#soft!javi

That Saturday, you took your notebag and the book you were currently reading and headed to one of your favorite places. To get a coffee sprinkled with chocolate powder, and to eat some of those ghost-shaped cookies that the owner cooked every year, from October to November. You finished your book there and decided to get a new one, so you walked to your usual bookstore. The one where the owner's cat sleeps on the books. He's beautiful, black and white. He lets you scratch his ears every time you go there, purring so hard that it always makes you smile.

It started to rain and you forgot your umbrella, so while waiting for the rain to stop, you picked three books from the shelves, and sat down in one of the armchairs to choose one of them. You turned the pages and the smell of old paper rose up to your nostrils. You loved that scent.

“Good choice,” you heard.

You turned your head towards the man who just spoke to you. Dark hair, mustache, black coat. He had two books in his hand. You'd never seen him there before.

“Your book,” he added to answer your questioning look, pointing at it. “It’s one of my favorites.”

His smile was warm, friendly. His eyes were a curious contrast of seriousness mixed with a twinkle.

“Oh, right, the book,” you replied, smiling. “Yeah, I’ve read great reviews about it. I just finished my last one and I am looking for a new one.”

“It's bittersweet, a little sad but very beautiful. If you're not afraid of a rollercoaster of emotions, it's perfect.”

“Well, I’m gonna follow your advice and buy it. Thank you…?” 

“Javi,” he responded, smiling again.

“Thank you, Javi,” you replied, and told him your name. “The rain has stopped, I’m gonna go. Have a good day!”

“Thanks, you too.”

You paid for the book and left quickly, seeing that new threatening clouds were approaching.

On Sunday, you walked to the park near your house. The weather was way better that day, the sky all blue. You sat on a bench sheltered by hedges that had grown well since last spring, put a blanket you brought on your knees and began reading  your book. 

You started it the night before, and you were glad you followed the advice of that man, Javi. The book suited your tastes perfectly. 

You stayed in the park until it started to get a little chilly, the blanket not enough to keep you warm, then you gathered your things and left. 

On your way back home, a curious black kitten approached you. Its fur was a bright contrast to the orange leaves on the ground.

“What are you doing here all alone, kitty?” you asked him, crouched and scratched his chin. He rubbed against your legs, purring, then left as quickly as he‘d arrived.

As you got up, you saw Javi on the other sidewalk and waved at him.

“Hi!” he greeted you, walking towards you. “You enjoyed some quiet time in the park?” he asked, pointing at your blanket.

“Yeah, I wanted to enjoy the nice weather. I go to the park every Sunday afternoon when I can. I started to read the book!” you added.

“Oh great! What do you think?”

“I really love it so far. Thank you for the recommendation.”

He smiled at you. He was cute. And handsome.

You smiled at him too. And for a few seconds you were just smiling at each other. Those slightly silly smiles that you share when you meet someone and want to know them better.

“I was going to have a coffee, do you wanna come?” he finally asked you, breaking the silence.

“Sure.”

You had never usually had coffee with strangers, but you felt like you already knew him a little. As if the fact that you had the similar tastes in books had helped you to take the leap.

He told you he always drank black coffee, but wanted to try something new, so he ordered a pumpkin spice latte. You laughed when you saw him wrinkle his nose after tasting it.

“I’m gonna stick with my usual,” he chuckled.

You spent the afternoon there, talking about whatever you could think of. Your jobs, your families, your lives, your hobbies. He had moved into the neighborhood a couple weeks ago and didn't know anyone there.

You parted ways, saying “see you soon”.

The following Saturday, you hoped to run into him. At the bookstore or at the café. Or in the neighborhood. You didn't see him and you were a little sad about it. You had often thought about him during the week.

On Sunday, you went to the park. It was a beautiful autumn day. To your pleasant surprise, Javi was waiting for you. With pastries and two coffees.

“Too creepy?” he asked with a cute, almost shy smile, as you stopped surprised in front of him.

“No… too cute,” you grinned, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. He was dressed in black. Coat, sweater, pants. He was really handsome. You couldn't believe he was waiting for you there, that he remembered what you said about loving to come there every Sunday afternoon.

You drank your coffees and ate the pastries, sitting on the bench, your blanket on both of you.

He told you he bought furniture the day before, that he finished putting it together late at night. As if he was trying to explain why you didn't see each other yesterday.

“I'm glad to see you today,” you told him.

“Me too.” He looked at you, his eyes landing briefly on your lips. Smiling shyly afterwards, as if to apologize.

You saw each other for the next three weeks, every Saturday and Sunday. Doing fall walks to the cafe, bookstore, park. Every day of the week, you looked forward to the weekend. Aware that you were slowly falling in love with Javi, even if you didn't show it. You weren’t sure if he had feelings for you.

One day, you didn’t know what pushed you to do it, but you couldn't resist and you kissed him under your umbrella. He had just caressed your cheek, and his eyes were the only thing you were able to see. As if everything else had disappeared. 

He kissed you back, his lips pressing against yours, his soft mustache against your skin. You didn't talk about it, didn't want to. You just loved being with him and everything had been perfect so far.

He was always calm, reassuring and didn't rush you. You liked that he didn't feel compelled to fill in the blanks in your conversations.

“Did you see that the café is closed for renovations next Saturday?” he asked at the park, that last Sunday.

“Yes…” you looked down at your feet. You didn’t want to spend a Saturday without seeing him, so you gathered some courage. “Would you like to come and have coffee at my place?”

“I’d love to,” he added quickly, as if he was relieved to know you wanted to see him too.

You gave him your address, and added, “it's the last house on the right. The one with the pumpkins, electric garlands and candles in the living room window.”

He smiled and said “see you Saturday, Hermosa,” before leaving.

Javi wasn’t expecting to meet anyone with whom everything seemed so easy. Not so fast, not so smooth. That Saturday at the bookstore, he saw you a few seconds after the bell on the door rang, announcing an entrance. Always used to analyze every situation, every noise around him. He had done nothing but that for decades. Some habits were hard to break.

You went straight to the cat sleeping on the books, awake as soon as you had lulled him with your soft words “hey kitty, how's your day going? You're such a good boy, always taking care of those books. You love their smell, don’t you? I love it too.” 

He heard the cat purring from where he was. Javi wasn't a cat person, he preferred dogs, but found it rather cute, that loud purring sound.

He had thought back to Puff, Steve and Connie's cat. Fucking sicarios.

His years at the DEA would haunt him for years, probably for his entire life, he knew it. He had tried to work on his father's ranch, but everything reminded him of the DEA. His childhood, his teenage bedroom. The discussions with his parents about his desire to join the agency. Lorraine. He wondered what he had missed, even though he did not regret his years in Columbia. He had done the best he could.

He had thought that maybe he would recover faster if he left Laredo. If there were fewer people who spoke Spanish around him. He needed a change of life, so he had moved to the other side of the country.

And then you arrived in his life, kind of. 

When he saw you, holding his favorite book in your hands, his heart skipped a beat. There were two other books on your lap, but you were looking at his favorite. He didn’t hesitate long before coming up to talk to you. As if that book was some kind of a sign that he had to meet you.

On Sunday, he saw you sitting on a bench in the park, immersed in the book. He didn't want to disturb you, so he waited for you to leave and came to meet you while you were crouching next to a cat in the street. You really were a cat person.

The smile you gave him reached his heart a little too fast. As if you were a constant in his new life. Already. 

It could seem silly, he didn't know you. But he didn't really remember what a normal life was, either. With no drugs, no guns, no threats, no deaths. You were none of that. Maybe that was the reason why he never felt the urge to be grumpy or sassy around you.

The following Saturday he went to buy the last pieces of furniture he was missing in his apartment. He started to assemble them, without realizing how much time was passing. Until he saw that night had almost fallen. He ran to the café, to the bookstore, to the park, but he didn't see you. It was too late.

He cursed between his teeth, and hoped to meet you the next day. Yes, the next day, if the weather was nice, he would go to the park.

He smiled when he woke up the next morning, seeing the blue sky. He waited for the afternoon, then bought two coffees and some pastries. Hoping that you would be there.

You greeted him with a big, beautiful smile when you saw him. Thanking him for what he had brought. And damn, you had a charming smile.

Then, you saw each other every weekend, all October. Each week passed too slowly for his liking, while each moment in your presence passed at the speed of light.

One Saturday, in that café, he didn’t even realize that he had rested his head on his hand, turned towards you, and that he was drinking in your words. You were so close. It made you smile shily. He wondered if you were as enamored as he was. 

But he didn't want to move too fast, didn't really want to know if you were. It had been a long time since he had spent such moments with a woman. Someone who wasn't related to his job. Since high school, probably?

He didn’t want to know, but when you came out of the cafe and it started to rain, you opened your umbrella and offered him a cover rom the rain under it. Your eyes plunged into his, and he couldn’t resist the urge to brush your cheek covered in a few drops of water with his thumb. Your eyes slid from his eyes to his lips, and you bit yours. He didn’t move, not wanting to break the moment. Not wanting to go too fast. But he let you get closer to him, until your lips landed on his, offering the softest kiss he had ever received. He felt his cock throb, tightened in his pants. It was happening to him more and more when he was with you, but he didn't want to think about it. He wanted to put his arm around your shoulders to protect you from the cold, but he didn't dare. 

Though, he couldn't help himself from resting his hand on the small of your back, brushing it over your coat. He felt you getting closer to him and you walked without speaking. The silence wasn't awkward at all, and he loved that.

That last Sunday, when you offered him to have coffee at your place, he didn’t hesitate for long. He wasn’t so sure if he wanted to take his time anymore.

He knocked on your door and when you opened it, he held out a book.

“This is my second favorite, if you want to give it a try,” he said. As if he was not really talking about giving a try to that book, but to him.

You smiled, pulled him by the collar towards you and kissed him.

He definitely didn’t want to take his time anymore, and apparently neither did you.

Javi p masterlist

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She wishes she could stop staring at the way his lips hug the edge of his beer bottle, at the wet sheen it leaves on his mouth before the back of his index finger wipes it away. One forearm relaxed on the table, his thumb tracing a path down through the beads of condensation on the amber glass.

Her eyes are drawn to the breadth of those shoulders, how his dark shirt hugs his chest and arms and hangs loose at the waist of his jeans. The top buttons are undone, exposing the notch at the bottom of his throat and a little more. Sun-kissed skin on display, even the smooth veins down his arms that never seem to lay flat. She can’t get enough of the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, his thick hair still messy from sleeping late, with scruff to match because she likes it when he forgets his razor at home and he knows that. It occurs to her at this moment she would easily sell her soul to see him this relaxed and content forever.

There are dozens of other people in this place, but he can’t bring himself to care because the only thing worth his attention is sitting just beyond his left arm across the corner of their table. She picks his aviators off the table and slides them to the top of her head, the striking orange lenses matching the patterns on her dress and just like that he understands why he's always being teased about the way they match. Something shiny on her wrist catches his eye, and smiling, he wonders when she'd decided to slip on his watch. The warm breeze is circling them lifting the hair off her neck, leaving goose-bumps down her shoulders and every so often he gets a fresh hit of her scent, enough to make his head buzz and God, she wasn't kidding when she'd told him two hours is too long to spend out of bed. But he doesn't need a chunky silver timepiece to tell him how long it will take them to get back to their rented room with the cherimoya bushes underneath their balcony. His eyes on her mouth, his knees splay under the table, nudging her leg. Nothing could interrupt this fixation.

A knee touches hers under the table, warm and intimate, and her eyes flash up to find his gaze intent, focused, noticing the way she's been taking him in. Slouching in his chair, his leg slides farther against hers, the contact sending a brilliant thrill up her leg, heavy heat pooling between them. His elbow leans on the arm of his chair towards her, an unconscious gesture, as though he’s never close enough. His mouth is hiding the softest sinful curve like he’s remembering something delicious and probably dirty because his eyes have darkened to a bottomless hue, a look she knows only too well. Her insides ignite like a match and suddenly she's back on that lounger on their balcony straddling his hips, gasping against the slow precise twist of his fingers between her legs and the meticulous focus of his mouth on the wet fabric of her bikini top. Seeing nothing but stars, she had covered her mouth to hold in the whimpers, his broken curses and raspy stubble against her bare skin unravelling her yet again. Demanding. Once more for him. Again.

The memory of it makes her clench, her skin tingling, setting her spine on fire, effectively drowning out the dull chatter of clinking forks and Margarita glasses on the patio because god the list of illegal things she would do to this man is staggering. Even at two o’clock in the afternoon and smack in the middle of the busiest restaurant on the fucking island. She reaches for her mojito, lest her cheeks burst into flames, knowing that she won’t be able to pick it up off the table without trembling. Somehow she manages to drain half the glass and of course, he notices her struggle because his mouth twitches and he waits—- until he has her full attention again before sliding his gaze down her face, her bare arms, his eyes catching on the flimsy low neckline of her dress. His jaw clenches and his throat bobs before dragging his gaze back up locking his eyes on hers.

He wants nothing more than to pull the string loose behind her neck that holds her dress up, because fuck, nothing will ever ease his constant ache to be buried inside her to the hilt, her hair a tangled sweaty mess, her back arching, her eyes glassy and unfocused, her nails digging half-moon shapes on his chest and shoulders.

He will never get enough of the sounds she makes for him, the way she gasps his name and comes undone for him.