Carrillo glances over at him, brief, casual.
Pena pretends not to catch it but it’s like there’s an alarm in his brain that goes off whenever he has the colonel’s attention—however fleeting it may be.
Him and Steve have regrouped with Trujillo and Carrillo after being torn to pieces by Major Wysession and Ambassador Noonan.
Steve’s beyond pissed. Intel he received turned out to be a bust and now he’s desperate to make up for it.
“I’ve gotta get back out there,” Steve tells the group, “see where the misstep was. Maybe someone followed—“
“No,” Carrillo interjects, grabbing a radio, “you stay here. I’ll take Pena. You guide us.”
Steve’s eyebrows raise and Pena shrugs when he looks at Carrillo. Even though Steve’s been down here awhile now, Pena and Carrillo speak Spanish and know the streets better.
It’s a pair up that makes sense.
Pena’s pretty sure Steve’s onto them though, and so the look he shoots to Pena—quickly, privately—is dubious before he readily agrees.
“Be safe,” he responds, “keep your eyes peeled.”
Pena nods, following Carrillo out of the room.
The day passes by quickly—they actually work, contrary to whatever Steve may be coming up with in his head back at the precinct.
Pena fucks off on the clock every now and then— might make a little trip down to see his friend Vanessa or a friend of hers—but Carrillo?
But Steve’s been watching them close and Pena has a feeling he thinks there’s more than what meets the eye.
It doesn’t bother Pena. He’d be more concerned if they hadn’t grown so close in the time they’d been partnered up.
Steve and Carrillo is another matter however.
“You can trust Steve, you know,” Pena brings up later, smoking a cigarette atop one of Medellin’s highest foothills.
Carrillo scoffs, crossing his toned arms as he leans back against the CNP ranger.
“I’m serious,” Pena continues, “he’s a good man, Horacio.”
Carrillo turns to him, smirking. “Oh?”
There’s a flutter in Pena’s stomach as he leans in and looks up from under his eyelashes. Flirty like a schoolgirl.
“Yes,” he mutters, “and if you’re not careful, he might replace you.”
Carrillo pushes off the hood Pena leans back into, coming to stand directly in front of him.
They’ve been circling each other for what feels like years now. Pena knows Carrillo’s married but he can’t help himself. He has eyes.
The colonel is gorgeous. His tan skin smooth and perfect—looking so revived and refreshed despite endless hours under the sun.
His shoulders are broad and even, strong thigh muscles toned and hard.
There isn’t an ounce of fat on his ribs or abdomen. Hours of dedicated, grueling strength training building him up to the man standing before him.
Doesn’t hurt that he’s also got a perfect, firm ass.
And Pena, ever the romantic, wants to fuck his brains out.
But they haven’t done it.
They haven’t done anything.
Carrillo is an honorable man, a loyal husband. He won’t hurt his wife.
It’s fucking brutal.
Because Carrillo will tease Pena, will tempt Pena—but he won’t play with Pena.
Even now, when Carrillo is mere inches from Pena’s body, he won’t close the gap. And Pena wouldn’t dare make that decision for him.
Escobar isn’t the only one afraid of Horacio Carrillo.
But the audacity of it all—Pena’s losing sleep. Steve thinks he has them figured out but Pena himself doesn’t even remotely have a clue.
And he can’t get one because he cares for Carrillo far too much to cross a line.
So all they do is stare at it.
“Is that so, Agent Pena?”
Pena tilts his head back, putting the long line of his neck on display as he inhales smoke. One of his hands grips the rim of the SUV behind him, spreading his chest and overall stature wider. Unveiled body language.
Carrillo glances down, taking time to slowly trail his eyes back to Pena’s. When they connect again they’re so full of fire Pena nearly loses his breath.
Carrillo has the most beautiful eyes. Always so alive.
Pena wants that gaze on him all the time.
“Could be,” Pena finally responds, gruff, only minimally panicking as his cock chubs up in his Levi’s.
Low-simmering arousal is his constant state around Carrillo these days. The asshole.
Pena flicks his cigarette to the ground, already craving checking in at the nearest whorehouse for assistance with his issue.
He goes to kick himself off the bumper when Carrillo stops him, placing a hand on the hood behind him and caging him in.
“Javier,” he whispers, leaning in.
Pena’s heart pounds so hard he thinks, hysterically, it might crack.
“Colonel,” he replies, heart clawing and crawling up through his throat.
Carrillo’s eyes drift down to his lips, quick—almost too quick.
But Pena caught it.
Carrillo tilts his head to the side, like a curious dog Pena and Steve sometimes see on the sides of the road. Then he leans in, so close Pena feels his breath fan against his skin as he mumbles—
He steps back, looking completely unperturbed as he unclips a walkie from his belt.
Pena breathes a little heavier than usual, his problem literally growing as Carrillo turns his back on him and gets Trujillo on the radio.
“Ay, please tell Agent Murphy we’re on our way back.”
Pena can hear how pleased he is with himself, smug bastard.
Later, as they make their way back into the city, Carrillo reaches out his hand and holds onto Pena’s. Just for a moment.
Pena’s never been more grateful for the cover of the night hiding his ridiculous blush.
They do it differently than in Miami.
Pena inhales his cigarette, trying not to snap at the man before him.
“ We’re talking about a vigilante now, Javi.”
“Carrillo needing intel reports isn’t a renegade operation—“
“Steve, he needs to get anything we find.”
Steve hits the file cabinet, back to him. “Javi...we gotta cool it with this shit. They know we’ve been helping.”
“I thought you said you were all in?”
Steve’s pacing the room now, a tiger in a cage, and Pena’s trying to get him to make eye contact but he won’t.
“Steve, come on.”
Steve shakes his head. “Hot coffee? A bit dated don’t you think?”
Pena wants to roll his eyes. Throw his hands up in response to the dramatic display. But he remains calm.
This is damage control.
It’s quickly becoming apparent that between the two of them— Pena is going to be the one doing the talking down.
Steve’s a good man but anyone with common sense can see the guy’s got a temper.
“Sometimes you have to do bad things—“
“—to get back to good?” Steve interjects, eyes wild and hair skewed.
“Yes,” Pena murmurs gently, coming closer to him.
He leans against Steve’s desk when he gets there. “Sit down.”
Steve glares at him, looking like he’s about to refuse, but Pena just nods his head and gestures to the chair.
Steve sighs, sitting.
“I heard about you,” Pena begins, “before you came down.”
Steve crosses his arms. “Oh yeah?”
Pena hums. “Some history with La Quica.”
Steve physically bristles, shoulders going tense as he bites his bottom lip.
“So,” Pena persists, “I wouldn’t judge Carrillo.”
“And why is that?”
“Because,” Pena moves from the desk, “you’ve had a partner killed,” he places a hand on Steve’s shoulder, squeezing, “he’s had a dozen.”
Pena doesn’t look back as he leaves the room. He doesn’t need to.
“They’re in a house outside of Cartagena,” Navegante says, pointing on the map.
“Just know there are a lot of people guarding him.”
Navegante creeps Pena out. Always has.
Cold, dead eyes. Leering smirk. Receding hairline. Offhandedly violent— like it’s the most regular occurrence. As normal as eating or breathing.
But his information is vital. He’s handing over one of the Medellin kingpins and they can’t afford not to act.
Carrillo isn’t convinced.
Pena already knows what’s coming before the colonel even opens his mouth.
“Navegante, you’ve worked for Gacha for many years. I’m sure in that time you’ve earned way more than what we are giving you. So tell me, why do you want to betray him?”
It’s a fair question—but they don’t have time for reasoning. Pena’s growing nervous the more daylight they lose.
Navegante shrugs, bleak eyes flitting between the two of them.
“That fucker’s crazy,” he declares, “gonna get us all killed.”
He pulls his signature toothpick out of his shirt pocket, nodding at them before turning around and sauntering away.
Carrillo looks after him, visibly troubled.
Pena feels about as uneasy as he looks, but he won’t let on. He needs to stay focused— Carrillo and the CNP need his brain and his attention.
Pena folds the map as Carrillo leans into the vehicle metal.
“I don’t believe him one bit.”
Pena glances down at him, “What do you care why he’s doing it?”
Carrillo looks at the ground. “Because we have 23 agents with outdated weapons waiting in Barranquilla. And he has twice as many men with brand new weapons.”
Pena can hear the frustration in Carrillo’s voice and he has the sudden urge to soothe it—take him down.
Carrillo will probably take him down instead.
“And frankly,” Carrillo progresses, “I’m tired of sending young men to face certain death.”
Pena rubs at his face, thoughtful. He sits down next to Carrillo, response soft and gentle. “So then we have to be smart.”
This angers Carrillo, who shakes his head, jaw tense.
Pena tells him, “We have to set a trap. If we catch him alive, he’ll give us Escobar. And the Ochoas. The entire cartel—“
Carrillo looks at him, livid. “I don’t give a fuck, Javier.”
Pena shivers. No one calls him that.
“I want him dead.”
Pena disagrees. “He doesn’t care about death. He only fears rotting in jail. That’s the real victory.”
Carrillo sneers, looking out into the warehouse shaking his head. “Right, I forgot you’re a gringo.”
Pena’s heart drops. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What are you risking? These aren’t your men. You have no family here to lose.”
Pena’s throat momentarily closes up. He struggles to move past the lump. He very nearly says, “Then what are you?”
But he doesn’t.
Carrillo pushes, “If this goes badly, there will be more widows and orphans, and I’ll have to carry that on my shoulders.”
The amount of anger in his eyes is alarming—especially directed at Pena. But he understands.
“Well...” he looks away, “I trust his information.”
Carrillo doesn’t hesitate, “And I trust you.”
A pleasant light flickers in Pena’s belly, though it feels inappropriate given the circumstances.
Carrillo kicks his foot. “But if this turns out bad…it’ll be on your conscience.”
Carrillo barely spares him a parting glance as he moves towards their vehicle.
They don’t speak the rest of the day.
The man towers over them, intimidating. He’s dressed like a politician— smart and posh.
Doesn’t mean he is one.
Pena and Carrillo turn their backs on him.
“I don’t believe him,” Pena whispers.
“I don’t either,” Carrillo agrees.
“He could have bought his credentials.”
Carrillo makes a “mm” sound. “What if it turns out he is a senator? We’ll pay for that.”
The gears are turning in Pena’s head.
Carrillo stresses, “I can’t run that risk.”
Pena hums, nodding. He knows what he has to do.
“It’s true,” Pena mutters, pulling out his gun, “you can’t.”
Carrillo’s eyes widen as Pena quickly shoots the tall man in the foot, adrenaline pumping as he grabs him forcefully by the back of his head.
“The next one,” he threatens, “goes in your head. Talk bitch!”
For someone so menacing, the man rolls, giving in immediately. “I’ll talk! I’ll talk!”
Pena doesn’t turn to see the look on Carrillo’s face, thankful and full of pride.
If he did, he’d surely return it.
Later, after they’ve secured Gacha’s location and their squadron has returned to camp, Pena steps away, needing a moment.
The intensity of the day has left him exhausted. He swallows, mouth dry.
He should probably drink water but he keeps walking, wondering what it means that he blatantly committed an act of rebellion earlier tonight.
He didn’t used to take the law into his own hands. There was a time where he did everything his government told him to do.
Then he met Carrillo.
It feels like so long ago, now.
He glances up, the beauty of the night a welcome distraction.
It’s dark where they are but the stars help. Pena knows better than to wander far but a part of him wants to just keep going—get so completely lost in the jungle he can’t even remember his life from before.
Only trees and sky and stars and freedom.
He hears the crunch of footsteps on gravel before he sees whom they belong to. He doesn’t panic, doesn’t react at all. He reaches in his back pocket for a lighter and cigarette, already knowing who will greet him in the light of the flame.
“Agent Pena,” Carrillo says, walking up to him slowly.
Pena nods, inhaling the smoke.
He deliberately ignores how terribly frantic his heart begins banging.
Carrillo stops less than a foot away from him, hands in the pockets of his favorite navy blue jacket.
He appears unarmed, though Pena knows he never goes anywhere unprepared.
“Thank you. What you did tonight—“
“Don’t mention it,” Pena interrupts him, “we all have a common goal.”
Carrillo moves even closer, just looking at him. The depth, the understanding in his eyes—signals that Carrillo‘s aware Pena’s talking shit.
They both know the real reason why Pena put his ass on the line.
Carrillo’s stare doesn’t falter. And Pena feels on edge but not in a bad way.
He aches for those eyes.
However long he lives, however long he may know this man—Pena will always seek his gaze before any others.
“Javier,” he sighs, bringing a hand to graze upon the thin skin of Pena’s wrist.
“What?” Pena questions, eyelid twitching briefly and head pounding from lack of sleep.
“Tomorrow will be dangerous. I need you to be careful.”
Pena grasps his hand lightly, an act of casual intimacy he’s never experienced with anyone else.
“You do the same,” he responds, firm, despite how he fragile he feels at even the idea of Carrillo not surviving the raid.
Carrillo squeezes his hand. It’s not an answer, but it’s enough.
Pena flicks his cigarette off into the night. “We should get back.”
Carrillo rubs his wrist—tender, familiar. Arousal flares in Pena’s cock, heavy and present and impossible to ignore. Carrillo’s hand is rough from maneuvering weapons but his skin is smooth—like velvet.
Pena wants to feel it around him, inside him—
He stops the train of thought.
They could die tomorrow.
When they make it back to camp, Pena wants Carrillo to follow him. Not even for sex.
Moreso comfort, reassurance.
But there are too many eyes, too many risks.
Still, Pena hopes.
Always hoping when it comes to this man.
“Get some sleep Javier,” Carrillo whispers once they make it their tents, “tomorrow’s the day.”
“Maybe the last one,” Pena replies, raw and honest.
“Could be,” Carrillo replies.
The tension between them is so thick Pena could scream from it.
Instead, he goes to bed alone.
He isn’t sure which hurts more.
They stare down at the broken, bullet-ridden body of Jose Gonzalo Rodriguez Gacha.
Parts of his brain seep out where his eye socket used to be. A younger solider had to be escorted away from the scene, sick on sight.
Pena doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he won’t last when he’s this soft.
Carrillo’s beside him, disturbance mixed with surprise evident on his face. He clearly didn’t think Pena would go in for the kill.
“Are you okay?” Carrillo questions, anxious.
Pena looks over at the red Chevy, at Don Freddy. Blood drowns half of his face in an angry red.
“I’ll sleep tonight.”
He looks at Carrillo and Carrillo looks at him. Pena turns away, fingers lingering on Carrillo’s bicep before he leaves.
They don’t see each other again until a couple days later—when they’re back in Medellin, when Pena’s in his own home.
It’s storming outside—angry and loud and turbulent.
He thinks its Steve when he hears knocking, not bothering to put on a shirt.
He fucked a prostitute for the better part of the day, needing to get out all the pent up sexual frustration Carrillo was festering in him.
She was a pretty little thing too—long, straight black hair, red, razor sharp nails. A line of perfect white teeth and mouth-watering breasts—pert and small, but perfectly sized for the warm palm of his hand.
The muscles in her toned thighs twitched as he lifted her against his front door, pushing her silk, floral dress to the side so his cock could rub against a pussy so wet it barely took any resistance for him to slide inside.
He fucked her against the door, then fingered her over the arm of the couch. Once they took a breath, Pena sat—legs spread, while she rode him so hard the couch frame fractured.
So even though she’s been gone awhile, he’s still a bit of a flushed, sex-weakened mess.
He may also be a touch drunk—perhaps seeking to drown a sorrow or two in cheap, hard liquor.
He isn’t prepared for Carrillo. And judging by his stare, Carrillo isn’t prepared for the current state he’s in.
He frowns. “Is this a bad time?”
His eyes trail down Pena’s chest—slow, deliberate—and he’s never felt so exposed. Escobar himself could have him spread on a metal table, ready to torture, and his heart wouldn’t pound nearly as loud as it does now.
“No,” Pena tells him, suddenly breathless.
“Can I come in?”
Pena hesitates. His head’s swimming, alcohol hitting him a little harder than he expected.
“Javier?” Carrillo’s voice rolls over him in one big wave, smooth and sweet and a calming blue.
“Come in,” Pena says, pushing the door aside wider.
Carrillo sounds worried as he asks, “Are you alright?”
Pena’s body aches, especially at his throat.
“Yeah,” he coughs awkwardly. He remembers there was scratches the woman left, surely a love bite to match as well.
He’s not sure, because he didn’t look in the mirror. But his suspicions are confirmed in Carrillo’s fiery eyes.
He steps into the apartment, locking the door behind him.
Pena doesn’t know what to do, self-conscious and nervous in the comfort of his own home.
Carrillo knocks him off his axis. His own personal vertigo.
“What are you doing here?” He tries to sound firm but his voice shakes.
Carrillo moves so fast his drink-riddled reflexes don’t catch up until it’s too late. He pins Pena against the wall, pressing his nose to his throat, right where a mark throbs.
“Fuck—“ Pena whimpers, feeling himself grow hard.
“What you did,” Carrillo whispers, harsh, hurried, “for me—for my men—“
He runs a hand down Pena’s chest, digging his nails in, leaving new marks—stopping at the button on his jeans.
“Horacio,” Pena sighs, pressing his nose into his soft, thick hair, “what’re you doing?”
“I want you so much, Javier.” He presses a small kiss to Pena’s neck, taking a deep breath. “I can’t stop—dreaming of you—“
Pena cries out as Carrillo bites down on his neck, sucking forcibly at the thin skin while palming at his growing erection. The sensations are hitting him from multiple angles and his knees buckle, disrupting his balance.
He feels woozy as Carrillo stabilizes him, using the wall to prop him upright. He pulls back, face flooding with concern.
“You’re drunk,” he observes, brows furrowed.
Pena nods, feeling warm and suddenly unbearably aroused. He sways into Carrillo, resting both hands on his broad, firm chest.
He doesn’t know how much of the tequila bottle he had. He’s guessing a lot judging by what comes out of his mouth next.
“You should fuck me,” he says, giddy and bold and not even thinking of the consequences.
Carrillo shakes his head. “I’m taking you to bed.”
Pena raises his eyebrows, smirking. “Yeah?”
Carrillo rolls his eyes, taking him by the hand and leading them out of the room.
Pena stumbles, stubbing his toe against the coffee table, yelling out as pain overtakes his senses. “Fuck!”
Carrillo shushes him, pulling him into a half-hug. “You’re a mess.”
“Am not.” Pena sounds like a petulant child, crabby from lack of sleep.
He is actually exhausted. And the source of his restlessness being in his home—in his bedroom—with him isn’t doing him any favors.
He flops down on the bed, graceless and uncaring.
He feels Carrillo’s weight settle next to him, fingers caressing his wrist. His go-to place on the canvas of Pena’s body.
“I’m drunk,” Pena declares, unhelpful.
Carrillo laughs—it’s small and quiet but it’s a still a laugh. Still lights Pena up inside.
Carrillo laughs so rarely it used to make Pena sad. Not much makes him sad anymore, though. Not much but—
“I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”
“But, we should talk...” Pena’s voice trails off into a yawn.
Pena’s eyes haven’t felt this heavy in a long time. He doesn’t even know what it means that Carrillo showed up here tonight. Basically ambushed him.
He doesn’t have the mental capacity to even begin taking apart all of the pieces and implications his current company brings.
So he closes his eyes, falling asleep to a touch so tender he swears he feels it in his dreams.
He wakes burning hot, dehydrated, and with a full bladder.
He rushes to the bathroom, throwing up the minute he reaches the toilet.
He’s so disoriented he doesn’t even register he’s not alone until a warm hand finds it way on his back, rubbing up and down in a soothing manner.
He feels so awful he barely panics, too weak to lift his head from the toilet bowl. The night before is a complete blur. He didn’t realize how much he actually drank after the hooker left—eager to drown touches, memories, and conversations in whiskey.
“That’s it,” someone says behind him, tone so full of care, “let it out, Javier.”
He doesn’t remember the last time he was hung-over. He’s too old for this shit.
“Horacio?” He croaks, pathetic.
He flushes the toilet, disposing of the sick.
A glass of water appears next to his head.
“Drink this,” Carrillo murmurs.
Pena reaches for it, reminding himself not to let go and allow it to drop and shatter on the ground.
The cold liquid soothes his dried, cracked throat—he closes his eyes as it flows through him.
Carrillo hands him pills next, instructing him to take those as well. “They’ll help your headache.”
His head does pound rather violently. So he does what he’s told.
Once he swallows he asks, “What’re you doing here?”
His back is still turned to him, warm forehead resting against the cool toilet seat.
“I wanted to take care of you,” Carrillo responds, matter of fact.
Pena’s tempted to respond crudely, make it sexual like some hormonal teenaged boy, but he doesn’t—simply landing on, “Thanks.”
“Come back to bed, it’s late.”
Pena glances at the clock but it’s too far for him to read.
“Okay. Let me just...” He trails off.
Carrillo nods. Getting up and going back into his bedroom.
His head already feels a little better. A little lighter.
He’s able to stand, exhausted and off kilter—but still standing. He relieves himself first, dreading his reflection.
He flushes, turns on the faucet and washes his hands. He does not look at himself.
He cups the water, drinking it, swirling the cold liquid around his tongue. He grabs his toothbrush, needing to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth.
He spits. Looks up.
It’s not a pretty sight.
His face is colored deep pink, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
There’s sweat or grease on his forehead.
He splashes nearly freezing water on his hot face before leaving the room, unsure what he’ll find. He hasn’t actually looked at Carrillo since he woke up.
His heart lurches at the sight greeting him.
Carrillo is lying down on his bed, shirtless.
It registers in his head then that he’s also shirtless.
He swallows, loud in the quiet of his room.
“Come here,” Carrillo says, soft.
Pena goes to him. Doesn’t believe there will ever be a time when he won’t go to him.
He lies down, resting his head on Carrillo’s chest, right above his beating heart. His cock twitches, sensitive already.
“Do you remember when I arrived?”
He does, but barely. He gives a small nod.
“Why are here?”
“I already told you.”
Pena sits up, though the movement makes him weak.
“You should be at home. With your wife.”
Carrillo lurches up and in an instant has Pena pinned below him on the bed.
Pena’s shoulders dig in the mattress as he arches up, meekly attempting to fight. But Carrillo’s too strong and Pena’s too weak. Carrillo takes his wrists, and instead of the tender touch Pena’s used to, he holds them down firm against the sheets.
It’s thrilling, being under him this way.
“What are you doing to me?” Pena breathes, heart in his throat.
Carrillo stares down at him and even though he’s shaky and dreary and weak—he’ll remember this moment forever.
Carrillo doesn’t answer. Instead he leans down, slowly, and kisses him.
Pena gasps, opening for him. Carrillo presses soft pecks along his lips at first, teasing, gentle presses of lips against lips. But Pena’s waited too long to take it slow.
He dips his tongue in, sliding it along the ridges in the roof of Carrillo’s mouth. Carrillo’s tongue caresses his in turn, tentative—shy.
Pena pulls back, only to take a breath before diving back in and sucking on Carrillo’s tongue with a renewed sense of energy.
He’s fully aroused, taking no time at all. Endless daydreams and fantasies nothing compared to having the source of his lustful agony in front of him, on top of him.
They move so fast it doesn’t feel real. None of it does. It feels so late it’s practically morning—probably will be soon. But there’s no light here, only warm movements in darkness.
Carrillo strips them both of their pants, lining his toned body completely along Pena’s.
It would be suffocating if Pena weren’t so enamored—wasn’t in so deep.
Carrillo takes both of their hard cocks in hand, stroking leisurely, like they have no obligations, like there isn’t a war outside of Pena’s window.
“Look at you,” Carrillo murmurs, “you’re shaking for me...”
Pena doesn’t deny it. He’s spent too long in denial when it comes to this man.
“I’ve waited,” he quietly admits, kissing Carrillo’s cheek.
“I know,” Carrillo replies, sincere, “I’m sorry to have kept you.”
He twists his hand around the swollen head of Pena’s cock, causing him to let out a breathy moan.
“Want you inside me,” Carrillo pants against his forehead, “want you to fuck me deep.”
Pena arches, ass flexing against the covers.
“Wana fuck you,” Pena’s mouth waters.
He tries to close his knees against the invasion of his senses but he can’t. “Get the slick,” he instructs, voice a slip higher than usual, “please.”
“You like it wet, Javier? That what you want?”
“I want you,” Pena relents, broken. Though they both know it’s no revelation.
“I want you too,” Carrillo responds, kissing him deeply.
Their tongues touch again, the barest hint of a connection—and Pena aches somewhere deep inside. All the nights he’s spent with someone who didn’t matter—
They were nothing compared to one moment with this man.
Carrillo pulls away to rummage in the side dresser, biting at Pena’s plump lower lip when he secures what they need.
“Touch me,” Pena pleads, comforted by the heat of Carrillo’s body surrounding him.
“Let me,” Carrillo responds, “let me touch you everywhere—“
Time disappears after that—Pena’s head a mix of lust, anguish, joyful misery, and exhaustion.
At one point he hysterically wonders if this is merely a delusion— a distraction from the tragic reality he lives everyday.
But when Carrillo confesses that he loves him—three whispered words against the damp warmth of his neck—Pena knows it’s real.
Knows it’s true.
Carrillo doesn’t lie. Not to him.
By the time they’re finished, Carrillo’s made him come twice—by hand and by mouth—and Pena’s fingers finally found their way inside Carrillo—the slick, wet heat of his body.
The sun is rising as they lay in bed, simply staring at each other.
Pena doesn’t think he’ll ever see a sight as beautiful as the pinkish, yellow light hitting the iris of Horacio Carrillo’s right eye.
When Pena left Lorraine at the alter all those years ago, the guilt quickly faded because he knew he was doing her a favor. Anyone who gets too close to him gets too close to the sun. He’ll destroy how a person sees, because he rarely cares for anyone but himself.
He has struggled for years to connect with other people. There‘s always been a barrier between him and everyone else. Not even Steve could make him feel less alone.
So he fucks.
Sex is his native language—touch, moans, movement—it’s how he speaks. But Carrillo always knew what he was trying to say and how he was trying to say it without ever getting into bed with him.
And now that he has—well.
Pena may be done for.
But he doesn’t think about that now. He doesn’t think about it here.
Carrillo’s hand comes up to his face, resting heavily against his morning scruff.
In this line of work Pena meets a lot of hurting families. Widows, orphans, broken-hearted siblings and sons serving to protect the memory of their fathers. People often ask him, “Why?”
And he can’t answer that.
But he empathizes. As he looks at Carrillo—he gets it.
Because people crave closure, because with closure comes meaning. And what is life without it?
Pena’s spent so many years chasing after criminals, solving case after case, and he still doesn’t know. Even after the closure, or the closest he’ll come to it. He’s still lost—still has so many questions.
But he think he’s finally starting to realize the full spectrum of truly loving someone. Because Carrillo—he brings meaning to his lonely life. And by extension—understanding.
Carrillo knows him, even if no one else does.
Pena realizes his eyes are wet. He doesn’t know the last time he cried.
“It’s okay,” Carrillo assures him, running fingers through his hair. “You’re with me, Javier.”
Pena drifts off in a rare state of calm.
He doesn’t hear Carrillo leave.
It’s different after that night.
Carrillo touches him more, goes out in the field with him more. It’s dangerous, but when is life in Colombia not?
President Gaviria and Sandoval put the pressure on Search Bloc to nail Escobar—not to mention Washington’s constantly breathing down Steve and Pena’s necks.
They keep collecting intel, directing it to the new ambassador Crosby while Pena keeps slipping Carrillo information when he thinks no one is looking. And usually no one is—Pena’s smart.
But so is Steve.
“I know what’s going down,” he tells Pena at the bar one night.
Pena takes a swig of his cheap beer, cringing a little. “What’s that?”
Steve inhales his cigarette, staring.
After a couple of seconds the silence is unnerving and Pena’s defensive instincts spark. “What, Steve?”
“Carrillo,” Steve replies, blowing smoke.
Pena’s supposed to be meeting him soon. He’s got more information for him but it didn’t exactly come from the cleanest place.
Navegante wants to work together. Or—his new bosses in Cali want to work together.
Steve doesn’t know about that. Yet.
Turns out he knows something, though.
“What about him?”
Steve tilts his head, leveling him with a scowl. “I know you’re fucking him.”
Images of the last few weeks flash through Pena’s mind like a picture show—blowing Carrillo in a CNP vehicle in an ally way in the middle of the night. Carrillo fingering him against his bathroom sink, forcing his head back by the hair on his neck—“Look at you,” he breathed. Pena whining in his lap as he took them both in his big hand, covering the come with his other when Pena came too soon.
“I’m not fucking him,” Pena whispers harshly, looking around paranoid. Technically—it’s true.
Steve laughs though it’s not sincere. It’s ugly. And fear spikes in Pena’s belly.
His eyes widen.
Steve registers the look on his face because he leans in, glare replaced with something softer. “Javi, come on. I would never tell anyone.”
He pushes, “But you’ve gotta lock it up. If I know, it’s only a matter of time before someone else figures it out.”
Pena thinks of Trujillo, of Crosby. Of fucking Bill Stetcher’s ugly face.
He thinks of the indomitable Pablo Escobar—barely repressing a shiver.
“You’re right,” Pena quietly concedes, taking another sip of his drink.
Steve crosses his arms over the table, eyes brows raised. “I need you to be smart, Pena. I need you.”
“Yeah,” Pena responds, shaking his head, “I will.” He reaches in his pocket for his wallet, throwing down enough cash to cover both the drinks.
“I’ve got to run—“
Steve already knows. “Be careful.”
Pena waves at him, practically running out of the bar.
Carrillo’s family is in hiding in the countryside until Search Bloc can secure Escobar.
It’s safer, practical.
It’s how Pena ends up inside Carrillo’s home with no questions asked.
Pena tries to stay strong. He tries to talk to Carrillo, insist they stop what they’re doing.
But then Carrillo falls to his knees and Pena forgets about setting boundaries.
He knows it’s stupid to continue this, he knows they’re both putting their reputations on line. But he can’t even care.
Because what’s a reputation when he already jeopardizes his own life without question.
He cries out when Carrillo scratches down his thighs while also sucking particularly hard on his cock—no doubt telling by his tense stance that Pena’s head isn’t here.
“I’m sorry,” Pena says, staring down into his deep brown eyes, “I’m—“
Carrillo closes his eyes, continues bobbing his head.
He pulls off to gasp for breath and Pena allows it for only a moment before sticking his fingers in his mouth, watching as he latches onto them.
“Fuck you’re so beautiful,” Pena mutters, realizing with striking clarity that no one else he’s ever been with even compares.
He doesn’t say that though.
Carrillo already knows how captured he is.
Carrillo pulls off, pressing his lips to Pena’s fingers, resting them there.
“What are we doing?” He whispers.
Pena leans back into the wall, “I don’t know...”
Carrillo nips at the smooth, pink skin of Pena’s inner thigh and his knees buckle so instantaneously he slides to the floor. Carrillo kisses him when they’re at eye level and Pena can taste himself on his tongue.
He pours all of himself into the kiss, feeling an anxiety he’s never known blooming in the pit of his belly. Every time he’s with Carrillo in the back of his head he wonders if it’s the last time.
He’s never experienced so many emotions around a single person before.
“Come to bed,” Carrillo says, biting his bottom lip.
Pena’s heart thuds. He keeps his eyes closed as he whispers, “We can’t.”
Carrillo snakes a hand between them, palming at Pena’s cock while he bites under his jaw. “Javier, I want you to fuck me.”
Pena wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him even closer. He tries not to sound so angry but he’s pissed off. “Yeah? In the bed you share with your wife?”
Carrillo shoves at him, climbing onto his lap. He latches onto his neck, biting down hard enough to bruise.
“Fuck—off—“ Pena gasps, weakly pushing at his chest as he sucks on his skin.
He pulls off with a wet smack, “Fuck me.”
Minutes later, the unsettling awareness of Pena’s heartbeat dominates his senses. He can’t even hear Carrillo breathe as he sinks himself down on Pena’s cock, crying out quietly at the invasive pain.
“Go slow,” Pena instructs, voice soft and strained.
“Ahh—trying—“ sweaty hands coming to firmly grip at Pena’s pecs.
“That’s it, hold onto me—“
When Pena’s completely inside he bites his lip, tries to focus on anything other than the stunning man atop him.
They move together so naturally, Carrillo taking the lead when his body feels comfortable enough to do so. The muscles in his abs twitch as he lifts up, then down, riding Pena better than any woman ever has.
“You feel so good inside me,” Carrillo breathes, forcing his hips back far enough Pena’s cock spears deep inside.
“Could fuck you forever,” Pena confesses, gripping his hips hard and possessive. “You could be mine—“
“I’m yours,” Carrillo interjects, gasping, “you need to know that—“
He digs his nails in Pena’s skin, in the space over his heart.
They look at each other, not speaking. There’s no sound but the wind outside and the sensual rhythm of their bodies colliding.
When Carrillo speaks, Pena hangs on every word.
“No one makes me feel like you, Javier—no one—“
Pena preens, desperate for his kiss. He shifts up against the headboard, pressing an apologetic kiss to Carrillo’s cheekbone when the movement forces him in deeper—“Jesus—“
“Yeah...Make me take it—make me take you—“
Pena’s hands come to grasp his ass, pulling apart his cheeks as he hammers inside, nailing his prostate so hard precome from his cock slides along Pena’s lower belly.
A fire ignites within Pena at the words, and he brings a hand up to the back of Carrillo’s head, gripping his soft, silken hair and forcing him to look at him.
“You asked for this,” Pena grits, trying not to moan around the delicious friction on his bare cock, “you wanted my cock—“
Carrillo licks his upper lip, gripping the headboard behind Pena’s head as he moves his body in the smoothest, sexiest way.
“I did,” he admits, kissing Pena, pulling him under his spell. “Your cock feels so good, make me come Javier—“
Pena wraps a hand around Carrillo, pulling him off in time with his ever-increasing frenzied thrusts.
“Come on me,” Pena begs, “mark me in you,” he kisses his mouth, open and slick and desperate.
Carrillo’s hips thrust forward one last time, thighs shaking as he comes on Pena’s cock. Pena eases him through it, toes curling in the sheets as he groans.
“Come on Javier,” Carrillo urges, dipping a finger in his own come and bringing it up to Pena’s mouth.
He opens for him, sucking his finger as his cock grows even harder inside his body.
Carrillo’s other hand grips his throat hard, cutting off his air supply for five solid, terrifying seconds.
He chokes and coughs as he comes, cock emptying in sensational, sensitive crests that rock him to his core.
He already knows before he even comes down that it’s the best orgasm he’s ever had.
Maritza seems like a girl who’s doing what has to be done. She has a little girl, she needs to be safe. She wants a new life in the States.
“You were there,” Carrillo says, crossing his arms. “You trust her?”
Pena places his hands on his hips, looking between Carrillo and Steve.
“Okay,” Steve says, “let’s set her up.”
The plan goes into effect tomorrow night, Maritza’s going to alert them when Limon has Escobar in the trunk of the taxi.
Pena’s not nervous. Carrillo will have Trujillo and an entire squad.
Still, he follows him at the end of the day.
Steve gives him a look as he grabs his signature leather jacket.
“Don’t,” Pena mumbles, self-conscious for once in his life.
Steve rolls his eyes. Pena doesn’t see it.
“Colonel,” he calls out when he reaches the parking lot, trying to ignore how gorgeous Carrillo looks when he turns around in his aviators.
“Agent Pena,” he responds, cool and professional.
Pena has bruises on his inner thighs from this man.
He looks around, making sure they’re alone.
“Want to take a drive?”
Carrillo frowns at him. “We have a big day tomorrow.”
Pena shrugs. “Could be the last one.”
Carrillo glances down at the ground, smiling softly. “Could be.”
Another night echoes in Pena’s mind. Another time.
“Tomorrow will be dangerous,” Pena stresses, “I need you to be careful.”
Carrillo looks at him as he takes his sunglasses off. The golden hour sunlight hitting his eyes perfectly.
Pena is so in love.
“I will,” Carrillo promises.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. A silence falls between them though it’s not uncomfortable.
“Come home with me,” Carrillo breathes, stepping close.
Pena grins, eyes crinkling. “Take me there.”