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girlpornparadise · 4 years

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At Your Doorstep

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo/f!Reader (Narcos)

Word Count: ~4000

Warnings: I Smut. I only smut. My brain is that cavern in the Little Mermaid, but instead of being full of thingamabobs, it’s full of smut. But maybe it’s a bit soft too. I dunno.

Personal ramble: Don’t have much to say about this one. I was just in a mood. An I want a sexy murder husband in my life and this is what came out mood. Maybe it’ll be your mood too if you read it.

It's late when you hear the rap on your door. You're tired and a visitor is not welcome at this hour, but you pad to the entrance all the same. The knock didn't have the insistence of an emergency, but rather a hesitation to it, as if maybe they realized it was late and didn't want to disturb you after all.

When you look through the peephole there's a figure standing there clad in green, looking down and to the left. It's the same man who occupied your evening yesterday.

***

"Just one drink, I promise." That was always his promise, and it was a promise he never kept.

"Not tonight Javi, I'm too tired." You knew he wouldn't be deterred so easily.

"Please, I need your help." Intrigue. This was a new tactic.

"What could you possibly need my help with outside of work?" You asked with a tinge of exasperation.

Javier Pena was a sweet talker. You knew it as well as everyone else at the embassy. Most of all he knew it, and he was quick to leverage his charm to get what he wanted. A peek at a file, a scrap of information, a favour under the table. And occasionally a date when he was bored with the locals he cavorted with.

"I need backup." He stated flatly.

"Don't you have a partner for that?" You asked, wondering what game he was playing at.

"Not that kind of backup. The social kind. The kind only a beautiful and charming woman such as yourself could provide." He smiled as he leaned over your desk.

Appealing to your sense of vanity AND intrigue. Smart.

"So who's the mark this time?" You asked tentatively. You'd played this game before. It was usually a low level diplomat or a friend of a friend from stateside. Never anyone dangerous or unseemly. He knew better than to involve the embassy in those kinds of dealings. You agreed to these dinners or drinks because you knew you'd end up somewhere nicer than you could afford on your salary and he'd pick up the tab.

"You'll like him. I promise."

"That's what you said last time and he was a walking sedative. In fact, I don't know why I ever say yes, I never like them that much." You said shaking your head.

"You can't expect them to live up to the bar I've set." He said with a wink.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that you had been new to Colombia. Before you knew better. Javi had hounded you then, much the same way, but after a handful of unsuccessful dates you had landed somewhere between colleagues and friends.

You considered your options. There were cold leftovers waiting for you in your fridge.

"Ok." You acquiesced, making a bigger show of it than you actually felt.

"Great, I'll come grab you at 5. I promise, he's a good one."

"You always say that." You called after him as he strode out of the office.

The rest of the day passed quickly as you transcribed notes and prepared reports. It was a busy time with the hunt for Escobar escalating and the recent formation of the Search Bloc. There was so much information to process that most days ended with a long shower and a dumb tv show to reset your overworked mind.

At the agreed upon time Javi came by your desk to gather you. You had put the finishing touches on today's file and snuck off to the washroom to brush your hair and touch up your makeup. There was no time to go home, so you took off your jacket, unbuttoned the top button of your blouse and tried your best to flatten your skirt with your hands. It would have to do.

When you got to the bar you sat down at the booth and Javi slid in next to you. It was nicer than your usual haunts, but not the top tier you'd hoped for.

The waitress brought you some water and you drank it as something to do. You were running out of small talk with Javi when the mystery guest arrived.

You saw his figure before you could place it. A grey polo shirt and khakis were approaching, carried by a strong and commanding gait. You followed the dark hair down to a serious expression. You gulped. It was him.

"Over here." Javi said, catching his attention. You sank down in your chair slightly, intent on disappearing.

"Colonel" you managed to choke out after a moment, unable to conceal the surprise in your tone.

He smiled politely and sat down. You regarded him in a daze as he and Javi exchanged pleasantries, or what passed as such between two men whose work was so difficult.

As your panic subsided and your focus returned, you heard Javi making his excuses about having a date and leaving the table. Your heart sank into your stomach. As you watched him leave, still in disbelief, he mouthed the words "You're welcome." Before disappearing from view.

Your crush on Colonel Corrillo was the worst kept secret in the office. The handful of times he had come into the embassy you couldn't help but take him in with a sense of awe. Though the reports were largely dry and factual, they painted the portrait of a hero to you. A strong, steadfast, no nonsense leader who got results. A man morally uncompromising and determined in his mission. You thought meeting him would burst that bubble, but it had only added a handsome, rugged, sculpted visage to match the myth you had built in your mind.

After your first encounter, you found yourself tapping your pencil against your lip when you came across his name in a report. It was always accompanied by a smile to yourself and an ache in your chest. You'd hope to hear his commanding footsteps come up behind you so you could steal a peak at his arms straining on his uniform before he disappeared into one office or another.

Each time he passed your desk you smiled a little too widely and blushed a little too brightly at him. Though his demeanor was always serious, he smiled back, and you melted a little in your seat.

Now here he was, sitting across from you, you thought to yourself.

"What would you like to drink?" He asked.

"Depends, is Javi footing the bill?" A bit of mischief played at your lips.

He smiled and ordered a couple of drinks from a higher shelf than you're used to, mercifully saving you from making a decision for yourself.

You babbled a bit awkwardly at the start until the alcohol hit you and you started to find your groove.

The small talk revolved mostly around work, as it seemed his life generally did. He was polite, but distracted the entire evening and you couldn't help but feel disappointed that you couldn't hold his attention. You felt like this was a mistake. Maybe he just owed Javi a favour. Maybe you were as boring as you feared.

At the end of the night he offered to walk you home, more out of concern for your safety than any desire to be invited in for a drink you surmised. He smiled politely and excused himself at your doorstep and you went to bed feeling a bit disillusioned and empty.

***

But here he is, standing at your door again one day later.

You grip the silk robe you're wearing tightly to your chest and unlock the deadbolt and open the door. He looks up with a hesitation on his face. You weren't sure what you were expecting, but it wasn't this.

He smiles a half hearted smile and looks at you, considering. Somehow he seems smaller and less intimidating than yesterday. Maybe because this was your home and you had the advantage of the familiar.

The confident man who strides through your office, commanding a room by his mere presence is not the man standing before you. For the first time ever he looks unsure of himself.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come." He says apologetically.

He turns to leave but you reach out and touch his arm. He hesitates.

"It's late and I didn't mean to disturb you."

"It's fine." You say, concern filling your expression. "Please, come in."

He crosses your threshold and for a moment, neither of you are sure what to say. You look into his eyes, searching for his reason, trying to decipher his intentions.

His expression has its normal hardness to it, but behind his gaze is something unsure. Wavering. He wants to tell you why he's there. He wants to find the words, but they don't come.

He sighs.

You see a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and he's on the verge of collapse. It's coming up on midnight and he's obviously come straight from work. The lines on his face spell out an impossibly long day.

The tension rising across the country is palpable and here stands a man at the center of the storm. You can't imagine the sense of responsibility he must feel and as your heart reaches out to him, so does your hand. An instinct takes over you and you grasp his palm in yours.

"I'm sorry" he starts "I...", but you place your other hand over his, sandwiching his strong calloused hand between your delicate fingers. It silences him and steadies you both.

Staring into his eyes you see a man who has run out. He has run out of energy. He has run out of cigarettes and drink. He has run out of the mental fortitude to spend endless hours listening to tapes of his nemesis, distilling scraps of information into hard won knowledge. But most of all he has run out of the willingness to bury his men.

You know the burden of an exhausted mind and are flooded with empathy. In your heart you feel what he has come here for, even if he can't articulate it.

Still gently holding his hand in yours you squeeze it ever so slightly to bring his attention to the present moment.

"I was just about to take a shower. Join me." You say it softly. It wasn't a suggestion so much as a statement of things to come.

You notice his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly, but you maintain eye contact. He nods almost imperceptibly. As you look away to lead him down the hall, his gaze follows you, entranced.

You lead him to your bathroom. He doesn't protest, but follows obediently. You put down the toilet seat and sit him down. You kneel to look him in the eye, making sure he's comfortable and proceed to unlace his boots. You slip them off, followed by his socks and place them carefully to the side. He watches you silently but intently.

You turn to the tub and fiddle with the knobs until they reach the spots where the desired temperature should flow from. The sound of the running water visibly soothes him, and you rest your hand on his knee to ground yourself to him.

When you're satisfied with the flowing water, you take his hands delicately and stand him up. His stance still has a military air about it, but he has begun to relax in your presence. You place your hands on his broad chest and look into his eyes. There's a trusting innocence there that he normally keeps locked away. As he takes in your features you glide your hands up to his collar. You carefully unbutton his uniform, breathing steadily as you untuck his shirt and undo the last button. You slide it off of his firm shoulders and hang it on the hook behind the door. You touch his arms and he raises them over his head so you can remove the green undershirt that clings to his torso. You do so carefully, as if tending to a wounded man. You are in a way doing just that.

His belt takes a little more effort and he helps you remove it from his waist. After tossing it aside, you unzip his pants and kneeling again, pull them down. You reach up and hook your hands in the waistband of his boxers and gently tug them to the floor. He steps out of the pile at his feet.

When you stand up again you can hear his breathing and see his chest rise and fall. He's not quite panting, but his mouth is slightly agape and as you step towards him you feel his hot breath against your skin.

You cup his jaw in your hands and he puts his hands on your waist. You moisten your lips and plant a soft kiss on his mouth. He relaxes into your kiss and pulls you in tighter to deepen it, but you don't give into his wanting.

When you pull back, he releases your waist and you untie your silk robe and let it drop to the floor, revealing your naked form. He draws his breath inward sharply as his eyes feast upon you and you smile softly as he admires you. He licks his lips hungrily, a man starving for your touch.

As you cup his face again and pull his mouth to yours, your hands push their way back into his hair. You feel the day's work in it, sweat and dirt from the physicality of his job. His rough hands on your back pull you closer in return, pressing your naked breasts against his body. He savours your warmth and you tingle as his growing erection grazes your stomach.

His tongue circles yours, slowly and purposefully and with your eyes shut, you breathe him in. His scent is musky and grounded, born from the earth and the streets he had been running today. You knew from the report that had crossed your desk before you had left work that it had been a hard one with heavy casualties. When you pull back and look into the deep pools of his eyes, you can see the toll it has taken on him. The pain he has come here to forget.

You continue to be gentle with this solid block of granite before you. You know he could easily throw you down and take you if he'd wanted, but he needs something softer, more nurturing in this time and place.

When you break your kiss he searches your eyes once more, craving the contact you now deny him. You take him by the hand, gently guiding him once again, into the shower.

As the warm water hits him, he is rejuvenated and his lust finds life. You kiss him again and taste the salt running off of his body as your hands wrap around to his back. His hands seek you as well, finding the small of your back, and trailing down to your cheeks, which he palms and grasps tightly, thrusting your hips into his fully erect cock.

He has found his desire and it won't be easily quelled. You're crushed against him as his skin seeks as much contact with yours as possible. He is trying to consume you now with his hungry mouth, press your flesh to his until you become one. There's a desperate need to have you rising within him, and he expresses it by pulling you into him even tighter.

The pressure his muscular body exerts on you becomes too much and you push him back to break away. The force with which you do it concerns him, and he looks to you for reassurance that he hasn't hurt you. You give it gladly with your gentle smile and his desperation ebbs momentarily.

Instead of returning to his fever pitch, you take control of the tempo by grabbing a washcloth in your right hand. You pour a small amount of liquid soap on it, and wring it into a lather. You press it gently to his shoulder and as you massage the knotted muscle straining beneath it he relaxes into your touch. His breathing slows.

As you massage his aching muscles with one hand you run your other thumb along his jawline, feeling his days worth of stubble. He leans into the touch and as your thumb reaches his bottom lip, he kisses it gently.

Moving the same hand down to touch his arm, you indicate that he should turn around and he obliges. He gratefully lets you scrub his back and you work your way across the broad canvass with care and patience. As you remove the sweat and dirt from his tense but exhausted body, his knotted muscles relax under your touch. He sighs and it sounds like he's releasing his thoughts and pain with the air in his lungs. He flexes and relaxes as you erase the day from his skin and sinew. You watch the water run off of his beautiful topography and hope it washes away any doubts he had about coming here this night.

When you finish he turns to face you again and his expression has softened. As your hands reach out to guide him once more, so does your heart, and you are filled with a deep need to protect the peaceful bubble you have ensconced the both of you in.

As you both step out of the tub and you turn off the water his hands rest on your hips. He doesn't want to let you go for fear that this is some dream his stress addled brain has conjured. You turn and rub his bicep reassuringly and then stroke the back of his neck, just at the hairline.

You grab a towel off the hook and dry off his torso carefully. He watches your small hands work their way across his body with care. He takes the towel from you to dry his legs and you grab a second towel to dry yourself. You again work slowly, so as not to upset the calming rhythm you've established. He stands once again mesmerized by your hands and when he finishes drying himself takes your hands in his. He regards them as sacred instruments, capable of healing his cracks and breaks.

As you gently drop his hands from yours you glide to the exit. You go to leave the room but turn around in the doorway.

"Come to bed." You beckon.

He follows you as he has done all night and you sit him down on the edge of the bed. Standing above him, you run a hand through the waves of his short damp hair.

"Let me take care of you, Colonel." You say, kneeling between his legs.

He takes your hands in his once more and looks into your eyes with a softness you had spent the night earning.

"Horacio" he says.

"Horacio" you whisper back.

You let the intimacy of the moment wash over you.

You stroke his thighs slowly and he throws his head back and closes his eyes with a gasp. Bending forward you take his length into your mouth and gently suck. He murmurs as he hardens in your mouth.

You twirl your tongue around his tip, and he sucks in air with a sharp gasp. You grasp his length with your hand and continue to tease his shaft with slow, languid strokes while the warm moisture and hot breath in your mouth massage his throbbing head.

As you feel his legs tense you look up at him, mouth still firmly wrapped around his hungry cock. He looks down at you with awe. A man so unused to relinquishing control, completely at your mercy. His trust settles deep within your chest and you feel powerful, but benevolent.

His breathing quickens and the throbbing between your own legs feels more urgent as well. You rise from between his legs and straddle him. He looks up into your eyes with a desperate need, a craving of intimacy you can't deny him.

He grabs his shaft and guides it into your center as you lower yourself onto him. You both let out strained cries as you feel your bodies intertwine. He pulls you close to him, his hands on your shoulder blades and his elbows resting in the small of your back. In return you pull his head into your chest, gripping his hair.

You rise and fall with his slow, rhythmic thrusts. He takes his time, savouring the tight pull of your walls around him. You pull back his hair to tilt his head up to you and plant your parted lips on his open mouth.

As you feel the heat swell at your core, he slows and cruelly pulls away from you. You whimper at his loss. But his strong hands guide you downwards, and he lays you on the bed. He slides himself into you once more and it makes you feel complete.

You stare into his eyes and he stares back, you've both lost yourselves in each other. You feel his weight on top of you, the heat radiating off of him, and he kisses you again. This time it's soft and caring. He studies you trying to find your pleasure.

He wants to please you, needs to please you. Needs to repay all of the kindness and solace you brought into his life tonight. He thrusts his hips slowly, incrementally increasing the pressure, trying to find your release. As he feels your chest heave harder and your body begin to tremble beneath him, he quickens his pace.

He draws the orgasm from your core and you squirm and twitch beneath his mass. You cry out his name as you reach your peak. To him it is a prayer, something sacred that he feels deeply and it brings him to his end.

He crashes into you and as he cries out he releases himself. Releases his pain, his anguish, his responsibilities and cares. As he spills into you, he lets go of the months of pressure that had threatened to break him, and is met with the sense of peace he so greatly desired.

As his spent body finds its place next to yours you smile and study his face. His shield of indifference has been lowered. He looks back at you with reverence, you are someone to be worshiped. To him you are the angel of mercy who welcomed him into her home, and welcomed him into herself.

You place your hand on his chest, and his heartbeat slows and steadies, not in the forced way like when his training takes over him, but in an organic way that he so seldom feels.

He shifts to wrap his strong arms around your waist and pull you tight to him. This man who washed up on the shores of your body, seeking refuge in your curves and coves, now nestled against your chest.

He mumbles something in Spanish and though you can't make it out, it feels tinged with gratitude. He holds you tightly and you run your hand across his wet hair, and cradle him to you. He drifts off in the safety of your home, your bed, your body. As the world rages outside around you, you have both found peace in each other.

#horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo x you #maurice compte #fic #smut

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