Modern Paw

Will...fuck Will...baby you feel so good.

You pick him up from his drop-off point. Your face bare and bright as you run toward him and let him pick you up. He seals his lips to yours - kissing you urgently. The burst of spearmint gum as he claws a hand through your hair to drag you closer.

“Love you,” you gasp as he rearranges his arms - skin pressed to the sweet flesh between the band of your pants and the bottom of your top - lifting you higher and all that heat.

“Car,” he grunts. “Car.”

***

You seem thoroughly shocked by his actions - the insistence of his touch and how he is near-feral with how frantically he’s petting at you.

He’s got you spread out on the backseat of the car - his mouth between your legs as he sucks right over the lace scrap of your panties. Your knees knock together - bucking up into his chin and he soothes you with gentle sounds - baby baby just let your boy take care of you - i know it’s a lot

You tug at his hair - it’s overgrown enough that you can curl around the locks. He hitches the fabric to the side so he can press the flat of his tongue across the seam of your cunt. He laps and laps before latching to your puffy little clit and all the while you tremble and shiver and practically vibrate out of your skin.

“Will,” you moan. “Jesus Christ - I- fuck - I think I’m cumming again.”

He lifts his head - wiping at his chin - as he smiles. “That’s two.”

***

He doesn’t even pause in the doorway when they get home. Benny tries to wrap him in a one-armed hug, but he’s already gone - long-legged strides down the hallway as he yanks you by your wrist.

“Not now, man,” he grunts. “I’ll - we’ll - be out a little later.”

He’ll probably get shit from the guys. But he doesn’t care - can’t care - he had missed you in a way that had torn him up - cracked his ribs - and there had been more than one near-death experience.

It had been the first time he had really considered his mortality - at least in years. It had frightened him a bit and all of that distress was now pumping through his blood - making him want - need - to be as close to you as he could.

He tosses you on the bed and you bounce with it - the mattress squeaking beneath your ass. He falls on top of you as you find his mouth - exploring it with your hot little tongue, clinging to his shoulders and rubbing up against the front of his jeans.

He cups your crotch, thumb nudging your clit - the dripping slit still coated in the evidence of your earlier climaxes. He slides a finger into you - adding another - as you shudder and nip at his bare neck.

“Are you good?” you murmur in between the slot of his tongue or the graze of his teeth. “Not that I’m complaining - oh fuck Will - but - but - are you fine?’

He pauses - his breath knotted in his chest as his shoulders heave. He’s so fucking hard between his legs that he just might bust in his pants like a schoolboy - like he was back in highschool.

He lowers his forehead to yours and you cradle his face - thumb sweeping across his cheek. “Yeah,” he rasps. “Yeah - I just fucking missed you.”

He pops the button on his jeans and you grasp him with the soft circle of your fist. He rolls his hips between your parted thighs - drives the underside of his cock through your folds. He saws his hips in the act of a fuck - holding out - hovering over the edge before you grab his ass so he fills you. He stretches you open, screwing his eyes shut because it’s almost too much as he savors the molten warm blossom of your pussy swallowing him down. Your tight tight walls fluttering and yielding and allowing him all the way inside.

“Oh Will,” you cry out and he begins to thrust.

***

He’s got you on your hands and knees - your mouth scraping across the sheets - muffling your moans as he spears you on his cock. The echoing liquid slap of skin to skin and the obscene suck of your cunt or ass taking him again adn again.

He squeezes your ass cheeks before releasing them - digging his fingertips into the flesh and then cracking a palm down to make you gasp and collapse to your elbows. He’s broken by the sight of it: your pussy stretching dark and abused and leaking around the length of him - the tight hole above spasming open as he spreads your cheeks.

Each stroke of his cock knocks you up the bed - makes you sob and Will can’t fucking help himself when he eases you through it - that’s my good fucking girl - pretty thing - look at your sweet little pussy taking me again and again - you know how often i thought of you while i was gone - how many times i jacked off thinking about this - thinking about how your cunt looks after i fuck it like this - how you trust me to screw your tight ass - i love you - i love you - fuck i love you

***

It gets to the point where you actually push at his chest - smoothing his brow as you playfully flick his nipple.

“We’ve been at it like rabbits, how are you still horny, Miller?”

He shrugs - rolling onto his back as he takes you with him. You lie flush on top of him - pressed against his slippery body - his golden hair dark with sweat.

“I just - fuck - I missed you. I don’t know,” He skates his fingers across your spine - your waist.

“You said that already,” you point out. You sit up so you can peer down at him - giving him a suspicious glance. “Nothing happened over there, right?”

He bites his lip - eyes locked on a tiny crack in the ceiling - he’d have to fix that. He could lie to you, but you’d smell it out. You know him too well.

“Nothing that I haven’t dealt with before.”

“I’ll get it out of you.”

“Not now?”

“You’ve exhausted me. I don’t have enough brain power to even say whole sentences.”

“You’re doing pretty well right now.”

“Oh my god.”

He drags his fingers down the crack of your ass - feeling you up. “You want to fuck again?”

“Gimme a sec, Captain.”

His cock jumps - twitching against your inner thigh. “Don’t tease me, baby girl.”

You laugh - reaching towards the nightstand for your phone. It’s dark out now - the blue-purple of evening sealing them together in warm shadows. He has no idea what time it is - what day it is - he only knows the salt of you on his tongue.

The phone’s screen nearly blinds him as you open it up. You blink against it - grimacing. “Wow,” you exclaim. “It’s almost ten.”

“What time did we get home?”

“Like 4.”

He scrubs a hand over his face just as his stomach rumbles. “I guess I could eat.”

“The group chat has been lit af,” you observe - scrolling down the screen. “Frankie is congratulating you on your stamina. Benny has threatened to call 911 four different times since we haven’t answered him - I guess he knocked at some point.” Will rolls his eyes - squeezing your hip tenderly. “Santi - ooooh - Santi ordered us pizza.”

“Fuck yeah,” Will hums as he brushes his lips across your jaw. You scroll lower and scowl.

“What?”

“Benny ate it.”

Will’s eyes widen. “All of it?”

“Yeah.”

“What the fuck? He did that to spite us.”

“Let’s go raid the fridge then - I’m sure you haven’t had actual food in weeks.”

“You fed me pretty well, babe.”

“Perv.”

***

When they get to the kitchen, there’s an apology note from Ben pressed to the empty pizza box.

Will -

Firstly, I’m sorry I ate the pizza because you were TOO BUSY having animal sex (literally could hear it down the street). Secondly, Please use YOUR room next time, FUCKFACE - or I’m starting an instagram with your identity and friending all of your old girlfriends. Don't underestimate me - I have it locked and loaded with thirst-trap gym pics and selfies.

Will startles. “Did - was that Benny’s room?”

He’d been pretty blind with desire - too consumed with wanting to be inside you as he stumbled down the hallway. He hadn’t paid attention to the actual location or bed - it did seem way messier than his usual space. Fuck.

“Will?”

He turns toward you. “Yeah?”

Your brow is knitted as you chew your lip - narrowing your eyes. “How many ex-girlfriends do you have exactly?”

Almost like it sensed a new presence, the dog turned over its shoulder to spot you. It stood right away, his long jowls and wrinkles swaying as he faced you. Before you could greet the dog, he barked one low woof at you.

The stoat on your shoulder startled at the bark. You felt it uncurl itself from where it was happily laying, perking up on its hind legs to stare at the dog. It started chirping angrily at the large, wrinkly bloodhound. You learned over the years to follow the instincts your soul animal had, so you backed out of the apartment, leaving the dog alone. You wondered why the slow-moving creature had aggravated your little stoat, trying to get it to settle down as you made your way to the elevator. Aspen, as you had named it when your family had gone skiing when you were young, eventually stopped chirping and squeaking, but it seemed on edge for the rest of the day. You wondered if the dog was mean, or if your stoat was picking up on the energy of its owner. You hoped your new neighbor wasn’t going to be hard to live near.

You didn’t see the newest occupant of your floor for a few days afterwards. The movers and clutter were gone, so you assumed they were settling in, possibly even sorting out their routine. Things like commuting to work, where the nearest stores were. Moving somewhere new was a lot of work. Despite not seeing them, Aspen still seemed extra on alert anytime you passed their door.

You were standing in the hallway, unlocking the door to your apartment, when you heard the sounds of another lock being opened. Before you could turn towards the sound, wondering if you were finally going to meet your new neighbor, your soul animal had skittered down off your shoulder. You watched as it bounded towards the opening door, stopping only when a man stepped into the hallway.

“Hi there,” you called over to catch his attention.

He looked up at you, seemingly startled but he quickly recovered with a polite smile. “Hello.” He greeted, adjusting the hamper on his hip. He was wearing a plain t-shirt and sweatpants, clearly on his way down to do laundry.

“You must be the new neighbor.” You pointed out before giving him your name.

“Marcus.” He introduced himself, closing the door now that the bloodhound had toddled out beside him.

“What’s your dog’s name?” You asked, curious.

Marcus seemed to freeze on the spot, looking at you with wide eyes. You faltered under his spooked gaze, almost wondering if you had said something other than what you had meant to.

The stoat on the floor started chirping at the dog, kicking it’s little feet. You had never seen it get this worked up before. You frowned, worried that this man and his dog really meant trouble. His bloodhound looked at your stoat, tilting its head curiously before letting out a lone bark.

Your own eyes widened as you watched the stoat move closer, the bloodhound sniffing at the ground as it took cautious steps forward. You had never seen an animal react to your stoat before, you thought only you could see your soul animal-

“You can see Silver?” Marcus gaped, slowly setting down his hamper.

It took a second for you to catch up. The dog could see your stoat, your stoat could see the dog, you shouldn’t be able to see the dog-

“Silver is your soul animal?” You breathed.

The bloodhound had lowered it’s head to the ground, showing submission to the stoat. Apparently pleased, your stoat closed the gap, sniffing directly at Silver’s nose. Silver’s tail began wagging as he patiently let the smaller creature examine him.

“And that…” Marcus pointed, apparently having not seen your animal until he was no longer holding the hamper.

“Aspen,” you filled him in on the name you had given your soul animal as a child.

“Aspen is your soul animal.” Marcus stated.

You watched in disbelief as Aspen climbed up on top of Silver, sniffing at the dog’s fur on it’s back once it was there. Silver looked over one shoulder then the other, trying to keep an eye on the tiny creature. His tail kept wagging even as he tried to locate it.

You looked away from the animals, meeting Marcus’ eyes properly for the first time. He was looking at you with soft, brown eyes. Even in the short distance between the two of you, you could see the shine of hope and affection he wore on his sleeve. You’d never been looked at quite like that before.

You smiled shyly under the attention. Marcus was attractive, and you could tell under his lounge clothes that he was fit. You had just returned from running errands, sunglasses pushed on top of your head, lazy sandals on… You wondered what Marcus thought of you.

“I, uh…” You started nervously. “If I knew I was meeting my soulmate today, I would have dressed up.” You joked, trying to ease the tension.

Marcus smiled brightly, a dimple showing on his right cheek. It was absolutely adorable. “No, that’s a perfect outfit to wear to dinner.”

“Dinner?” You frowned, quirking an eyebrow in confusion.

“Unless you already ate…” Marcus backtracked, starting to look a bit like a wounded puppy. You had to grin, already beginning to understand his soul animal. Even if you had, how could you say no? Those eyes were going to get you into all kinds of trouble, you could tell.

“Dinner sounds great.”

Marcus’ smile shone once more, relieved you'd accepted his invitation, although it fell quickly only a moment later. “Any recommendations? I don’t really know the area yet.” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair.

“I’ll take care of it.” You nodded. “Meet me back here in 5?”

He picked up his hamper, resting it on his hip as he opened his door once more. “Make it 3.”

Having noticed Marcus opening the door, Silver stood up. He shook his head, his jowls wagging back and forth. Aspen jumped ship, choosing to jump off instead of being thrown off the larger dog. It chirped in annoyance of being dislodged from the bloodhound’s back. The stoat seemed to already be pretty attached to the slow, lazy dog.

“See you in three.”

“So don’t look now but some creep has been staring at you almost the entire time we’ve been sitting here.”

It’s a Friday night and you’re at your favorite neighborhood bar with your roommate. You’d worked the morning shift at your job, gone from there to your swim lesson, and from there back to your apartment for a desperate nap. It was hectic but hey—LA area housing didn’t pay for itself, even with a roommate sharing the cost.

They’d begged you to come out with them and you felt guilty enough to get up and scrub any remaining chlorine off your body and get into actual clothes that weren’t work or lounge related. The bar was packed at its usual level for the start of the weekend, but you’d managed to squeeze onto two barstools before they could be taken. You’d been peacefully sipping on a cocktail for the better part of an hour—well, it was peaceful until your roommate’s warning.

“What?” You hunch your shoulders self-consciously, looking over at them with wide eyes. “What do you mean? Where?”

Your roommate sips at their beer, eyes lingering pointedly behind you, near the booths. “I mean, to be fair he’s kinda a hot creep but, still a creep.”

You can feel your face burning in both annoyance and embarrassment, and you furiously sip the last of your drink. Taking a deep breath, prepared to give the meanest, ugliest glare in your arsenal, you turn around on your stool to face whoever was leering at you.

It’s Charlie. Dressed in a fucking suit.  And he’s not leering, he’s smiling, posture all soft in a way where you know he’s feeling a little of the beer he’s been drinking. He doesn’t shy away when you catch him; instead he gives you a friendly wave, eyes crinkling up at the sides.

The relief you feel is immediate, and you laugh as you wave back at him, your stomach feeling warm. Your roommate arches their eyebrows, clearly curious. “So you know creepy guy?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s nice, not a creep. He’s—“ He’s what? A friend? The man you have regularly scheduled lust sessions over?? “—His son takes swimming lessons from me.”

Your roommate calmly sets down their drink, giving you a look. “I’m sorry, there’s a hot dad sitting over there staring at you and you’re just gonna say ‘oh yeah’ ???”

You shrug, chewing on your bottom lip as your eyes flick back over to Charlie. He’s still looking, his expression wistful—with his brown puppy-dog eyes and long hair you think he looks like a cocker spaniel. Your roommate snorts, downing the rest of their beer before pointing their finger in your face. “Go fuck the hot Dad, you aren’t allowed home until you do.”

You gape at them, gasping out their name incredulously. They just cackle, standing and grabbing their wallet. “This drink was my treat. I’m heading home. Make him buy your other ones.”

You’re still staring at them as they flounce out of the bar, looking way too proud of themselves. Swallowing hard, you look back over at Charlie; he has his eyebrows arched, clearly wondering why your friend had suddenly left. Fuck, you hope he couldn’t hear any of that conversation. Heaving out a sigh, you get up and go over to his booth, sliding into the seat across from him.

“You’ve been labeled a creep. This is starting to become a trend with you.”

He hums, leaning back in his seat as he sips at his beer. “I’m not a creep, I promise. I’m just not used to seeing you with actual clothes on.”

“See, now that’s something a creep would say,” you shoot back, chuckling because, well, he was right . Charlie huffs out a laugh, face cracking into a grin, clearly relieved you hadn’t taken his comment the wrong way. You take a moment—just a second—to admire the dimples that dent his cheeks before speaking again. “You’re on my side of town, Mr. Barber. I come here all the time and I’ve never seen you.”

He gives a dramatic bow of his head, as if conceding your point. “Well, I had dinner over here. There’s a theater a couple blocks down and they’re interested in working with me—something mutually beneficial. I’ve been wanting to test the waters again, do something new. I haven’t since moving to LA.” He hums, running the tip of his index finger up and down the neck of the bottle absentmindedly. You track the movement, fidgeting a little in your seat.

“I heard you were a director.” You say, innocently, as if you hadn’t fucking drunk googled him at 3am last week. He was more than a director. He was apparently known as a fucking genius in New York, won some sort of fancy grant for his work. It was more than just a little intimidating.

Charlie gives you a rueful smile before reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. “Heard being the key word in that sentence.” Your eyes widen, and you’re quickly stuttering to explain that wasn’t what you meant, but he’s waving off your words with a chuckle and kind eyes. “No, no , I just mean—I haven’t been doing much directing recently. Well, I’ve been teaching it, but I haven’t had an actual project.”

You nod at him. He seems lost in thought, a little frown marring his features. You want to say something—do something—to relieve his tension, but you stay silent; you had a feeling he wasn’t done speaking. You’re proven right when, after another moment, Charlie heaves out a sigh.

“I’m—“ he pauses, mouth scrunching up before he huffs out a tired sounding laugh, shaking his head. “I’m a bit unsure. They like me and my work, and I like them, but… I’m a little worried that, after everything, I won’t be the way I used to be. My work won’t be the same, won’t meet—whatever standard they’re expecting.” He rushes out the last bit, eyes still somewhere far away.

You can’t help but empathize with him. You’d never pretend to know how he feels—what he and Nicole’s specific situation was like. That was their business, not yours. But you understand feeling out of sorts, feeling lost—you understand that worry of not being good enough, of not being able to please someone. It was a very human sensation, even if it always seemed like you were isolated in your feelings.

You’re reaching out before you can stop yourself, brushing the tips of your fingers against his. Charlie jolts out of his reverie, his dark eyes darting to where your hands touched, and then up to your face. He looks… not exactly stunned, but also not exactly like he knows what to do in response. You give his fingers a little tap, smiling at him.

“It’ll work out, Charlie. I know it will. You’re a very capable man, and if directing is your passion, then inspiration will come. And if you never try again, then you’ll never know.” You shrug as you finish speaking, as if trying to lighten your words so he won’t take them too seriously. But his little frown is gone, and he’s smiling gently at you once more—and really, that’s the most important thing.

“Thank you.” He murmurs, quiet enough that it’s a private little token shared between the two of you. He falls silent again, gaze honed in on your face as he slowly flips his hand palm up so the pads of his fingers press against yours. You can feel heat rising to your face at the contact, and the little voice inside your head laughs. What the hell is this, some sort of Pride and Prejudice shit?

He curls his fingers up hesitantly, rubbing them against yours, and oh, fuck, how was this so sensual? You think maybe you should retract your hand but you can’t bring yourself to, not with how intensely his eyes are trained on you. You’re suddenly hit with the realization that he wants you. Charlie Barber wants you.

Your roommate’s words echo through your mind, and it’s for the first time that you actually weigh them over, considering them. Maybe Charlie wants you, but do you want him? Yes, your head supplies eagerly, and you push down that thought. Okay, wrong question … maybe… is it right to want him? Is it smart to be with him? Do you care about the answer to either of those questions?

You’re still mulling it over when Charlie’s hand shifts, slides out from under yours. You barely stop yourself from clutching at his fingers, and thank fuck , because shit that would’ve been embarrassing. You try to school your features as you look up at him, already resigning yourself to having missed whatever chance you’d been given, but Charlie is looking an odd mix of sheepish and apologetic.

“I’ve gotta get home. Henry’s gonna FaceTime me at nine when he goes to bed. He’s in a Dad phase, he’s very insistent on me telling him a bedtime story.” He explains, voice calm and even, amber colored eyes searching yours. It relaxes you; you understand, somehow, that he wasn’t pulling away because he necessarily wanted to.

You nod, checking the time on your phone, and sighing to yourself. “I should be getting back, too. I have some very important shows to catch up on.”

Charlie laughs, the sound bright, and he shakes his head. “Right, of course, we can’t have you missing out on anything.” He slides out from the booth, tossing enough cash on the table to pay for both your drinks along with a generous tip. “Did you drive here?” He asks you as you gather your things. You nod, and he shoves his hands into his pockets. “Can I walk you to your car?”

You say yes. Why wouldn’t you? Charlie’s face holds a pleased smile as he follows you out of the crowded bar and onto the slightly less crowded sidewalk. The two of you walk towards the parking garage in comfortable silence, arms brushing every so often. Your hands touch, just once, the tiniest bit of what you think is intentional pressure behind it—but Charlie doesn’t take your hand.

When you finally arrive at your hatchback you pull to a stop, giving him a smile. “Well, this is me.” He nods, rocking back and forth on his feet a little bit. He opens his mouth to speak—closes it—and opens it again.

“You know, what I said back there. I wasn’t—I didn’t mean that I was bitter or anything. About my job. I mean, I was . For a long time, I was pissed, and I hated it here, and…” Charlie shakes his head before huffing out a laugh. “… I guess sometimes I can still be bitter about things. But never about being with Henry. He’s the best part of my life and I wouldn’t give that up. I made the right choice.”

You’re a little surprised that he feels the need to clarify this with you, that he wants you to know—to trust—that he loves Henry more than anything. Surprised and touched, but it was all unnecessary. You already knew. So you tell him. “I know, Charlie. Really. And Henry thinks the world of you, even if he doesn’t always show it.”

Charlie’s posture sags a little, as if from relief. You feel somehow privileged to see him like this—so emotionally open—maybe even more so than when you see him half dressed. He doesn’t really come across as a man who just allows himself vulnerability, at least, not when he’s wearing his “big time director” shoes. Maybe it was the fact that it was the end of the day and he’s loosened up from a couple beers, maybe it’s because he trusts you, or maybe both. You aren’t sure, but you appreciate it all the same.

“Well.” Charlie hedges, hands back in his pockets as if he doesn’t quite know what else to do with them. “Uh, drive safe.” You nod, but neither of you move away from one another, staying close as each watches the other. You take in a breath, steeling yourself, telling yourself just to fucking go for it. You step closer, arching yourself upwards—it’s too late to turn back now, you’re going to kiss him, consequences be damned—

He pulls away.

Not far, but it’s enough. Enough that he’s leaning back, tilting his head away, one of his large hands coming up to rest on your elbow. And you —you want to shrink into the concrete out of pure embarrassment, your face going hot with humiliation.

“Oh my god.” You hear yourself say, just the tiniest edge of hysteria in your voice. “Oh my god, Charlie, I’m so fucking sorry, I completely misread the situation. I thought there were signs but I should have asked, I—“

“No.” Charlie’s voice is firm, and his grip on your elbow strengthens to match. “No, you didn’t misread anything.” And suddenly he’s stepping close, recovering the lost distance between the two of you and then some. His free hand comes up to cradle your cheek in his palm; it’s a wonder he doesn’t burn himself with how flaming your face feels. You’re thankful he doesn’t pull away—his touch is like a balm for your mortification.

Still, you’re confused, not knowing what exactly it is that he wants. He must understand the knit of your brows because he brushes his large thumb over your cheek, worrying his plush bottom lip between his teeth. “… I just don’t want to kiss you here, like this, both of us about to leave, me tasting like beer.”

I don’t mind, you want to say. Let me taste you anyway. But all that comes from your mouth is a “oh.” You’re still frowning and Charlie drops both of his hands, shoving them back into those stupid pockets of his. You wrap your arms around your middle, uncertain, waiting for him to speak again, wanting him to magically clear things up. Maybe there is a higher power out there, because it actually happens.

“I like you.” Charlie says, as if it’s the most simple thing in the world. “I like talking to you, I like how you are with Henry, I like that you make me laugh. You make me feel… good about things. I know we haven’t known each other for very long but I like what I do know, and I’d—I’d like to know more.” He reached up to rub the back of his neck, clearing his throat. “… Sorry, I’m a little out of practice when it comes to asking beautiful women out on dates.”

Your heart is in your fucking throat because holy shit, Charlie Barber is asking you out on a date. Your mind is full of excited white noise, barely believing what it’s heard. Because you feel the same way, you do—even if you wanted to bite his head off at first, you’d quickly become enamored with him. He was charming and sweet, and even the few times you’d seen him frustrated he never failed to apologize afterwards. He made you laugh as well; made the kids in class laugh by pulling silly faces. It was inevitable, really, your growing feelings for him.

Sure, maybe after getting to know one another, the two of you would realize it wasn’t meant to be. That the attraction was basic and shallow and physical—didn’t extend deeper. If that were the case, you’d figure it out later. But right now? You had enough ignorance to make room for hope.

“Are you?” You ask, because you have to—you need to be sure. “Asking me out on a date?”

He nods in the affirmative, and you nod back. “Okay. We can go on a date.” Really?  He asks, voice all airy as if he can’t believe you’ve actually said yes. You huff out a laugh, a smile tugging at your lips. “Yes, Charlie. But you know, you don’t have to take me out on a date just to kiss me.”

Charlie ducks his head, but you can tell he’s smiling. “Yeah, but—“ he kicks his foot against the ground, the bottom of his giant dress shoe scraping against the concrete, “—a parking garage? I don’t want our first kiss to set that precedent.” His tone is dry, his familiar wry sense of humor coming through. It shows you he’s a little more relaxed, less nervous now that he’s gotten the big question out of the way.

“Well maybe I find parking garages to be very romantic,” you shoot back; it’s second nature by now, this verbal sparring with him. You don’t want him to take your words out of context, don’t want him to think you’re pushing him to kiss you, so you’re quick to change the subject. “Where are you parked? I can drive you to your car.”

Charlie shakes his head, holding up his phone. “I ubered. Parking’s shit over here at five, I didn’t feel like figuring it out.”

You frown, checking your phone for the time. “It’ll take ages to get an uber down here now, and you’ve gotta get home for Henry. Why don’t I drive you?” Your offer is casual, but the way Charlie’s gaze lands on you makes something dark and warm swirl in your gut. He takes a moment to respond, and when he does, his words are slow and even.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” You give him a look, just barely holding yourself back from telling him to stop being so ridiculous. He hesitates, and then takes a minuscule step forward, nearly pressing against you.

“Because I do want to kiss you. Badly. Everywhere.”

His voice is low, fervent; you think maybe you stop breathing for just a split second. How in the fucking world, you think, can this man be shaking in his oxford’s over asking you out one minute, then say something like that the next ? His eyes are more chocolate than amber now; fuck, he looks like he wants to eat you alive. You’d let him.

“Well.” You say finally, not backing down. “Then you better keep your lips and hands to yourself. Get in the fucking car, Charlie.” He blinks at you, and you aren’t sure if it’s from being torn out of whatever he was daydreaming or from being bossed around, but he’s quick to obey. You get into the driver’s seat no problem; Charlie has to fold himself into the passenger side, scooting the chair all the way back to fit his long legs. You laugh at him as you start the vehicle, then have him plug his address into the GPS as soon as he’s settled.

25 minutes, give or take, to his apartment in Beverly Hills. A lot can happen in 25 minutes, you think idly as you pull out of the garage. An idea pops into your head, and you entertain it a little too long—it starts to fester, and doesn't go away when you try to shove it back. You wait until you’re on the main road, off the little tucked away side streets, before you speak. Your eyes stay locked on the road; even if it was safe to look at him, you don’t think you could.

“Everywhere, huh?”

You can see him swing his head to look at you in your peripheral. Soldiering on, you speak again, not wanting him to get the upper hand or cut you off. “Maybe you should elaborate on that.”

Charlie utters your name, and ooh , you like how it sounds—dark, like a warning. You shrug, as if unbothered. “What? You started it.” Silence settles between the two of you, and you know he knows you’re right. You don’t speak, giving him time to decide if he wants to play this game or not. You won’t be upset if he doesn’t, but still, you really hope he does. A part of you wants—needs —to have just a little piece of him the way you’ve been fantasizing about for weeks.

“Yes.” He says finally, and your stomach jumps in excitement. “Yes, everywhere.” You come to a stoplight and take a brief moment to look over at him. He’s staring at you, and his eyes search your face desperately, as if looking for something. You nod at him, and that seems to be enough to quell his uncertainty, because his tone is firmer the next time around.

“Your mouth.” His gaze dips down to it, and his tongue brushes over his bottom lip. You aren’t sure if he even knows what he’s done. “ Fuck, I think about your mouth. Think about what you taste like, about biting those pretty lips, about how fucking good they’d feel—“ he pauses for a split second, as if bracing himself for his own words, “—wrapped around my cock.”

Okay, yeah, this was happening. He was going there, and you were one hundred percent on board. The knowledge that you haven’t been the only one suffering in lust these past few weeks is thrilling.

“Yeah? Think they’d feel good?” You encourage him, and he nods quickly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows. The light turns green; you’re only aware because of how it bathes Charlie’s pale face in a soft emerald glow. You force yourself to turn away from him and focus back on the road.

“Want your tits in my mouth,” Charlie continues hoarsely, and oh, he was committed to this now. You chew on your bottom lip, listening to him. “I bet they’re so fucking soft, you’re always showing them off at the pool. They’d feel so good in my hands.”

You fidget in your seat, pressing your thighs together; you can't see him but somehow you know—you just know—he notices. He starts to sound a little more confident, his voice dipping into something that can only be described as a purr. “You’d be a good girl for me, wouldn’t you? Let me suck on your pretty nipples? Make you moan for me?”

“Jesus, Charlie,” you curse, voice reedy. You think you can hear the way his mouth snaps shut, and before he can backtrack—before he can apologize for going too far—you’re reaching over to press the heel of your hand against his crotch. Charlie keens, his hips arching up into your touch eagerly, as if he’s desperate for it. You hope he is.

“Fuck, you—you said—“ he grits out, words catching in his throat as he slips down a little in his seat, spreading his legs for you as much as he can. You let him grind into your palm, feeling the even pressure of it even when his movements are small. He’s trying—and failing—to be subtle. You just smile, relishing the tiny bit of control you’ve gained back.

“I said you need to keep your hands to yourself. Not me.” You state, matter of fact, and Charlie huffs. “Point taken.” He slips his hand over yours, pressing harder against his cock. You can feel it thickening up in his nice slacks. You chance a brief glance at him and he’s got his eyes squeezed shut, brows furrowed together. You think he looks gorgeous.

“I can’t cum in these pants.” He rumbles out, sounding strained. “It’ll ruin the fucking fabric.” You hum noncommittally as you make a one-handed right turn, still following the GPS. “Well, then don’t cum.”

Charlie barks out a breathless sort of laugh. “Right. Easier said than done.” His comment gets you hotter than it probably should, knowing you were affecting him like this—pushing him to the edge, literally holding him in the palm of your hand. He’s still guiding you, wanting you to rub him at a slow, even pace, so you do. But you don’t think he should get to have all the fun here.

“Keep going, Charlie. I believe you were saying something about my nipples?”

He lets out a grunt, his hips rolling up into your touch. It takes a moment before he gathers himself enough to speak; he’s busy using his free hand to clumsy undo the top few buttons of his crisp white dress shirt, tugging the fabric apart to get some air on his skin. “You—ngh —you’d uh—“

He sighs, his hips working steadily now as he tries to wrap his brain around words.

“You’d sound so fucking pretty, I’d—hmm —I’d make you say my name. Wanna hear you say it when I make you cum on my fingers. Stretch out that little pussy for my c-ock.” He chokes on the last word, letting his head fall back against the headrest. A ghost of a laugh falls from his lips. “Sorry, I—I haven’t been touched like this in a long time, I’m—I can’t fucking think, jesus fucking christ —“

You turn onto his street, paying close attention to the buildings until you pull up outside his complex. You throw the car into park, glancing around furtively to ensure no one’s around before you unbuckle. Charlie fucking whines at the loss of your hand, and you’re quick to return it to him, rubbing his now fully hard cock through his pants. He lolls his head to the side, watching you from under heavy lids.

“I—I have to… Henry…” He rasps out, and your gaze flicks to the clock on the dash. 8:45. You rub your thumb over the ridged head of his cock, loving the way his mouth drops open in response.

“I know.” You say gently, not letting up the pressure. You wait until he’s panting for it, wait until he’s biting back the softest moans—which doesn’t take long—before pulling your hand away. You smooth your palm over his thick thigh, giving him a small smile. Charlie’s eyes are blown black when he looks at you, and you give his knee a pat. “Just hold your jacket in front of you, you’ll be fine.”

His lips curl up at the edges and he shakes his head, giving you a look of fond exasperation. “Go to lunch with me tomorrow.” There’s a question somewhere in the statement, but you don’t care to find it. You want to see him again, sooner rather than later.

“Okay.” You answer, and it seems to be what he needs to unbuckle his seatbelt, wincing as his cock shifts in the right confines of his pants. He unfolds himself out of the car, indeed shrugging off his jacket and attempting to inconspicuously  hold it in front of his hips as he crosses to your side of the vehicle. You roll down the window to talk to him and he bends forward, resting a forearm on the sill.

“I’ll text you in the morning? See what you’re in the mood for? Anything you want.” He promises, hair falling into his eyes. You nod, and watch as his gaze dips down to your mouth once more. To his credit, he doesn’t try to kiss you—you’d told him hands and lips to himself, after all. He starts to straighten up and you reach out to touch his hand gently.

“Charlie?” His name makes him pause, and he arches a questioning brow at you. You grin. “If you think about me tonight,” you give a pointed glance to his crotch, “make sure you tell me. I’ll wanna know.” He sucks in a breath, and then he’s leaning back down and into your space, close enough that he can brush his nose against your cheek for the briefest of moments. “You’re the devil,” he teases, breath fanning against your ear before he pulls away.

You laugh, shrugging, as if to say well, what can you do?  Charlie lingers for a beat more and then he’s spinning on his heel and marching in the direction of his unit, sparing a glance at his watch as he goes. You track his movement, making sure he gets in okay before plugging your own address in your GPS and heading home.

______________________________________________________________

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“Felicidades Señora, you are pregnant.” It takes a moment for you to fully grasp her accented words. “It is very common for nausea to come when you carry a baby.” She continues showing you pamphlets and offering information, but you don’t hear. Her words fade as the sound of your heart pounding envelopes your ears.

Pregnant?

Fuck.

That can’t be possible you have been so careful, well mostly. You only missed two, MAYBE three pills. All because Javi wanted you to stay the weekend and your dumb horny ass couldn’t say no. You hadn’t seen him for two weeks while he traveled to Medellin. How could you have been so stupid? How are you going to explain this to your boss? An unmarried pregnant woman is not exactly what the embassy had in mind for a secretary. Oh god, how are you going to tell Javier? Your relationship wasn’t exactly conventional. It wasn’t exactly public either, except to the Murphys. All you know is that he is not gonna react well. He is not particularly known for his tact.

“Anything else I can help you with Señora?” The doctor once again tears you from your thoughts.

“Oh, uh, no gracias.” You peel yourself from the now sticky paper, shove the pamphlets into your bag, and sprint for the door of the exam room. You are greeted by a smiling Connie in the waiting room but her smile falls when she sees your face. Your face pale as the cold white walls behind her.

“Are you okay? What did the doctor say?” She reaches for you but you speed right past her towards the door.

All you can focus on is the need for fresh air and sunlight. The crack of the door against the brick wall behind you is nothing compared to the thundering in your ears. Your breathing starts to revert back to a normal pace as the soft breeze fills your lungs. The warm afternoon sun on your face in direct contrast with the cool brick of the wall on your back.

You hear Connie’s soft approach before opening your eyes. With a weighted, heavy sigh, you tell her the news. “I’m pregnant.”

You drag your eyes open and the tears begin to overflow as you break down. Choked sobs escape your throat as you sink down the wall. She catches you before you hit the ground in her steady arms. She gathers you to the car whispering calming words. The drive home is silent. As she pulls onto the street of your shared apartment building she suddenly stops.

“What are ya gonna do?”

“I don’t know.”

She turns in her seat to face you, “Do you want to keep it?”

“I don’t know.” You let out a shaky breath, avoiding her gaze.

She grabs your clammy hands, “I am here for whatever you need. Always.”

You lift your head to meet her eyes and offer a small smile but the car does not budge. You both know that Javier and Steve are waiting for you both. Neither of you thought you’d need to cancel dinner.

“You don’t have to come.” You look at Connie as she breaks the heavy silence in the car.

“Then he’ll know something is up.” You squeeze her hand, “Please.” Your plea is followed by a few tears. Her questioning look softens to one of understanding. You know you can trust her. With a final squeeze of your hand, she lets go and continues the drive down the quiet street.

Connie’s keys jingle as they slip into the lock of her and Steve’s apartment. Olivia’s cries meet your ears before the two of you even step through the door. A wrecked Steve rounds the corner of the entryway with wild hair and panicked eyes.

He grips the screaming baby tightly, “She hasn’t stopped crying since I picked her up from the sitter. I fed her. I changed her. With no help from Javier.” he tosses the pointed remark over his shoulder to where you assume Javi is. “I don’t know what else to do.”

Connie sweeps the baby girl into her arms and soft reassuring coos can be heard as she walks into the living room. You stay put in the entryway, still in a daze. Javi side steps the family of three and plants a chaste kiss on your cheek as he whispers in your ear, “I do not envy them. She about burst my eardrum when I got here.”

You let out a noncommittal hum and make your way into the apartment wanting nothing more than a drink or food to occupy yourself with. As you head to the kitchen, Javier offers to grab you a drink as he refills his whiskey glass.

“I’m just gonna have some water.” All you want is to avoid his scrutinizing gaze.

“What did the doctor say?” The permanent crease in his brow deepens as he trails his hand up your arm. It lands on your shoulder sending shivers down your spine. You know you need to tell him, but not here. Not after his comment about Olivia’s crying.

“Everything's normal. Just a stomach bug I guess.” You shrug and hope your lie sneaks past his perceptive gaze. By the grace of God, he nods, seeming to accept your answer.

After what feels like an eternity of awkward silence, Connie comes in victorious at putting Olivia to bed. Steve and Javier head back into the living room, you assume to discuss work out of earshot and you decide to stay and help Connie with dinner.

—

An hour later and the four of you find yourselves at the dinner table making small talk. You don’t say much, just small comments here and there as you push the food around on your plate. Your unusual quietness doesn’t go unnoticed by Connie’s pitiful half-smiles and Javi’s pointed sideways glances. The only one blissfully unaware of the heaviness in the air was Steve, he kept jabbering on about anything and everything.

“You need to eat something.” Javier leaned over to whisper as his lips ghosted over your ear. An annoyed grunt escaped you as you begrudgingly took a bite of the food. You could still feel his stare burning into you. There was no way you could avoid a conversation when you got back to the apartment.

Soon you had picked at your meal enough to satisfy Javier and Connie. You practically leaped out of your chair to help clear the table and get as much distance between you and Javier as possible. As you cleaned you couldn’t help but glance over at Javier. He and Steve were bent over some paperwork on the table and speaking in hushed whispers. Javier looked at the paper and frowned as he listened to Steve. You knew this job has taken a toll on Javier, the constant work, the corruption of Columbian police, and the never-ending violence changed him. He didn’t have the best track record of coping mechanisms before meeting you, you never thought less of him for it though. It was an impossible job and you couldn’t blame him for needing ways to blow off steam.

Javi took your cue to leave when Olivia began to cry again. He grabbed his leather jacket and with his hand at the small of your back, he began to corral you to the door. He grumbled a quick goodbye and you exchanged reassuring looks with Connie and waved to Steve. As the door closed behind you, you felt a new wave of anxiety rush over you.

Before you knew it you were walking into Javier’s apartment, your own just down the hall. You don’t stay in it much when Javier is in Bogota. You slip your shoes off and lay down your purse in silence as Javier hangs his coat up and immediately goes to his make-shift bar in the corner of the living room. You watch him pour the whiskey into a glass and drink half in one gulp. Your heart beats faster and faster as you watch the muscles in his neck flex and move as the liquid burns his throat.

“Are we gonna talk about why you are acting so weird tonight?” He looks down at the glass as he swirls the amber liquid. You struggle to clear your throat as it becomes dry and he looks directly at you. All you want to do at that moment is sprint out the door and never come back, but his stare pins you in your place.

“Wh-what do you mean?” Your voice cracks as you try and act oblivious.

“Don’t act fucking dumb.” He downs the rest of his drink and firmly sets the glass back on the cart. “You have never been this quiet as long as I’ve known you, Cariño.”

“I told you I’m still not feeling well.” You bristle at his words and try to hold your ground. The audacity of this man is astounding. How dare he criticize you for closing yourself off when he is perpetually sulking? Trying to understand him is like reading a book in another language and upside down. “Just drop it. I’m going to bed.”

He glares at you as you head to the bedroom. As you turn the corner your stomach flips and a tidal wave of nausea hits you. You double over and change course to the bathroom trying to make it to the toilet before your dinner decorates the carpet. You slam the door behind you and whip the toilet seat up in quick succession.

As you empty what little contents your stomach had you hear two short knocks on the door. Before you could even tell him to go away he’s barging right in. You sit back on your haunches and slowly drag your eyes from the floor to meet his dark brown orbs. You stare at each other for a little while, the air in the room heavy and thick with unsaid emotions. Javier breaks the silence with a deep sigh.

“Please tell me you aren’t pregnant.” There’s that classic Agent Peña attitude. Straight forward and a bit of an asshole. You try to keep your face as blank as possible, you need to buy time. A lie isn’t bad if it’s for a very good reason right? You need to figure out what you are going to do before you figure out how to tell your grumpy DEA agent boyfriend.

“No, I told you I’m on birth control. It’s just a stomach bug.” You try to keep your voice steady and even, knowing that Javier Peña can sniff out a lie a mile away. He continues to stare at you, scrutinizing your words. Finally, he sighs and you can visibly see the muscles in his shoulders relax.

“Do you need anything?” His gruff tone sounds impatient like how he talks to suspects or informants. Your nails dig into your palms as you try to keep yourself from wincing at his tone.

“I’m just gonna shower, just go ahead to bed.” You slowly pull yourself off the floor. “Unless you have to go back to work?”

“I have to go talk to Carillo about tomorrow. I’ll be late.” As hard as you try you still cannot read him. Somehow he’s almost always been able to know exactly how you are feeling, but never the other way around. He’s always been clouded in deep frowns and broodiness. With a slight nod to show you heard him you turn the shower on. You know this will be the last you’ll see him tonight.

—

The next morning you wake to an empty bed after a night of tossing and turning. Nothing new, Javier probably came home late and left early. Your brain sluggishly caught up to the events of the previous day. You push yourself out of the warm bed and to the bathroom. Your reflection in the mirror looks about as bad as you feel and that all too familiar feeling starts to bubble up in your stomach and climb up your throat. You might as well start sleeping in the bathroom if this is how every day is gonna go. You slip out of Javier’s apartment back to your own to hurriedly get dressed and out the door.

When you arrive at the office you are greeted with a stack of paperwork to file and a coffee waiting for you on your desk. You look and see a note next to the cup, “Lunch?” You recognize the chicken scratch immediately as Javier’s. You hold the cup in shaky hands as your lips curl into a small smile.

When your lunch break rolls around you walk towards Javier’s and Steve’s shared office. As you round the corner to greet them you stop as their hushed conversation hits your ears.

“You are a hundred percent sure about this tip?” Steve’s whisper carries through the stale air-conditioned air.

“I vetted her myself.” You hear the familiar flick of Javier’s lighter as he lights a cigarette. “Don’t trust me now?”

Steve barks out a wry laugh, “Yeah ‘cause you’re the fucking epitome of trustworthy.”

“Listen, she confirmed the intel last night. I know this girl alright? Fuck.” You can hear Javier frustratingly hit the table. His words hit you like a bus. He lied. He didn’t see Carillo last night, he went to see an informant of his. You blink back the tears starting to make your vision wobbly.

“Yeah? Just how well do you know her?” You can hear the smirk in Steve’s voice.

“Well enough, Cabrón” Javier’s grumbled response and Steve’s following huff of laughter are the last straw. You turn on your heels and storm back to your desk. Your head is reeling, he lied to you. He was sleeping around behind your back. This is what you get for attaching yourself with the well-known man whore that is Javier Peña. You knew his reputation, you have no right to be surprised or angry. Yet you are. You want to break things and scream at the top of your lungs. Your hand absentmindedly lands on your stomach. You’ve attached yourself to Javier in more ways than one. Your decision is easy, you grab your purse, leave a note for your boss, and make your way outside. The stuffy office was becoming suffocating. You walk down the steps of the embassy taking two at a time, without thinking you hail a taxi and go straight home.

—

You hear the lock twist as the front door of your apartment opens. You stay in your slumped position on the couch watching the telenovela on the screen in front of you. You refuse to acknowledge him as he sets his gun and badge on the counter and when he walks over to the couch. He flops beside you and pulls out a cigarette and places it on his lips to light it.

“There a reason you stood me up today, Hermosa?” He asks after blowing out a plume of smoke into the air.

“Nope. Just wasn’t hungry.” You slightly shift your body away from him hoping he won’t notice. But of course, he is ever the observant federal agent.

“Are you pissed at me or something?” He turns to look at you as he takes a long-drawn-out drag from his cigarette.

“How was Carillo last night?” You turn to face him, if he’s gonna lie he has to look you in the face.

Without missing a beat he grumbles a “fine.” You study his face for a moment. Not a twitch of an eyebrow or sideways glance. You had to give him credit, he was an excellent liar.

With a sigh, you get up and move to the kitchen to get a drink of water. He follows you and leans on the counter next to his belongings. He looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to break the silence.

You stare at the glass in your hand and chuckle wryly to yourself, “You are a very good liar.”

“What are you talking about?” He looks at you through another cloud of smoke.

“I know you didn’t see Carillo last night, I overheard you talking with Steve this afternoon.” Your voice is cold and barely above a whisper. You hear him mumble a “fuck” as he presses the crease in his forehead with his thumb.

“Cariño, you don’t understand the whole situation. Just let me explain-” You cut him off with a slam of your glass on the counter.

“I understand perfectly.” Your glare is met with his usual unbothered look “Why are you even here? Just leave.”

He stalks over to your side of the kitchen, he flicks his cigarette into the sink as he stares down at you. “I am here because I want to be.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” You snap back. “Although, I am not surprised. You are very much living up to your reputation Agent Peña.” The venom in your voice surprises you as much as it does him.

His browns eyes turn black as he glowers down at you. You see his muscles tense and just as he is about to respond, his pager goes off. He rips his eyes from your stare down to check it. As quickly as he came, Javier is gathering his belongings. As he shoves his gun down the waistband of his jeans he points at you, “this is not done.”

With that the door slams behind him.

“No, I think it is.” You whisper one tear streaming down your cheek as you slide to sit on the floor.

—

You don’t hear from Javier the next day or the day after that other than a quick phone call to tell you he was called away. He said he’d be in Medellin for three weeks while you were stuck in Bogota. Your last conversation rings throughout your head and the dread of seeing him again weighs on you. You know he’s going to be back at some point and all you want is to get away. On top of all of this, you still haven’t figured out what to do about your secret. No matter where you go you can’t escape Javier. He is consuming your every thought.

You can’t think straight the longer you stay in Bogota.

Before you can talk yourself out of it you call your boss to ask for a meeting over lunch. Your boss immediately tries to talk you out of taking a leave of absence, but you don’t budge. You need to be able to walk down the hall without your mind immediately being drawn to Javier. After an hour your boss agrees to sign off on your leave and by the end of the day, you would have a plane ticket back to the states.

When you walk into your apartment building you bypass your apartment and head straight up the stairs to Connie and Steve’s. Your knock is met with a quick hush as Connie ushers you in quietly pointing to the baby monitor on the counter. As you sit at the kitchen table you begin to talk in hushed whispers. You explain the fight with Javier and your decision to take a leave of absence.

“Have you talked to Javi? You can’t just leave.” You shake your head at her question. You know you should talk to him. But you can’t bring yourself to, you know it will hurt too much and you're hurting enough already.

“Connie, I just can’t. I need time to figure things out and with Javier breathing down my neck I can’t catch a breath.” You feel the tears start to slip down your cheeks and quickly wipe them away.

“I think you’ve made your decision.” Connie leans back and folds her arms. “You’re just afraid he won’t like it.”

“I know.” With a shaky hand, you write down your phone number in the states for her. “I’ll miss you.” You squeeze her shoulder and walk out of her apartment.

The door to your home in Colombia swings open and you stare at all of the belongings you’ve accumulated during your time here.

“This is the right thing. It has to be.” You close the door behind you.

—

Javier’s heavy footfalls echo in the hallway of the apartment complex. He skips past his door deciding to go straight to yours. He hates the fight you two had. If you would just give him a chance to explain you would understand. Your stubbornness makes him so angry sometimes. He slides the key in the lock and twists.

The first thing he notices is how clean it looks. There’s no unfolded laundry by the couch or dirty dishes in the sink. He calls your name and when he doesn’t get an answer his heart rate jumps. His hand instinctively moves to his back and his fingers curl around the cold metal wedged into his waistband. He moves through the apartment to check the bathroom and your room. The bathroom door is wide open and empty and when he reaches the threshold to your room his heart drops. The closet is empty and every surface is void of your ridiculous knick-knacks and pictures. He starts to panic. Could someone have found out about his closeness with you? He starts to pace around the apartment trying to steady his breathing. It's then he notices an envelope on the table with his name on it.

He tears the paper open to reveal the contents, a key and one small note in your handwriting. He rakes his eyes over the five small words on the paper, “You should have this back.” He looks down at the key in his calloused palm and realizes it is his spare. Realization dawns on him, you left. Without a word. You just fucking left. Without a second thought, he is slamming your door behind him as he takes the stairs two by two.

He knows there's only one place you would go. He gets to Steve’s door and immediately begins banging his fist on it. An annoyed Steve throws the door open and Javier pushes past him roughly.

“What the fuck man?” Steve tries to grab Javier’s arm as he forces his way into the apartment.

“Where the fuck is she?” He stalks around the room glowering at Steve.

“What are you talking about? Who?!” Steve looks at Javier like he’s grown three heads.

“Don’t lie to me, Hijo de puta. Where is she?” He grabs Steve by the collar and roughly shoves him onto the wall. Steve tries to push him off but Javier’s grip tightens as he mutters more curses under his breath.

“Javier stop.” Connie cradles Olivia as she stands in the hallway. “She’s not here.”

Javier releases his grip on Steve’s shirt and the blonde pushes Javier away from him. Javier crosses the room in a flash. “Tell me where she went. Now.” He grits his teeth and his jaw tightens so hard he thinks his teeth might break.

“She left.” Connie passes the sleeping Olivia to Steve and goes to sit down on the couch.

Javier’s eyes don’t leave her face, “What the fuck do you mean she left?” The crease in his brows just gets deeper as he tries to figure out what is going on.

“I mean she left. She packed her bags and left.” Connie sighs and picks up a drink that was left on the coffee table.

“Well, where did she go?” Javier’s hands go to his hips as his frustration spikes.

“I can’t tell you.” Javier scoffs at Connie’s answer.

“When?”

“Yesterday.” Connie finishes the drink she was nursing in one big gulp.

“So you're telling me that she left with no way of contacting her?” The muscles in his neck tighten as his voice gets louder.

“I’m not saying that.” Connie snaps back but Javier doesn’t miss the subtle glance she gives to the kitchen table. Before she can say another word he stomps to the table and grabs the paper with your number scrawled onto it. He holds the paper up with a raise of his eyebrows and within five seconds is out the door.

—

You walk in through the door to your phone ringing. You scramble to set your grocery bags down to get to it, but before you can the answering machine clicks on. You freeze when you hear the familiar voice.

“Hermosa, Call me back. I need to talk to you.” Short and to the point. Barely a note of emotion in his voice. You figure he got your number from Connie. You walk over to the machine and immediately delete the message. You left to get away from him, not play phone tag.

The phone rings again as you are cooking dinner and you let it go to voicemail. As the machine clicks on Javier’s voice rings out again. “Please, baby, just call me back. You can’t just leave like that. I thought something happened to you. I need to hear you. Just call me back, please.” You had never heard Javier sound so desperate before. No, you can’t keep doing this to yourself, you blame the tears on the onions and ignore the message.

The third time Javier calls that night it’s late. “What the fuck were you thinking? That you could just up and leave?” The drunken slur of his words, obvious. “You can’t do that. Leave and not answer my god damn calls. Fuck. Pick up the phone.” You can feel the anger resonating off of his words. You sink further onto the floor as the tears freely flow down your face. You don’t know how much longer you can take this.

Javier calls three more times, each with varying degrees of desperation and anger. It takes everything in you not to pick the phone up and talk to him. Tell him where you are so he can come to you. But he would never do that, his job has always been his number one priority. A quality you used to admire. You take one deep breath and reach for the phone, this needs to end once and for all.

—

Javier’s head is pounding and the bright lights of the office are searing into his retinas. He gulps down the shitty embassy coffee praying for it to kick in sooner rather than later. He stares at the phone on the corner of his desk. He knows he shouldn’t call you. He’s tried six times for god sake and you’ve ignored him six times. Obviously, you don’t want to talk to him or let him explain everything. His brow furrows as he thinks back to the last night he saw you. You were upset about him lying to you but it was more than that. Something was bothering you and you didn’t want to talk to him about it. He can’t blame you. He’s not exactly the most forthcoming person. He knows he can be an asshole, but you always saw past his moods, or so he thought.

He resolved to try one more time, he just needs to hear your voice and know you’re okay. He snatches the phone off the receiver and quickly dials your number from memory. He prays to whatever god that you answer. He expected you not to answer. He had a plan for if you pick up and yell at him. What he didn’t anticipate is for every hope he had of hearing your voice to be completely shattered by one sentence.