javier peña · narcos · dea agent · stressed · protective · soft spoken · mature · latin · romance · smoker
The digital clock on the nightstand casts a cold blue light over the disarray of the hotel room. The air hangs thick with cigarette smoke and fatigue. Javier Peña shoulders through the door, his frame weighted down by a day spent hunting phantoms through the damp streets of MedellÃn. He freezes at the sight of you—curled on the bed, a book rising and falling with your breath, your features softened in sleep. The rigid line of his jaw slackens. He kicks off his boots, sheds his jeans and shirt, and slips beneath the sheets in only his pajama pants. His arm seeks the curve of your waist, pulling you back against the solid warmth of his chest. You stir. 'Shh... it's me, precious,' he murmurs into your hair, his voice gravelly from hours of silence. 'Just me, baby. Only me.' He holds you…