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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 1 year ago

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'Tis The Damn Season

Javy 'Coyote' Machado x Reader

Description: You've made your closest friends over the past decade as a Naval Aviator. That close friend group only expanded when your best friend fell in love when you were in flight school. Nat and Jake are cute together, you can't deny that. It helps that you get along well with Jake. Sadly, where Jake Seresin goes, so does Javy Machado. You can fly with the man, be the perfect wingman, but when both your feet are on the ground, you can't stand him. You're so sure the feeling is mutual. 48 hours in a car with him teaches you differently. Javy Machado is sweet and funny and you might just be falling in love with him. Or have you been in love with him all along?

Themes: Stuck in the snow, showers, shower-thoughts, hate-to-love, stranded in the snow,

Warnings: Female!Reader This fic is for adults age 18 and older, only! There are some fairly spicy thoughts in this part and 100% spicy happenings in the next part! Please do not read if sexual intimacy is disturbing to you!

Word Count: 3938

Author Note: This is part one of two of Gypsy and Javy's story and was written for @bellaireland1981's Winter RomCom Writing Challenge! I had an absolute blast writing this fic for Trope #17, Stuck Together/Snowed in/Stranded. I hope you all love reading this fic as much as I loved writing it! All my thanks go to @desert-fern who was instrumental as I bounced ideas back and forth for this fic, as well as for beta-reading it for me!

Cross Posted on AO3 Here!

My Masterlist

It was supposed to be the start of a fabulous holiday - supposed to be, being the key words. It’s rare, honestly nigh on impossible for you to end up having vacation leave lined up at the same time as your friends. You’re in the Navy, you’re a pilot; it kind of comes with the territory. But what is the likelihood you’d find yourself stuck in a car in the middle of a Colorado snowstorm with none other than Javy Machado? You’re unsure who you should blame because the universe clearly has it out for you.

Well, it's either the universe or Natasha Fucking Trace. Honestly, between mystic powers controlling everything that has been or will be and Nat, you’d pick her any day. A part of you has some sympathy for her. It can’t be easy dating a guy and knowing your best friend and his can’t stand each other. It’s the truth, too. You can’t remember why or when you started to get angry at the sight of his smiling face. Still, it was probably sometime between when he asked you if you needed a booster seat to see out of the cockpit and when he blitzed you on the first of the many flights you’ve taken with him.

Why the fuck isn’t he going home to Louisiana? That’s what he usually does. God, if there’s anyone who’d know, it would be you. After all, you’ve been flying with Coyote Machado for the better part of the past decade. Every year, he’d cash in all his leave and fly home. Like clockwork, he’d return after the new year more infuriating than ever. But your knowledge of his behavior doesn’t explain why he’s in Colorado. You were both on an aircraft carrier in the Philippines, for fuck’s sake. There had to have been a transport to Louisiana via the East Coast. But against all odds, the two of you had been on the same transport and flight, hell, even the same bus to the terminal once you landed in Denver.

Now he’s staring at the same board you are, with flickering red signs as flight after flight gets marked as canceled. Including the one you were supposed to be on. It’s just your luck that Tash and Jake are reporting to Norfolk Naval Base right now. It’s just your luck that the only transport you’d been able to get on had landed in San Diego. And it’s just your luck that the cheapest flight you could get had been via Denver in the midst of what has to be the worst snowstorm the region has ever seen. Reception is spotty, but you huddle in a corner, praying to all the gods you don’t believe in that your call connects.

“Tash?” Her voice is grainy and barely audible, but god, if it doesn’t make you want to cry. “I’m in Denver, yeah. There’s a colossal snowstorm blowing in. My flight’s been canceled.”

“I don’t think I’m going to make it in time.”

“I know.”

“I know. I’ve missed you so much. But I don’t see a way for me to get out of here and get there in time?”

“Yeah, Javy’s here.” You can’t control your eye roll as you say his name. “Yeah, I’ll give him the phone.”

“Yo, Machado. Tash wants to talk to you.” He takes the phone from you like he doesn’t want to touch you, which shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

It’s loud and crowded at the airport, so you can’t hear a word of what he says to Nat. There’s nothing else to do but stand at the window and watch the snow fall and fall and fall. There’s already close to a foot accumulated on the ground, and while you’d been wishing for the snow in the heat and humidity of the ship, you hate it now.

“Here, Gypsy.” You accept the device with a half-smile. “Tash had a pretty good idea, y’know?”

You can’t help raising your eyebrow. Javy swallows, more than a little discomfited at your gimlet gaze. “She suggested we rent a car and drive out to Norfolk together.”

Eighteen hundred miles, and he wants to spend all of that time and distance stuck in a car with you? You scoff, “You couldn’t pay me to do that, Machado.”

“Yeah, I know.” There’s something sad and haunted in his eyes. “I know. Believe me, I do. But this isn’t about you and me. This is about Jake and Nat. They want us there, celebrating Christmas with them. So don’t think about doing this with me. Think about how you’re doing this for them.”

Damn him. Damn him for being right. “How are we going to get a car in this?” People are yelling at the poor airline staff behind the counter, kids are screaming, and Christmas Carols are pouring out of the speakers. It’s chaos - loud, unmitigated chaos.

“You leave that to me. You have your bags?” Before you can think or even respond, he’s cutting a swathe through the crowd, and you’re left standing near two Navy standard-issue duffel bags and your one small rolling suitcase. It takes half an hour before he comes back. In that half an hour, you find you’re glad you’d opted for carry-on bags because the mob at the counter waiting to collect check-in bags descends into an outright fistfight.

Javy’s rumpled, his sweater mussed when he lopes back to you, thankfully with car keys in hand. “I got ’em. We have to head down to the main concourse.”

“Anything to get out of this shitshow.” He chuckles and grabs your bags and his own despite your protests.

The car is old but functioning. It’s tiny, though. It's so small that you’re not sure he’ll fit behind the wheel. It can’t be comfortable when he does end up in the car. It looks like his knees are pressed against his chest, even with the seat pushed back as far as it can go. You’re in the passenger seat because he refused to let you drive, and as expected, you’re surrounded by snow the minute the car leaves the parking garage. Visibility is shit, and it feels like the car is moving at a glacial pace. You’re surprised the roads are open at all, and to add insult to injury, you’re sitting in silence. The radio isn’t working, there is more snow - this time of the feedback variety, ironically - and the car is old, so there is no auxiliary cable or USB cable to connect your phone to. And, well, you’re not a fan of the man you’re stuck in the car with for the next 24 to 36 hours, so the less conversation you have, the better. It’s not even like you can read. You’ve only been on the road for an hour at most when the sun sets. But the roads are still open, and traffic is still moving.

As the minutes turn into an hour on the dark, snow-covered roads, you feel your exhaustion setting in. You’ve never slept well on planes - go figure that ninety percent of the time you’re in a cockpit, you’re flying - but flying commercial somehow makes it work. Strap yourself into a jump seat on a cargo plane, and you’re out like a light. Sleeping on a carrier with planes taking off round the clock and midshipmen screaming outside the door, you’re snoring like a baby. But flying economy? Forget about it. So, besides the few hours of fitful sleep you’d gotten on the cargo plane - because you can’t sleep where Javy Machado can make fun of you - you’ve been awake for nearly 48 hours. Your eyes feel itchy and hot, each blink torturous as you fight exhaustion. The car is so warm, and Javy's silent. Even he can't object if you rest your eyes a little, right?

You wake up to a roar of the word, ‘SHIT’, echoing through the car. You startle, and if you were a cat, you’d be stuck to the upper upholstery, fur ruffled and back arched. A coat covers your lap, the soft, rich wool imbued with spicy cologne. It has to be Javy's coat. When did that get there? The visibility out of the windshield is even worse, if possible, and Coyote’s arms are corded as they clutch the wheel in an iron grip.

“Hey, how long was I out?” He doesn’t even look at you when usually he’d be more than ready to tease you on how you probably have drool on your face.

“Coyote? ‘Yote? Hey?!”

“Javy? What’s going on?” You place your hand on his arm, pretending not to notice how firm and warm it is under the bunched-up sleeves of the soft sweater he’s wearing. “Javy, you’re scaring me. C’mon. Tell me what’s happening. What’s a wingwoman for if she can’t help?”

“We’re somewhere in Kansas, and the snow makes this really hard.” There’s something unreadable in the expression on his face as he snarls at the other, far slower drivers on the road in front of you.

“We should stop for the night then.”

“No.” He snarls the words at you, and that’s when you know something is wrong. “No, I can keep going.”

“Javy, maybe you can, but I can’t. I need to take a break, hit the head, and stretch my legs.”

He doesn’t respond, content to make you worry the longer the silence spirals between you like an oppressive living thing. He pulls off the highway when the next exit presents itself. The motel he pulls up to on the side of the road is rough-looking. It’s small and old, but at least it smells clean, or well, at least clean-ish. As luck would have it - because your luck couldn't be any shittier - there’s only one room left for the night. You slap your credit card down on the counter before he can object. He’s Javy Machado. You know what he’s like better than almost anyone else. You may not like him very much, but you can read all of the signs. He’s not the type to let a woman pay for anything, not when he can pay for her. He can take it up with you when he’s not acting weird.

You push him into the shower once you’re in the room, content to just sprawl out on the bed until he’s done. Really, all you're hoping is that the hot water is enough to snap him out of this eerily quiet, angry mood and back to the pain in your ass you're used to. When he steps out, it’s wrapped in one of the motel’s paper-thin towels, and you have to avert your eyes. There’s just a shadow of a smirk on his face as you pass under his arm with all of your clothes bundled up against your chest, trying and failing to avoid making eye contact with all of his wet, glistening muscles. It takes you far too long for your brain to reboot after that sight, and mortification and anger are your companions as you hurriedly strip off your snow-laden clothes.

You’re grumbling the entire time it takes the shower to heat up because it is not fair that Javy Machado looks like that under his uniform. No wonder every girl within a ten-mile radius of base wants to get into his pants. You step into the shower nearly too early, stifling squeals as the too-cold water splatters across your skin. After a few minutes of determined shivering, you finally step under the warming water, coming out in a steady, roaring stream. At least it’s getting hot now, though it’s not as hot as you’d like. You let the spray beat your muscles into submission, relishing the first moment you’ve had by yourself since you left the carrier fleet hours ago. But you’re left in peace only for a few moments. Unbidden, your one-track mind finds its thoughts consumed by Javy Machado again. It starts off with an innocuous thought, “How did a man that large fit into this tiny shower? He could probably see over the curtain rod!” Then you’re wondering if he’s alright. But as your soapy hands trace over your skin, you start to imagine other things.

You start to imagine water droplets sliding over the ridges of his muscles, skating over defined abs, and collecting in the dip of his collar bones. His hands are big and calloused as they lather soap across his skin and then over yours. Shit! When did you start dreaming of yourself in the shower with Javy Machado? There’s an ache in your pelvis as you clench your thighs together as you dream of how those calloused fingers feel on your skin. You get yanked violently out of the vision when the water goes cold on you. It feels like you’ve been immersed in one of the snowbanks outside. You almost fall as you step out of the shower, but it’s silent. Your face is flushed in the fogged-up mirror, your eyes fever bright as your blood pulses in your veins in the same rhythm as your aching cunt. You inhale and exhale raggedly, trying to get your libido under control. Please let there be a bar near Nat and Jake’s place - please - you need to get fucked so bad that you’re fantasizing about your wingman, of all people, now.

It’s getting cold in the bathroom as the steam dissipates when you finally pull yourself together and get dressed fast in a bid to escape the cold. But it is still silent outside the bathroom - almost too silent. You expect laughter at the very least when you open the door because your warmest pajamas are covered in dancing penguins. Instead, Javy’s sitting on the bed, staring out the open window at the milling snow, looking for all the world like he’s lost something he’s just found.

It’s cold in the room, the motel’s shitty heating is barely able to combat the frigid snow outside, and he’s not wearing a shirt. But he doesn’t even notice the gooseflesh on the smooth, broad expanse of his back and chest. The cold blue light reflecting off of the snow piling up outside makes the room even colder, casting deep purplish shadows over his face and making the room eerie. You check that the door is latched and bolted before walking back towards Javy. He doesn’t move a muscle when you take his hands in your own. They’re like ice. He doesn’t even seem to care when you put the pillows down and fish one of your warm fleece blankets out of your bag. Bless Nat and Jake for not having a fully set up guest room yet because there’s no way you’re sleeping in this bed using sheets you’re not sure are clean. The blankets you brought are going to be perfect for the night. He doesn’t move or do anything until you intertwine your fingers with his own and tug on his arm's broad, burly expanse. He lists to the side without protest, and now you know something is wrong. Javy's not the type to do anything quietly. He's the type to shit-talk all the way while flirting endlessly. He turns towards you as you tuck the blanket around his big form, and when you move to pull another blanket out, his hand tugs you in until you’re in his arms.

The pinched furrow creasing his brow finally dissipates slightly. Something’s wrong, and you’re not sure what it is. If this helps, you’ll stay where you are. After all, you’ve slept in far more uncomfortable beds with much worse companions. Javy smells incredible, like soap, cologne, and something you can't place. You curl in closer despite yourself, letting him drag the blanket even further up around your shoulders. Everything is muffled around you. All you can hear is your breath and the soothing thud of his heart. It would be easy to curl in and fall asleep, but you can’t until you know your wingman is alright. But he seems content to lie there, brown eyes glittering with emotions you couldn’t read even if you tried. There’s barely any space between the two of you. Every breath you take has your chest brushing against his.

With the howling wind and the tink of snow against the window, you feel like you’re in a dream. Finally, Javy’s eyes close, even if he is still indescribably tense. You can feel it in the arms wrapped around you and in the muscles jumping in his jaw. His eyes fly open when your fingers trace the stressed tendons lightly.

“What’re you doing, Gypsy?” You’re unsure how to respond; instead, you trace your fingers over the furrow in his brow. Maybe your touch will wipe the stress frown away from his usually jovial face?

“You’re being awfully sweet, Gyppie.” You snort at the diminutive form of your already short callsign. “And here, I thought you hated me.”

Your gasp is barely audible, but you’re sure he can hear it anyway. “You never let it affect things between us when we fly, but I know you can’t stand me.”

“I’ve spent over a decade wondering why.” His next exhale is a harsh whoosh of breath. “But you’ve never told me, and right now, I think I know exactly why. It’s just me, isn’t it, Gyp? Just me and everything that I am.”

Your voice feels stuck. Trapped, lost, chained up behind a decade of hatred, hatred which wavers like it’s standing on a stool that may just have had all of its legs cut out from under it. You curl into Javy’s embrace, wrapping your arms around his waist like it’ll show him you feel differently. Because you do. At first, you had hated Javy Machado. You hated his effortless grace, charm, and ability to pick up concepts you’d had to work to understand yourself. But then he’d been persistent, and you’d been thrust into his company by the presence of Nat and Jake.

That’s when you’d been able to see past the bravado, the mask he put on every day. That’s when you’d fallen headlong into a more profound and long-lasting crush than any relationship you’d found yourself in. But by the time you realized your feelings, he’d picked up on your stand-offish behavior and realized he couldn’t befriend you. Your crush never faded, but it’s evident that Javy had noticed your initial feelings and acted accordingly. But why would he blame everything that happened on himself?

“I know you’re probably wondering why I’m not home for the holidays right now.” What does that have to do with what he was just talking about? “Just chalk it up to another textbook case of me being myself.”

“I can't say I didn't wonder. But it's not my place to poke and pry. Why you're not heading home to Mama Machado is your business.”

“But you can't deny that you're curious, can you?” You shrug as much as you can with your arms wrapped around him.

“Of course you're curious. But how could I have gone home, Gyppie? How?” There's so much pain in his voice as he growls the words out.

He goes silent then, a frown creasing his face as his jaw moves under your fingertips. Your gentle touch doesn’t seem to bother him, just like the prickle of his stubble doesn’t bother you. In another world, in another life, could you have been sleeping every night in his arms like this? You’re not sure you deserve it. Javy was right earlier. You’ve been rude ever since the day you met him. Would anything have changed if you’d acted differently? If you’d been shy and withdrawn instead of angry and argumentative? That water’s long since flowed under the bridge. Too much time, too much history, too much animosity. All you can hope to do is listen. For your wingman, that’s the least you can do.

But your little nap in the car hadn’t been of much use. The longer you spend pressed against the human equivalent of a space heater, the sleepier you feel. You have to stay awake. This could be your one chance to go from rivals or enemies or colleagues to friends. Maybe you could even casually ask Javy to grab a beer after the holidays? But the first step to all of that is to stay awake.

His hands slide up until they're cradling the back of your head, pulling your face level to his own.

“You're not falling asleep on me, are you, Gyppie?” You shake your head wordlessly, captivated by how you can feel his breath against your lips, practically taste the mint from his toothpaste, and how you could kiss him if you leaned in just a bit further.

“It's okay if you do. You barely slept on the plane. My problems don't mean a thing in the face of your exhaustion.” Once again, you're speechless. How is he so selfless? How did you not notice before this very moment?

“I'm okay, Javy. Tell me one thing that's bothering you, the most important thing.” Your voice is the barest whisper, a sigh as he maneuvers you closer and traps your feet between his calves.

“Well, your feet are like itty-bitty ice cubes, Gyppie. The fuck did you do? Stick ‘em in a snowbank before you get into bed?” You gasp and growl playfully at him, pushing at his chest until he pulls you in even closer.

“But in all seriousness, you've been wondering why I didn't go home.” His words are expelled on exhales of breath, just as quiet as yours were earlier, spilling out in stops and starts. “I can't go home, Gyppie. My brother's wedding is on Christmas Day. But it's not that I'm against my brother's marriage. It's more like his fiancée is against having me there.”

You can’t believe anyone would go so far as to ban Javy from his brother's wedding just because she didn't want him there. You cup his jaw gently, letting your hand curl around to cradle the back of his in a position mirroring how he's still holding you.

“You want to know the kicker, Gyppie? She was my fiancée first. She dumped me because she couldn't stand the deployments and fell into bed with my brother days after.”

“What a stupid thing to do.” You're no longer looking into his eyes, focused on his collarbones. “That was a dumb move, and you know it, Machado. She just alienated herself from most of your family. Your Mama first and foremost.”

His laughter has you giggling, too. When your laughter and his finally taper off, you're left to marvel at how much things have changed.

“You want to know the best part?” You hum in response. “The reason why we broke up was because I was already in love with someone else.”

He doesn’t wait for you to ask or even allow you a chance to get past your shock. His hands tip your head up again until you're face to face, and he kisses you, slow and sweet. Your moan takes you by surprise as you try to pull him even closer, letting him imprison you in his embrace.

“Fuck, this Christmas would've been so different if I'd just told you how much I loved you before we left flight school, Gyppie.”

This time, you tug him in, kissing him slow and sweet until there's molten lava in your veins and there's snow in your mind. It's beginning to feel like a holly jolly Christmas indeed.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@chaoticassidy @kmc1989 @shanimallina87 @desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @footprintsinthesxnd @roosterforme @beyondthesefourwalls @mak-32 @thedroneranger @cherrycola27

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #javy coyote machado x reader #javy machado x reader #coyote x reader #WinterRomComChallenge #'tis the damn season #gypsy x javy #the coyote and his gypsy #coyote x gypsy

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 1 year ago

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A Hazy Shade of Winter

Javy 'Coyote' Machado x Reader

Description: It feels like something has inexplicably changed between you and Javy Machado during your two day drive across the country. He's different with you, kinder, sweeter, and softer. It's a side of him you could easily fall in love with. But before you drum up the courage to broach the topic with him, the two of you are in Jake and Nat's cute little house in Virginia and it feels like the moment is gone. One soak in a hot tub affirms your feelings and Javy's. The hours following are more fulfilling than you ever would have expected. All you can thank are Jake and Nat's hot tub.

Themes: Hot tubs, hot tub sex, shower-sex, falling in love, winter

Warnings: Female!Reader This fic is for adults age 18 and older, only! There are spicy happenings in this part! Please do not read if sexual intimacy is disturbing to you!

Word Count:

Author Note: This is part two of Gypsy and Javy's story and was written for @bellaireland1981's Winter RomCom Writing Challenge! I had an absolute blast writing this fic for Trope #17, Stuck Together/Snowed in/Stranded. I hope you all love reading this fic as much as I loved writing it! All my thanks go to @desert-fern who was instrumental as I bounced ideas back and forth for this fic, as well as for beta-reading it for me!

Read 'Tis the Damn Season here!

Cross Posted on AO3 Here!

My Masterlist

Something has unraveled between you and Javy Machado since that night. There are tiny gossamer ribbons of emotion, of trust stretching out from your ribcage to his, anchored within the beat of your heart and his. You've been talking as the hours turn into days with nobody else for companionship. You've talked about anything and everything, from your childhood to his, to childhood rituals and challenging duty stations. But you’ve never once addressed the kiss - kisses, really. It feels like electricity is zipping through your veins with each stolen glance, each languid glimpse you steal of his physique from the corner of your eyes.

Just as you ask him why he kissed you, if he meant what he said about being in love with you, the car jolts to a halt. It’s early, bright, and bitterly cold, a fact Tash does not appear to notice with how she’s waving excitedly from the front porch. You feel for Jake in that moment. Unlike her boyfriend, who is bundled up in a thick coat, boots, and jeans, Tash is just wearing leggings and a baggy bright orange Longhorns Jersey. You can see she’s wearing flip-flops on her feet, and you pray you’re headed back inside soon before she gets sick.

“You made it!” She’s practically dancing when you make your way onto the porch laden with your bags and a not considerable amount of snow. “I had my doubts, you know? I wasn’t sure you could make it with Javy halfway across the country without murdering him.”

“It was a near thing, Tash.” You shrug as Jake opens the door for you, shivering at the blast of heat washing over you as you set your bags in a pile in the foyer.

“Hey, Jake.” Unencumbered, you hug your friends, giggling as Jake hoists you up and spins you around in a circle. Then you get wrapped up in a warm hug from Tash and dragged through the house. You can vaguely hear Jake and Javy following behind the two of you as you walk through the house, laughing and catching up. The culmination of the tour is a bedroom.

“So, Gypsy, this is the guest bedroom.” The bedroom is beautiful, painted soft cream with white wood furniture. It feels like summer in a room. But when you mention as much, you’re surprised to see Tasha’s mouth fall open in surprise.

“What?” You need coffee for this, please. Jake and Tasha just share a look with each other. The room feels stifling as you look between your friends, and surprisingly, it’s Javy who puts you out of your mystery.

“Gyppie, I think Tash means that this is the only guest bedroom.” You turn then, taking in the queen bed at the center of the room.

“Oh.” You turn back to Javy and smile just a little. “I’ll take the window side of the bed, then.”

“That works for me.” He hands you your bags with a grin of his own. “You forgot these downstairs.”

“Thanks, Javy.”

“Gypsy?” You turn to look at your best friend, unsure of what her tone means, though you can see a shocked expression on her face. “Come on down to the kitchen with me. I have coffee down there. I think we need to talk.”

You follow your best friend easily, smiling as Javy squeezes your hand in his as you pass. It’s an action that both Jake and Tash see, and as you follow Tash down the stairs, you can see the questions floating around her head.

“Do you still take your coffee with an obscene amount of cream and a spoonful of sugar?” You nod and accept the hot mug, letting Tash drag you to sit at the kitchen table.

“What the hell was that?” She’s adopted her gossiping position, one leg curled under her butt as she leans forward. The big jersey’s sleeves cover her hands as they clutch her mug. Unconsciously, you end up mirroring her position, sipping on your coffee and letting the caffeine hit your stomach as you think of what to say.

“What was what, Tash?”

“You didn’t fight about sharing a bed with Javier Machado! That’s what.” You shrug.

“Things have changed, Tash.” At her snort, you find yourself spilling the beans. The night in the motel room, miles away, feels like a dream. Her squeal when you get to the kiss nearly deafens you.

“He kissed you!” She sounds practically giddy with glee, her eyes bright as she looks at you across the warm wood table. “And you kissed him back!”

“So, what now? Does this mean you’re in a relationship with him now?”

“I wish I knew, Tash. We haven’t talked about it.” Her mouth parts in dismay.

“Is that why you haven’t objected to sharing a bedroom with him?” You nod sheepishly. “Is there anything Jake or I can do to help?”

“Not really, Tash. We just have to communicate. Communicate like we’ve never been able to before this. It's just…” You sigh softly. “It feels right, spending time with him. It feels right in a way nothing else ever has. I have butterflies, literal, actual butterflies in my stomach when I talk to him. I used to think that feeling was hatred. But the past few days have taught me differently.”

“I’ll see what I can do to make sure you have some time together, Gyp. I’ll make sure Jake knows, too.” You smile softly and change the subject. You’re not sure you could face either of the men overhearing this particular conversation.

“So what’s it been like - having your own house and living with Jake?” It was the right question to ask. Her face lights up as she discusses buying furniture and decorating the house. You haven’t seen her this happy in a very long time. You get absorbed in the conversation and manage to forget the question of what Javy and you are for half an hour more.

You get yanked out of your cozy conversation when Jake clatters into the kitchen. Javy follows at his heels, the scent of his cologne preceding him.

“The shower’s all yours, Gyppie.” You hand Jake your empty mug and move to leave the kitchen.

“Wait a sec, Gyp.” You turn to look at Jake. “I’m making brunch now, and we didn’t have anything planned for today. If either of you feels like taking a dip in the hot tub out back, you’re welcome to.”

You wave your goodbyes and head up to take a hot shower. The bathroom is still neat, with only a little bit of steam in the air. It feels amazing to wash off the dirt of traveling cross country in a car. By the time you leave your room, the house smells deliciously of coffee and breakfast. Your stomach rumbles as you accept your laden plate and settle in next to Javy at the table to eat your meal. The atmosphere is light as you talk and laugh, catching up. Javy’s hand finds its way to your thigh under the table, and that one point of contact makes heat slide through your system.

In the mid-afternoon, after Jake drags Tasha into their bedroom for a nap, which you’re almost 90% sure isn’t a nap at all, you walk up into your room to change into your bikini for a soak in the hot tub. Javy has obviously had the same idea because he’s standing in the room in a pair of yellow swim trunks with red lines going down them. The sight makes you drool a little bit because the shorts are just a bit too short, revealing the mouth-watering expanse of his tanned, strong thighs and his truly enviable six-pack abs. You grab your bikini and excuse yourself to the bathroom, uncomfortably aware of the flush in your cheeks and the dazed look in your eyes as you change into the simple black fabric.

You pull on a pair of sweats and exit to an empty bedroom. You can faintly hear a moan from behind the closed door of the master bedroom, and you make your escape. Tash might be your best friend, but you don’t need to know what she sounds like in bed. You let yourself out via the kitchen door and toddle carefully out to the hot tub. The ground is covered in a layer of frost, and you’re underdressed for this weather. Thankfully, you’re not going far. The hot tub is at the bottom of the backyard in a little shed. The gate’s open when you step through, the cover off and the water steaming in the cold air. Javy’s already in the tub, languid in the bubbling water. His clothes are on a bench in the back, and you set your towel next to his. Your skin prickles with goosebumps as you drag your sweats off, shuddering as you fold the garments up and set them near your towel.

“Come on in, the water’s perfect.” Javy’s eyes are dark as they drag over your form. Your nipples pucker into hard peaks at the sight before you. It takes you several moments to screw up all of your courage and step in. The water feels nearly too hot on your chilled skin, but once you’re in the tub up to your collarbones, you feel a little bit less exposed.

“That bikini looks amazing, Gyppie.” If you were flushed earlier, you’re even more so now.

“It’s just a plain black bikini.” You deflect, “It’s nothing special.”

“I’d argue that it is.” You jump when his hand wraps around your ankle. “It’s borderline indecent how two small triangles of fabric make your tits look mouthwatering. I haven’t seen your ass, but I’m sure it looks fabulous too.”

You chuckle awkwardly because you don’t know how to respond. You’re not sure why Javy’s being so profuse with compliments. He was the person who seemed so content with not addressing the kisses from the motel. Now he’s got his hands on your skin and complimenting your body?

“At least come here, sweetheart.” There’s a soft smile on his face, his strong fingers rubbing circles against your ankle. “I can’t see you through all the steam.”

It feels like you’re in a trance as you take his hand and let yourself be pulled into his lap. This close, you can feel the muscles of his thighs flex under your thighs.

“Much better, sweetheart.” His hands are on your waist, thumbs resting just against the underside of your breasts.

“What’s going on? What happened to my bold, pretty Gypsy who kissed me like that in that motel room?” You freeze from where you’d been slowly acclimatizing yourself to sitting in his lap. “I can’t believe this shy little thing is her.”

“I…” To your embarrassment, you stutter a little at his earnest question, and you can’t meet his eyes. “I’m not usually like this.”

“Is this just another thing that’s a reaction to me, then?” His hands slide up, hot and wet, to draw your face up until your eyes are level with his own.

“Why are you doing this, Javy?” Of all the questions you were expecting to fly out of your mouth, this wasn’t one.

“I thought I told you why in that motel room.” You gasp. “I’m in love with you, Gypsy. I always have been.” It’s when he repeats the words with your name that you start to believe him.

This time, you initiate the kiss, smiling when you feel his grin against your mouth. He takes control soon afterward, licking into your mouth in languid strokes that have heat spiraling through your veins. Your chest heaves when he pulls away. Despite the hot water lapping over your chest, you have goosebumps across your arms, and your nipples are hard. You feel special in his gaze.

“What’re you thinking about, hmm, Gyppie?” His hands haven’t strayed from their place on your ribcage, no matter how much you’d like them to.

“I’m thinking about how stupid I’ve been by denying how electric I feel in your presence.”

His laugh takes your breath away. “Those are awfully big words for somebody wriggling on my lap like this.”

When you move to stop, he tugs you in closer. “I didn’t say, stop, baby. I think I might die if you do.”

Javy kisses down the side of your throat, the wet slide and suction robbing any sense you have. You’re powerless to do anything but moan as those big hands undo the tie of your bikini and as his mouth dips lower and lower. The heat languishing in your belly burns in a sharp, stinging ache as his parted mouth meets the peak of your breast. You shudder and curl a hand in his hair. That vicious ache between your thighs pulses in beat with your rushing blood. You whimper, honest-to-god whimper, when he pulls away.

“C’mon, baby.” You let Javy pick you up and carry you out of the tub. “I’m not going to fuck you in here. Let’s get back into the house, okay?”

You nod dumbly, not sure where to look or how to act when there is so much arousal in your veins. He dries you off carefully, kissing the swell of your breasts before tugging your sweatshirt back over your head and your pants up your legs. You observe as he turns off the tub and the lights and let him lead you back into the house. Your bikini is trapped in your hands, and your lips feel swollen with the force of his kisses. Thankfully, the house is still silent, barring the occasional gasp from the master bedroom, as you close the door to the guest room and lock it.

This leaves you looking right at Javy, seeing the heat in his gaze.

“I'm going to take a shower.” You murmur, turning your back to him as you tug the damp clothing off in his view. There's a foreign confidence in your veins as you untie the bikini bottoms and let them smack, water-laden as they are, on the tile floor. When you step under the hot stream, you're praying that Javy understands what you want. You're not sure you can take the mortification of being wrong when you have to share a bed with him.

You're more than pleased to find you're not wrong when arms wrap around your bare form minutes later. He's hard against your butt, and his hands are very busy mapping your skin.

“Been dreaming about this, baby.” His voice is a guttural moan, which has you melting in his big, calloused hands. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

You whimper when his hands leave your skin. You can't believe your eyes when you turn around because he's kneeling on the tile as the water rains onto his upturned face.

“Can I eat you out, baby?” You nod and let him manhandle you with your leg over his shoulder. The first swipe of his tongue through your folds has you seeing stars. His big hands hold your thighs open as they shake under the onslaught, soothingly massaging the muscles as they tense and your toes curl in pleasure. You twist your nipples, tugging on the hard peaks in a near rhythm to his tongue as your body crashes towards your first orgasm in months. Everything feels sensitive as the band in your belly tightens, the pressure making your thighs quake as you bite your lips.

When his lips wrap around your swollen clit, he sucks gently as you cum with a garbled screech of his name. Your hips buck wildly as your back arches. When Javy slides his way back up to standing in front of you, he has to tease your lips out from between your teeth.

“Aww, baby, look at you. My beautiful Gypsy-girl.” There's naked affection in his gaze as he kisses you. Your eyes flutter slowly closed as he kisses you.

“Javy?” He hums in response, hands busy squashing your ass. “What about you?”

“Aren't you still, you know, hard?” Your voice is a whisper barely audible over the drumming water.

“How could I be when I have a beautiful thing falling apart on my tongue?” You're giggling into the kisses he lays across your mouth.

Your daydream in the motel shower was right. Javy Machado's hands are the perfect fit for your curves, the rough pads of his fingers so gentle as they massage soap across your skin. You hope that your hands feel just as perfect on his skin as you return the favor.

“You're mine, now, Gypsy.” Javy keeps murmuring the words possessively into your ears. It sounds almost like he's reassuring himself that you're truly here, in his arms, despite your murmurs back in the affirmative.

His gaze is unbelieving when you push him onto the bed, still damp, and crawl over him. His body responds to your touch as you pepper kisses down his chest, pressing one featherlight kiss against his cock. You can already taste the salty-sweet tang of his precum as you slide back up and capture his mouth into another kiss. This kiss is punctuated by his moans as you work over his length, using your own arousal to ease the way.

His gasp is in perfect harmony with your own as you ease yourself onto his length. He's big, and he feels even better than he looks as you sink inch by excruciating inch down his length.

“God, baby.” You preen in your position atop him, soaking in the pure love in his voice. “You feel so good, baby. Make me cum, baby doll. Go on.”

The order, coupled with your arousal, has you lifting yourself up and settling back down, over and over. You're chasing the high of your last orgasm once again, everything fever-hot as you take your pleasure. When your steady rhythm falters as your thighs burn, Javy flips you onto your back. His muscular body heaves over you, his eyes dragging torturously over your spit-slicked, parted lips, your erect nipples, and your puffy cunt.

“Gypsy, you look so perfect.” His words are worshiping, his cock sliding over your wet heat as he kisses your neck. The sharp sting of his teeth against your pulse, coupled with the blunt press of his cock has your back arching and a moan tumbling out of your mouth. Now, the pace is brutal. His lips are bared in a growl as his muscles glisten with sweat. The bedroom is filled with the smack of skin against skin, and unbidden, you can feel another orgasm coming over you.

Javy doesn't help that, not when he kisses you filthily and growls, “Feel so good, baby. My pretty Gypsy girl feels like she's gonna cum, huh? Her little pussy fluttering around me?”

You can’t respond in anything other than gasps or moans. All your thoughts are driven out by the press of his skin against your own. The two of you cum together, muffling your pleasure against each other's skin. You find yourself in the shower again once you can feel your feet, this time sharing lazy kisses as you melt into his arms.

When Tash and Jake walk down the stairs an hour later, your hair is a damp mess around your face. There's pasta sauce bubbling on the stove and garlic bread in the oven. A bottle of wine is breathing on the dining table, but neither you nor Javy care. Not when he's got you caged up against the counter, kissing you as you try to sing along to the music playing softly from the speakers. There's snow falling to the ground outside, but in the house, everything feels warm and bright.

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