SEÑORITA: Chapter 5
pairing: Javier Peña x Murphy!f!reader
summary: you agree to go out with Steve & Connie to get their idea of a blind date out of the way. but once Javier arrives, you're nothing if not overly excited to give your time to him instead.
word count: 5.7k
series warnings: reluctant friends to lovers, lots of playful banter, mutual pining, slow burn, secret relationship, filthy smut.
chapter warnings: mentions of alcohol & smoking; jealous!Javi, tension, mutual pining.
gif: @beldros
series masterlist | AO3
Within the following days, you allowed guilt to chew you and spit you up. You avoided Javier’s eyes at any cost, barely responding to his “good morning” as you continued your morning ritual together. It felt tainted, such a small act of curtesy; tainted by basic biological needs, filthily and sneakily performed in the darkness of your bedroom, culminating in a name you refused to moan in full, but one that still lingered on your mind.
Doesn’t matter whether you said Javier’s name in full or not. He was the one you thought of in the throes of seeking your solo ecstasy and now, whenever you were met with his polite face, bright and early, you felt your cheeks burn red as you inevitably recalled burying your fingers in your wet heat, thinking they were his instead. You were beyond embarrassed, and you swore that under no circumstances he could ever know. Not that you believed the topic could ever come up, but just for safe measure, you had no intention of confessing this to either Connie or Sylvie.
It was just a momentary lapse of judgment, the result of a long dry spell and the presence of a charming, handsome man in your house. Nothing else.
But Saturday rolls around, and you find yourself wondering whether Javier would join you for drinks or not. He hadn’t made his answer clear when you asked, not even replying something sly when you mentioned you were quite certain that you were being set up for a blind date. Maybe he really didn’t want to witness all that; after all, that would mean he’d be the fifth wheel at a table with two couples.
Not the most pleasant atmosphere, and this you know firsthand.
So maybe Javier has no intention of showing up tonight. Truth be told, it’s probably for the best; you don’t need to be sipping alcoholic drinks and avoid looking at him in fear that he’ll notice your blush, ask about it, and then find out he was the star of your random moment of weakness.
You make an effort for tonight to look as good as possible. You find yourself excited about the idea of going out, letting loose a little and simply living. You put on a black dress with spaghetti straps that goes just above your knees, a pair of sandals and do your makeup to the best of your abilities. Then you take a cab and head downtown, your heart thrumming in your chest as you remember that tonight you’re most likely going on a blind date.
It was Connie’s idea; she told you about this guy from her job—Dean, was it?—that would apparently be a great match for you. Funny, kind, smart and a cook—the description sounded too good to be true, really, but Connie managed to spark your interest so you agreed to go, more on the premise of “let’s see what happens”. You found that living life from day to day was better than planning weeks or months ahead and then ending up disappointed or even hurt when certain plans wouldn’t come to fruition.
Which means that you have no plan for tonight. You just want to enjoy some good music, have some drinks and maybe, hopefully, dance.
You notice Connie first upon entering the bar, mostly because she’s wearing a white dress that definitely stands out in the washed out crowd of grey and black. You wave at her and she excitedly waves back, then you notice Steve sitting next to her, looking a bit uncomfortable. You’ve been on speaking terms, but you haven’t hung out since that dinner at their new apartment, so you understood the level of discomfort.
Thank goodness you were in an environment which provided an endless supply of drinks.
“Wow, you look gorgeous!” Connie exclaims as she comes in to hug you.
“You look just as gorgeous, if not more. Look at you, little miss angel!”
Your eyes meet Steve’s, and you spontaneously decide to hug him as well. He’s stiff, clearly taken aback, but not a second too late he reciprocates, wrapping his large arms around you, thus nearly covering you completely.
“Long time no see, huh?” you tease.
“A few weeks, hasn’t it?”
“I’d say so. Where’s Olivia tonight?”
“Going to bed early club. My mom offered to watch her, so we have the night off,” Connie explains.
“Feels good to be out of the house.”
“Tell me about it!”
You have a seat, ordering a Long Island Tea, and strike up a conversation about work. You gladly listen to Steve’s stories from the precinct, they are far more interesting than anything that usually goes on at the library.
But now your mind is somehow set back on Javier, so you take a bigger sip of your drink.
“Oh, I didn’t tell you that Javier stopped by the library last week,” you blurt out.
“He did?” Connie’s tone is filled with surprise.
“Yep. He was on his lunch break and wanted something to read.”
“What did he get?”
“A Pablo Neruda book.”
You abstain from laughing at Connie’s frown and her parted lips revealing shock.
“I know, I had the same reaction,” you say. “Would’ve never thought a guy like that reads romance poems.”
“Yeah. Me neither,” Steve says in a low voice.
“In Javier’s defense, there wasn’t much time to pick up a hobby like that in the middle of everything that was going on in Colombia.”
“Fair point.”
“He said he started reading poems shortly after returning to Laredo.”
Steve’s eyes shift onto your face in a feeble attempt to read through it and see if anything’s amiss, but you don’t give anything away. If there’s something you’re great at in this life, it’s hiding things from your big brother.
“Sounds like you’ve got to know him quite a bit,” Steve deadpans.
“We talked for like five minutes, handed him the book and called it a day.”
Nothing else happened.
“Well, we talked some more when he stopped by to fix my pipes but—“
Steve nearly chokes on his drink. “Excuse me?”
“Didn’t I mention that? How silly of me, I’m sorry. Yeah, I asked him if he could stop by my place to help me with the pipe issue I’ve been having. He was more than capable. Handled it like a pro, actually.”
There’s a big vein on the side of Steve’s forehead that’s about to burst at any given moment simply because from the way you phrased everything, you’re about 97% sure he’s picturing something else entirely and being beyond aggravated by the fact that he spend five, six days a week with Javier and the latter definitely did not mention this to him.
“Don’t dwell on it, big bro,” you tell him amused. “That vein of yours is about to pop.”
Connie chuckles behind her hand as she tries to hide away from the discussion, but her face changes when she glances in the direction of the entrance.
“Heads up, my colleague is here,” she turns to you excitedly. “Don’t freak out, but this is supposed to be kind of… well…”
“Connie, I know it’s supposed to be a blind date.”
Color drains from her cheeks. “Oh. I’m sorry, I just—“
To which you giggle, placing a hand over her exposed arm. “It’s fine. You weren’t exactly smooth about it.”
There’s plenty more Connie wishes to share with you, based on the way her lips remain parted and she stares at you desperately, but a man approaches the three of you at the bar, shaking hands with Steve, then briefly hugging Connie and—his eyes land on you.
“Hi,” he smiles, and oh shit, is that a dimple? “I’m Dean.”
You shake his hand, introducing yourself, and only then notice that he’s much taller than you. He has charcoal hair, styled nicely and carefully, and what appear to be green eyes. He’s wearing a black t-shirt underneath a leather jacket, and you gulp. He might not be a bad boy from Connie’s descriptions, but he sure has the look.
The only thing missing would be a tattoo and you’d even consider leaving this bar with him tonight.
“You are way more beautiful than what Connie said,” Dean smiles, and you already feel flustered. “And she did offer quite an in-depth description.”
“I’m glad to hear her words don’t do me justice then.”
“They really don’t.”
The way he’s staring down at you has you a little weak in the knees, but you do your best to remain composed. You cannot be acting out tonight, certainly not in front of Steve.
“Can I buy you a drink so we can go somewhere and get to know each other maybe?” Dean proposes.
“Sure, that sounds great.”
“What’s your poison of choice?”
“They don’t have that on the menu, but I’ll stick with a Long Island Tea.”
Dean chuckles, ordering exactly that and a greyhound. You turn around to ask him what he does for work, only to witness him removing his leather jacket and accidentally revealing a forearm tattoo that extends all the way to his bicep, by the look of it.
Oh no. oh, this is not good.
Calm down, girl. Just breathe.
“Maybe we can find a booth,” he suggest.
You’re stuck in some sort of trance as you keep glancing at his tattoo, but you quickly nod, hoping to dismiss the rush of emotions the entire image forces out of you.
“Told you she’d like him,” Connie playfully smacks Steve’s arm, visibly enthusiastic over the possibility of having set up a fantastic date for her sister-in-law.
“Dean’s a really cool guy.”
“They fit together quite nicely, don’t you think?”
“I’d say so, yeah.”
You spend the next forty minutes just talking to Dean and you gotta admit, he seems like a fine man. You find out he works in statistics—which undoubtedly means he’s smart—he has a dog, loves plants of all kinds, and he managed to squeeze several chuckles out of you in the past few minutes. Worst—aka best thing of them all—he’s a huge Star Wars nerd.
You’re sold on the idea that if by the time you finish this second drink and manage to dance with him, you might just take him home because the opportunity is too good to pass on. Dean doesn’t strike you as the one night stand kind of guy, but you decide to live even more in the moment and see where and how the night progresses.
By the third Long Island Tea, you decide to firstly cut yourself off, and secondly, if Dean keeps making you laugh, even as you manage to persuade him into dancing, you’ll almost have no choice but to take him home with you.
You are having the best time you’ve had in a long time; that much can be noticed even by Connie and Steve, who watch everything unfold from the bar. Everyone seems so focused on you and Dean that nobody notices the silhouette emerging from the shadows around 11:37 p.m., an exhausted look residing on his face as he makes his way through the crowd with an unquenchable thirst for some hard liquor and a cigarette.
God, he’d give anything to smoke right now; it’s been such a long afternoon stuck in the office trying to explain to that moron of a Lieutenant why the Berger case hasn’t been closed yet. But it’s been almost months since he last smoked, and he’s quite proud of the progress he's made, and there’s no solid reason to interrupt this marvelous streak he’s got going on.
That is, until he loosens his tie, takes off his blazer and orders a whiskey neat and in the sweaty crowd on the dance floor, he sees you.
He wasn’t even looking, not at first; his eyes were merely scanning the crowd, just eager to see anything else but case files before them, and somehow they managed to land on your silhouette, covered in what appears to be a rather sultry black dress, dancing the night away next to a guy who is so tall, it makes Javier squirm in his seat, feeling unusually small.
“Javi? What are you doing here?”
Steve’s the first one to approach him and they shake hands, followed by a brief kiss on Connie’s cheek.
“Wanted to blow off some steam,” Javier shouts towards them. “Your sister mentioned you guys were going out tonight.”
“She did?”
“Yep.”
“Glad you could join us!”
“Me too. Thrilled, really.”
The way he chugs his whiskey is anything but an indicator of his presumed excitement. He instantly orders a second one, the craving for nicotine even stronger when he has to force himself to peel his eyes from the dance floor.
“Who’s that?” Javier asks passively.
“Her blind date. Connie’s idea.”
“Guy from my office, his name’s Dean. Amazing guy.”
“Right, the blind date.”
“They really hit it off, look at them laughing!”
There is no reasonable explanation for the feeling that’s bubbling inside Javier’s chest. All he knows is that it’s something ugly that he deeply resents and spends the next half hour or so denying its existence, all the while stealing glances at you and this guy Dean.
And what he’s left with is the fact that you look really pretty when you’re happy.
It’s uncanny to think this way when he doesn’t see anything happening between the two of you, but even Javier cannot deny that tonight you look really ravishing and that seeing you smile is quite the sight.
You sure look happy dancing with that Dean guy. And Javier hates what it does to him because it’s all so bizarre and new to him. Though he draws one conclusion as he sits at the bar and sips from his third whiskey of the evening: he doesn’t like seeing another guy around you and that can only mean…
No. No fucking way.
It’s just a typical case of wanting what you can’t have. You’re off-limits, and Javier’s lizard, primal brain, along with the never-ending dry streak, decided that being stuck on you is a good idea. You’re cool and funny, sure, but still far from Javier’s usual type.
Which means that even if he were attracted to you—and you sure are a pretty girl, objectively speaking—he absolutely cannot sleep with you as a form of palate cleanser. If you were any other woman, maybe; but Steve’s little sister? Never in a million years.
The amber liquid in his glass worked its magic and loosened him up, though in the past it hasn’t been proven to be the best choice when around an attractive woman.
But knowing that you are beyond off-limits does help in a way. So he grits his teeth, swallows whatever it is that’s bothering him so deeply and forces himself to look away from the dance floor.
“You’ve got some moves!” Dean leans over to chuckle in your ear.
“Thanks! It’s mostly the Long Island Tea, but I gotta give credit to my college partying days.”
“Celebrated a lot, I take it?”
You grin, your hand resting ridiculously comfortable on his bicep. “Oh, Dean. You can’t even begin to comprehend.”
You faintly notice the way his eyebrows cock upwards, revealing surprise. He smiles, spinning you around to the rhythm of a song you do not recognize, and then he pulls you back to him.
“Listen, I have to make an appearance at a friend’s birthday party in a bit. Two blocks away. Would you like to come?”
You open your mouth to offer your response when you notice a third silhouette by Steve and Connie. You gulp, suddenly your back sweating more than before.
Shit.
“I’ll take a raincheck on that if it’s okay,” you smile politely.
“No problem. I guess we’ll be in touch?”
“Sure. It was nice spending time with you, Dean.”
“With you too.”
He leans over and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek and you feel that very same spot burning with flattery instead of guilt, which is a more than welcome change. But when your glare returns to the bar and you notice the figure dressed business rather than casual, you gulp and miraculously, your guilt returns full force.
In spite of your better judgment—which really left the building after your first drink—you make your way back to the bar, now face to face with a visibly exhausted and grumpy Javier.
“Hello there,” you greet him.
His face lights up once you address him—or so you’d like to think. Why on earth do you want to think that?
“Hello yourself,” Javier replies. “You look—“
“Where did Dean go?”
Steve’s question bothers you more than what you let reveal. “None of your business,” you reply.
“But I thought—“
“Let them be.”
You don’t say anything else to Javier, and neither does he, but somehow he still finds himself standing up from the rather uncomfortable chair and walking you back to the dance floor, as if that would make both of you invisible to your family.
“I was—what—what are you doing?”
Javier stares at you dumbfounded, his hands not even touching your waist, yet frozen in that very direction.
“I thought you wanted—“he begins, now questioning his every intention.
You shake your head, guiding his hands back to your hips and gulping with difficulty. God, your throat is like sand on paper.
“It’s fine,” you reassure him.
Of course the song in the fucking background had to be by Carlos Santana. Of fucking course. The song bumps all around you, Javier’s hands guiding you steadily along the rhythm and your body naturally following. It’s quite relaxing—if you wouldn’t be busy thinking about the way that your body seems to naturally respond to his touch, as if you’ve been doing this for years.
You were already sweaty from before, but now, with all the people grinding around you and the unbearable heat gathered from the alcohol and the dancing, your temples were dripping with beads of sweat, as well as your neck. You couldn’t help but notice that Javier suffered of the same predicament: he rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, the first two buttons undone, and again you gulped. You are painfully reminded of the night a similar image had sent you over the edge, and you blush right there with his calloused hands pressed ever so gently on your waist.
He moved both of you expertly, guiding your hips; eventually, your hands found solace around his neck, feeling the heat radiating from his body. But then he makes a move that spins you around, then pulls you back to him so that you bump into his chest, his skin on yours, and you feel afire. His eyes are locked on your face, and when they finally meet with yours, it’s electric. Goosebumps erect all over your skin, and you swear you didn’t feel this way when you were dancing with Dean. For fuck’s sake, you considered going home with Dean. You felt attracted to Dean, he was so handsome and funny and sweet—
But somehow, this moment right here feels more intimate and forbidden than anything else, and it’s evident in the way your breaths come out—ragged, almost as sweaty as you. You swallowed hard at the sensation of being so close to Javier, this mystery man with a troubled past that was the star of your illicit fantasies.
At first you thought it was the drinks that made you see things, but once, twice, thrice you’ve seen his eyes roam all over your body, every once in a while pausing to admire a certain part of you that wasn’t stereotypical to the male gaze: your collarbones, shoulders, the way your waist fit in his hands—
“Penny for your thoughts?”
His voice is like honey dripping straight on your skin when he asks that next to your earlobe.
“You really do know how to dance,” you observe.
“It’s a curse.”
“Cause the ladies can’t stop jumping on you?”
“You one of them?”
In spite of his smirk, you chuckle mockingly, as loud as you can go. “Don’t flatter yourself, Texas.”
“How did things go with the Dean guy?”
You frown at him. “Do you really want to know?”
“Just making conversation.”
“Ask me something else then.”
“Okay. What’s new at the library?”
“Literally nothing. All of our stock is fairly old. Except the two librarians working there. They’re fine.”
I know for a fact one of them is, Javier thinks fleetingly.
“Why the sudden interest in how am I doing?” you can’t help but inquire.
Javier shrugs, spinning you around once more. “You said we’re friends.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Sometimes I feel like I barely know you. Just trying to get some intel.”
“Old habits die hard, huh?”
Javier makes a funny face, and you hold back laughter. It’s the first time you see this side of him, loose and almost worry-free, and there’s something inherently captivating about it. When he spins you again, he doesn’t let you face him—instead, your back is against him, and you feel every ridge and bump possible.
Including, but not limited to, the outline of a growing erection.
You try your hardest not go gasp, though the heat that shoots through you is nothing if not making your mouth dry. You want to get lost in this moment more than you’ve wanted anything in a long time, but the rational side of your brain reminds you that your brother and sister-in-law are probably watching the spectacle, and you’re not fond of that audience one bit.
Otherwise…
“So you want intel?” you tease him once you can look at his disheveled yet impossibly handsome face again. “Okay Texas. Let’s see. I’m almost finished writing a book, actually. A real book, my own story.”
Javier’s eyes widen in the slightest. “Really? That’s incredible.”
“Thanks. You’re the first person I told this to.”
“Me? You didn’t tell Steve or Connie about it?”
You shake your head. “Connie, I might. Sylvie, I might. But Steve… you heard what he thinks about fanfiction. Why should he get to see my actual book?”
“He can be very supportive, you know.”
“I know. But I don’t feel like sharing this with him, not right now at least.”
“Did he ever read anything else of yours?”
“No. After his comments, I didn’t want to share my craft with someone who mocked where most writers begin. Especially since that someone happens to be my flesh and blood.”
“I understand. It’s a shame though. I bet you’re really good.”
“Still talking about writing?”
Javier cocks an eyebrow, the faint outline of a smirk gracing his lips. “Are you?”
“Touché.”
“If I didn’t know any better, Peña, I’d say you’re trying to butter me up to get into my pants.”
He scoffs. “Not a chance.”
“Good. We wouldn’t want chaos in our lives, now would we?”
“No, we definitely wouldn’t want anything so… troublesome.”
Back at the bar, Connie’s fed up with Steve’s relentless questions about you and Javier. She doesn’t have any answers, but she sure plans on getting some; that’s the mission in her mind as she strolls through the crowd of sweaty, grinding bodies to get to the two of you.
“What on earth is going on with you guys?” she shouts at the two of you.
To which you and Javier exchange a confused glare. “What do you mean?” you ask.
Ever so foolishly, might you add.
“It is very much obvious that you two like each other.”
“She’s not even my—“
“Oh, shut up, Javi.”
You make a shocked face. It’s not often you get to see someone as sweet and calm as Connie be so bold.
“Damn,” you mutter.
“You shut up too. You’re both adults! Grown ass adults acting like kids hiding from their parents. And for what, may I ask? I doubt either one of you is scared of Steve.”
“I just want to be respectful. I made a promise to him, and… we’re friends. That’s all.”
“Spare me. That is such bullshit. Friends don’t look at each other like that. They don’t dance with each other like that. How much longer are you gonna keep up this lame charade? All the lying…”
“We’re not lying to anyone, much less to Steve,” you remind her.
“To yourselves! Good God, you guys gotta figure this out before it’s too late.”
“But we’re not—“
“There is no ‘but’, Javi. Figure it out or cut it out before someone gets hurt.”
Whatever good mood you were in before, now it’s long gone. Guilt returns and simmers in the depths of your stomach, even as you do a twisted version of the walk of shame back to the bar. You refuse another drink, your head still buzzing from the three you’ve already had—and the moment you just shared with Javier. You can’t even bear to look at Steve brooding and judging you from afar. Not that you care; you really don’t give a shit what he has to say about your friendship with Javier, but Connie does have a point.
You have to figure out what this is between you and Javier.
Obviously you find him attractive. Very much obvious by now. But you meant what you told him: you do consider him a friend. Though you must admit, strictly to yourself, that you’ve never masturbated to the thought of a friend before, regardless of how attractive said friend was. Which mean that at least physically, you enjoy having Javier around you. Which also means… you’re physically attracted to him. Okay, that’s not bad. It happens. And based on what you’ve heard about him and women, he wouldn’t be opposed to getting this attraction out of the way so you can continue to be friends. Maybe under the right circumstances you can—
What the fuck are you doing? Thinking about propositioning Javier with a one night stand? Well that’s a new fucking low. You shake your head several times, prompting a few concerned glares from Javier in the backseat of the cab, and look straight ahead. Connie and Steve left separately on account of letting you two talk things through, but the silence residing in between is earsplitting. It’s like you’re both trying to figure out what to say to each other whilst also reminiscing of the evening you left behind.
Javier’s mind is racing as fast as his heart. He can’t get over how beautiful you look tonight, how he held you in his arms, barely touching you, and yet his body burned and ached all at once as if—
As if he belonged to you.
No. It’s just the booze and the hormones. He can’t do relationships, that much he knows with certainty, and he won’t ruin his friendship with you or with Steve by initiating something he will regret later. Eventually, something always goes wrong and somebody does get hurt. He doesn’t want that for you.
He takes a big, deep breath, a sudden scent invading his nostrils. It’s not bar-like, nothing pungent of the sort; no, this one’s pleasant and calming. He turns towards you, discreetly inhaling again, and then he holds his breath.
It’s you. Your smell. Something comforting and reassuring, yet all the while alluring, calling out to him.
When the cab driver announces your arrival, Javier practically sprints out of the car. Despite your protests, he still walks you to the door of your apartment. While you search for your keys in your purse, he lingers with his gaze one second longer than he would’ve personally liked, but he can’t fully help it. It must be around two in the morning now, and yet you still look so mesmerizing.
“That scent,” he almost groans.
You look up from your purse. “What scent?”
“It’s—you. Your scent, it’s—I swear to fucking God it’s everywhere.”
Taken aback, all you can do is stare at him and gulp. Your mouth still runs dry, as if no amount of water will ever feel the quench that resides deep in your bones.
“It’s lavender soap,” you clarify in an unusually small voice.
“Fuckin’—lavender.”
Before you can chime in with any other word or even think about what is happening, you find yourself closing your eyes and leaning dangerously closer to Javier’s face. He does the same, his heart thrumming at insane rates in his chest and in his ears by now. You exhale, and Javier abruptly pulls away, eyes wide open and his mind in control once again.
“Go inside,” he orders.
His voice is stern and yet caring, but it still surprises you. “If that’s code for something—“you try to joke, but your smile fades when you see Javier’s face.
“Don’t,” he warns. “Go inside, get some sleep.”
“Why are you so adamant about it?”
You do hear him groan this time, a sound to reenact some pain he’s in, and you shudder.
“Because if you don’t, I might just do something very regrettable within the next few seconds and I’ll break my promise to my best friend,” he nearly whispers, his warm breath tickling your face and your sense. “And just like that, I’ll be the Javier Peña everyone knew in Colombia. And I don’t want to be that Javier Peña anymore. So please, don’t—don’t do this to me. Not now, not ever.”
Stunned, you only stare at him for what feels like an eternity. You take that time to soak up every detail of his face, the way it’s scrunched in pain, the desperation in his eyes, the neediness and urgency in his voice—and it breaks you.
“What if I want to do something regrettable?” you ask instead.
“Just—just go… inside. Please. I’m askin’ as a friend.”
You don’t think you’ve heard Javier ask or beg anyone, not this way, so tenderly desperate, and it’s disarming you of any speck of self-control you thought you had left.
Mark my words, this Javier is gonna be on his knees before you, asking you to teach him how to be good.
“You can come inside too if you want,” you whisper.
You regret the words the second they leave your mouth, especially after seeing Javier’s nearly shocked expression. He cocks his head to the side, eager to dismiss your words and complain, but you’re one step ahead of him.
“We’re both a little buzzed and… a little tense too, so let’s have a cup of coffee and call it a night. We don’t even have to talk,” you tell him.
There’s no verbal confirmation; just Javier following you inside your apartment, hyper vigilant and aware of his surroundings. He’s afraid that any move he might make now or any word he might say will conspire against his sanity, and he’s already having trouble keeping focus. So he admires your book shelves while you make the coffee, slowly pacing around the living room. Something out of place catches his eyes, something that looks handmade and colored purple by hand. He takes it out, examining it.
“Believe it or not, that is my Star Wars story,” you smile fondly.
“This is it?”
Suddenly Javier feels like he’s holding a very important artifact in his hands, and he takes a mental note to treat it as carefully as possible. He flips through the pages with utmost interest, soaking up the words as the smell of coffee and lavender fill the tense air.
“Here we go,” you announce, handing him a cup. “Decaf. I thought you wouldn’t want to be up till six in the morning.”
“Thanks.”
Javier still reads through, as much as he can, picturing a younger you scribbling down this story so excitedly, coloring it to make it seem like it’s a book in and of itself, and the sight makes his heart grow even fonder.
So maybe he’s not just lonely and horny. Maybe he cares about you a little more than initially anticipated. But that’s not bad.
Is it?
“Thank you,” you say after a while. “For walking me home. I mean, you do live right above, but… still.”
“It’s what friends do, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”
You can tell he’s avoiding looking at you, a sentiment you are certainly familiar with. After all, the very fingers that hold your improvised book between them were in your head less than a week ago as you pictured them buried knuckle deep in your most sensitive place.
“I really respect you a lot, Javier. You’re being very honorable towards my brother with this stupid request of his. And towards me too.”
Javier swallows hard, feeling anything but honorable.
“Yeah, well. He’s my best friend. And you’re—“
“Not your type. I know.”
Feeling less and less honorable at this very moment.
“You—you can’t be,” Javier seems to warn you. “I’m not someone to love. I’m someone who can offer some temporary pleasure and call it a day. And you deserve more than that.”
“I’m no stranger to temporary pleasure.”
So much for the right timing in terms of propositioning something so outrageous.
“You should get some sleep,” Javier coos, removing a lock of stranded hair from your face.
You shudder. You don’t have it in you to protest anymore, not after that dance you shared with him and the tense moment by your door. You just can’t. Maybe you do need some sleep, after all.
“See you Monday morning?” he asks.
That gives you hope. You smile and nod as Javier leaves the coffee mug on the table and promises you that he can let himself out. He’s thankful you didn’t see him sneak your story behind his back while he left, and he’s thankful you can’t read his mind to see the plan he hatched.
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