “Yes.”

And with that, he finally sunk into her, eyes rolling back in his head as he bottomed out almost immediately. If she was being honest, it hurt, but she bit her lip to contain the exclamation she wanted to release. A prostitute wouldn’t be new to an entry like this. She’d be used to much rougher. At least Javi gave her a warning, prepared her. If what her intel had told her was true, no one was ever this nice with the girls they paid for.

“Fuck” was all she allowed herself to breathe. Short and unceremonious. “Harder.” It was probably what he expected, and even though it would feel like she was being ripped apart she needed to maintain the illusion.

She didn’t know if she could handle much harder, but Javi seemed to sense that. He backed out slowly and came back in even slower.

“You’re so tight,” he whispered, “I can’t go fast yet.”

As such, he pushed in and out of her at an even pace - almost hesitant - stretching her out gently after his initial descent.

“I can take it,” she murmured. Can I? She’d soon find out.

“Are you sure?” he asked, “You’re so tense.” His hands were roaming up and down her sides. Shit. Surely he could feel the way her entire body had cramped up at his initial push, cringing at the pressure she was experiencing.

“In anticipation,” she lied. “Please, just…fuck me.”

At this point, it was almost too intimate. She’d started to want it too much. He was a source of information - sex was simply an avenue to gaining insight into his side of the drug war. She needed it to hurt, to detach herself from the situation before she lost track of her goal. I’m supposed to be a prostitute, she reprimanded herself. I need to focus.

So he did. He gripped her hips as he immediately picked up his pace, sliding into her fast and even. She felt like she might split in two, but it also felt so good. She let out the softest of moans - if she dared to be any louder he was sure to hear the strain in her voice, and maybe he’d stop, and maybe he’d know. She could practically feel herself tearing at the sudden onslaught, but the same had happened with the cartel runner and the police officer. They wouldn’t have cared if they knew she was hurting. And she hadn’t enjoyed it then. But now?

Her hands ran down his back, fingernails digging deep into the skin. His breathing was becoming labored, his face dipping into the crook of her neck as he placed distracted kisses and bites against the skin of her ear and shoulder and everything in between.

He was going faster now, bottoming out so hard she felt like he was pushing against her cervix with every thrust. His hands left her sides and gripped her thighs, pulling them further apart but closer to him.

“Javi,” she breathed. “Don’t stop.” She only half meant it. The pressure mounting in the middle of her pelvis scared her. She’d never orgasmed before - was this what was building? It felt so good but so foreign at the same time.

He bit her shoulder as hard as he rammed into her and she let out a sharp gasp.

“Say it now,” he whispered in her ear. She knew what he meant.

“Daddy,” she moaned.

“Flip over,” he growled, pulling out of her and letting go of her legs.

“Yes, daddy.” She turned herself around, a feat considering how numb her legs had become.

She’d meant to remain on all fours, but his hand came to the back of her neck and roughly pushed her face into the pillows. It sent shivers down her spine. Good shivers. Unexpected. His other hand guided his member along her slit, wetting itself with ease. She couldn’t help it. She’d never been so aroused.

“Beg for it,” he demanded. His voice had gone even darker, husky and fighting for air. His fingers clenched around her neck, and she could’ve sworn he let out a faint moan.

“Please, daddy,” she whined. “Please fuck me.”

Suddenly he was plowing into her again, one hand still holding her down and the other clenching her hip, pulling her into him just as fiercely as he thrusted against her.

It didn’t hurt anymore - instead it was fanning a flame that ignited in her the moment he’d pushed her down. The sensation at her core was growing so quickly she was becoming short of breath. She closed her eyes and began, without even meaning too, flexing around him, making herself tighter than ever. It felt so good. Her mind had gone cloudy, the original intent of her endeavor washing away with the sweat and ecstasy of being pummeled from behind by a man so gorgeous she couldn’t even believe it.

And then it began. A fierce heat stole over her, emanating from her core out to every extremity, forcing her legs and arms to shake as her sex seemed to burst with light and pleasure.

“Yes, baby,” Javier groaned, “cum for me.”

With each thrust the electricity flowed through her even stronger, only to fade away all too quickly. Without warning he slapped her ass and she couldn’t help but cry out, short and shallow.

“I’ll make you do it again,” he murmured, releasing his hand from her neck and hip. “Get on top.”

It took her a moment to gain her bearings and slide out of the way so that he could lay at the center of the bed. As soon as he was down, though, she was straddling him with vigor and taking his cock into her hand, stroking it with pressure she couldn’t even control.

“Ask my permission.” He grabbed her wrist, holding it in place over his throbbing member.

“Daddy, can I ride you?”

“Beg.”

“Please? I need it. Please, Daddy, I need you inside me.” She leaned forward to envelop him in a sloppy kiss, shoving her tongue into his mouth without a single thought given towards whether he was ready for it or not.

He released her wrist and she took it as the go ahead. Sitting up again she guided him into her with ease. She was sopping wet, there wasn’t any resistance. The sound it made was equal parts obscene and arousing. Again, one of his hands went to her hip, the other trailed its way up to her neck before squeezing gently.

Without hesitation she began to roll her hips back and forth, keeping him inside her as she began to relish the way his thick cock felt buried within. He squeezed his hand tighter around her neck and her breath left her for a moment before adjusting to the pressure. His other hand began to rake down her thigh as he began to moan. Really moan. In earnest.

Suddenly a suggestion from one of the girls she’d interviewed popped into her head. “Spell coconut with your cunt,” she’d laughed, “and they won’t know what hit them.”

And so she did. She rolled and flexed around him, changing her pace and shape with every letter. He couldn’t even moan now, just pant as his fingers flexed against her neck as his other hand roamed up to her breast, twisting and squeezing one of her nipples.

It was her weakness. She let out a sigh of pleasure, her fingers sliding to his chest and bracing herself against it. He took the hint and sat up, his mouth latching onto her, tongue swirling, teeth nipping. The pressure began to build within her once again. Slowly.

That is, until his other hand came up between them, thumb finding and swirling around her clit.

“D-daddy,” she huffed, eyes rolling back as his grip tightened on her throat.

“My name, now,” he groaned, his thumb increasing in speed and pressure. She began to bounce on his cock, relishing in the changing pressures and movement.

“Javier,” she moaned. “Javi, oh fuck, Javi.”

It wouldn’t be long now until she was shaking around him again. He switched his attention to her other breast and her hands ran through his beautiful brown hair, pulling on it ever so slightly. He returned with pressure on her neck, making her choke for a moment before he relaxed again.

It was starting. Involuntarily she clenched around him, and in response he began to roll his hips against hers.

“You gonna cum?” he moaned, looking up at her with glazed eyes and gaping mouth.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, Javi.”

“Me too.”

Their mouths joined once more, hot and desperate, as she began to reach her high. The tightness grew unbearable and her legs began to quiver as she had to break their kiss to throw her head back.

“Yes, oh God yes.”

It hit her even harder than last time, suddenly becoming overwhelming. Tears began to well in her eyes as he fucked her through it, thrusting into her as she began to lose her ability to ride him herself. His forehead fell against her chest as he began to grunt heavily, his entire body tensing. And then he was cumming, white hot streams filling her up, his breathing becoming ragged and his pace unsteady.

Then a stillness hung over them, both of them catching their breath. A single tear rolled down her cheek, her other eye threatening to do the same at any moment. He looked up at her and noticed, a thumb coming up to rub her tear away.

“You okay?” he asked, voice exhausted and chest heaving.

She nodded. “Just overstimulated.” She rolled off of him then, needing nothing more than to lie down and catch her breath. With a sigh he reached over to her bedside table and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and letting his head hit the wall as he exhaled his first puff of smoke.

“You’re still new to this,” he said at last, giving her a sidelong glance.

She tensed.

“What makes you think that?”

“You should always take payment beforehand.”

“…I usually do, I just got caught up in the moment tonight.”

She hoped against hope that he’d buy it.

“Sure.” Fuck. He didn’t believe her. “But you’re also too clean to have been doing this for long. I wouldn’t have gone down on you if I couldn’t tell.”

She gulped nervously. Did that mean he wouldn’t come back? Did he only want girls who knew what they were doing?

“Hold this, I’ll be right back.” He handed her his cigarette and she took in her mouth immediately, taking a long and heavy pull. He paused to slip into his jeans before heading towards the opposite side of the apartment and slipping into the bathroom. It was a few moments before he spoke again. Just long enough for her to reach over and pluck up his badge, examining it carefully. Drug Enforcement Administration. No doubt about it. He was the right Javier Peña.

“Why the fuck is there glitter all over my face?” Javi called from the bathroom. She could just make out the sound of splashing water from across the apartment and laughed, smoke pouring from her mouth.

“Because there’s glitter all over my face,” she answered, taking another drag.

“Why the fuck is there glitter all over your face?” He appeared now, shirtless, jeans still unfastened, running her hand towel over his face before tossing it onto the couch. His dark hair was a mess and his eyes glossed over in that fucked out way she was sure hers reflected too. She couldn’t control the way it sent her heart against her ribs, the way it made her core shift with renewed need. Too damn attractive for his own good.

“It deters men with wives and girlfriends. I don’t want to get mixed up in that,” she answered with a shrug.

He joined her on the bed. “How does that work? And give me my cigarette back.”

“This one’s mine now, get your own. Anyway, they don’t want girls who wear glitter because it might get on their skin or clothes.”

“Oh come on, how would they notice? I didn’t.”

“Because you don’t have a wife or a girlfriend.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you didn’t notice the glitter.”

“You’re going in circles.”

“Dizzy yet?”

He rolled his eyes and reached to grab another cigarette from his pack on the nightstand. He paused, his entire body going tense. He patted the pockets of his jeans before rounding on her with a serious expression.

“So, janitor, huh?” she asked slyly, holding his D.E.A. badge aloft between lazy fingertips, smirking as she pulled from her cigarette again.

“Give it back,” he said in a low voice devoid of all mirth. She did so with a giggle.

“Don’t worry. I don’t even know what it means, I just know a janitor wouldn’t have one,” she lied.

“I clean up bad shit somewhere full of bureaucratic shit,” he huffed, lighting his cigarette. “That’s all you need to know.”

“That makes more sense. You’re too stressed for someone who’d just clean up actual shit,” she murmured, trailing a finger over his collarbone. He eyed her suspiciously. Fuck.

She needed him to come back. Frequently. She needed him to trust her the way he trusted his regulars. She needed him to tell her how his day went, what he did, what he saw. Simply knowing that being a D.E.A. agent strung you out and made you a great fuck didn’t tell her shit she couldn’t have already guessed.

“You’re not lying to me, are you?” he asked, grabbing her hand and looking at her as he put his cigarette to his lips. His eyes bored into her with such intensity that she almost felt like telling the truth.

“You’re American, right?”

He nodded.

“I know as much about the specificities of American badges as you know about the Berlin Wall.”

“So…fuckall?”

“Fuckall,” she answered, grinning as she leaned to press a gentle kiss against his lips. She laid several against his cheeks and nose and forehead too - she wanted him to feel reassured as much as she wanted to feel his face against hers. Before she could stop herself she was running her hands down his chest and stomach and reaching for the edge of his jeans.

“I don’t have enough cash right now for round two,” he whispered. “We’ll pick it up another time.”

Yes.

“If I could afford something on the house, I’d give it to you,” she admitted.

“You say that to all the men,” he replied with a smirk.

“And women.”

He laughed. Really laughed. It was nice to hear - the deeper and velvety tones in his voice lended themselves to the levity.

“Fair enough,” he chuckled. He planted one last, lustful kiss on her lips before reaching for his wallet and swiping through it for the right amount of cash. She sat up and watched him. He pulled out more than she’d told him to.

“That’s too much,” she began, but he shook his head.

“Never let them know that. Besides, you deserve to go home,” he answered. “I promise there’s more where that came from. Just not tonight.”

“So…you’ll find me again?” she asked, trying to look as coy and unassuming as possible.

He smiled up at her with an expression so pure it didn’t fit into her expectations of the situation at all.

Peña was supposed to be a mindless slut. No care given for the women he paid to fuck.

“Yes.”

“Same bar?”

“Sure.”

“Maybe a little earlier?”

“If I can.”

She rolled off of him and strode towards the bathroom, picking up her bra and panties as she went.

“You can see yourself out,” she called over her shoulder, giving him a small wave.

“At least let me finish my cigarette,” he answered, jokingly offended.

“Fine,” she sighed. But by the time she’d finished wiping herself clean and putting on her underclothes, he was gone.

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