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theywhowriteandknowthings · 9 months

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Framing Escobar: Chapter 1 - Snapshot

General Warnings: 18+, as is the whole of my blog, I will mark anything specific but be aware this is predominantly a smutty blog with plot. DNI if you are a minor. By reading further you have taken the responsibility to do so with the warnings I have given.

Specific Warnings: This chapter has some sexual suggestions, allusions to violence, mostly just scene setting and fluff.

Welcome to the reboot! I hope you enjoy this little piece of my heart 💜

[Read on AO3] Masterlist | Next Chapter ->

Snapshot:

You’ve been in Colombia for six hours, and in those six hours you’d found your apartment, shopped for the essentials, clothes, camera stock, tampons. You’d also swerved eager street vendors with your less-than-adequate Spanish, and you’d almost got hit by three cars, and a bus.

You stare down at the box on the shabby dining table that had seen some serious use, the varnish gone, leaving the bare wood open to all the various nicks and dings inflicted upon it.

“Fuck.” You breathe as you open the Olympus OM-4T box with a giddy gasp. Professor Thomas had one of these bad boys and you had been able to use it from time to time, but you never expected to have your own, not before you’d finished your PhD. You take some time to flick through the manual, but you already know how to use it, what film stock to use, then you turn to the other lenses provided.

They’re older but still good, you snap a few shots of your apartment as a test. The viewfinder something you still need to get used to, your Leicas at home are range finders. But the technology fascinates you. You’re almost forgetful of the dangerous place Colombia is as gun shots erupt outside and you drop to the floor, cradling your head as you wait for the din of the street fighting to stop.

Silence falls over the street and after a few minutes the stray dogs start to bark once more, people bustle about noisily in the street below. You do a precautionary check of your body, no bullet holes, good. You’ve been housed on the top floor of the unofficial DEA apartment block, but you still had to be sure.

“I need a drink.” You breathe as you gather yourself, stowing the camera and lenses under your bed, just in case. You grab your purse and head out, down the many flights of stairs, and through the back door of the building into the streets of Bogotá as you scold yourself for not having picked up a few beers earlier that day.

~*~

You sit at the bar with a beer and a large glass of water. You’re gulping the water down at a rate that even the bartender raises an eyebrow at as you ask for a refill. The beer is better than you remember than anything back home, and you sip on it from the bottle, letting the harsh edge of your nerves be smoothed over with the alcohol buzz. A song comes on over the jukebox, a shift from the Latin Rock that had been playing since you arrived, and you perk up as you recognise the singer.

You look out over the bar and see a pair of men eyeing you from the jukebox, they must have put the song on. You feel self-conscious as you look down at the long cargo shorts and yellow tank top, wondering what was drawing their attention. Your nerves are on fire hoping you hadn’t given yourself away before you even officially started. The DEA had given you a crash course on all things undercover, which seemed like nothing at all now you were here.

“Hey there, hon,” A warm voice broke you out of your panic and you look up into the blue eyes of the taller of the two men. He’s gorgeous, and his smile just makes your heart flutter, “New in town?” He asks as he sits to your right, his blonde hair sticking to his brow as you know yours is too. He’s dressed like every jock you’d ever met, blue button down, khaki chinos, white sneakers.

“Flew in today, gap year, taking a break from my PhD.” You grin as you respond with your pre-approved reasons for being in Bogotá, ready to launch into the in-depth backstory you had been given, but the handsome stranger just nods.

“The fuck you doing in Colombia, kid?” The other man’s voice comes from behind the blonde one. He stalks around his friend, quickly taking the seat on the other side of you. Suddenly you’re penned in by these strangers and panic is rising in your throat. The other man is the opposite in every way to his friend, his features sharp against a tousled mess of dark hair, a strong moustache adorns his upper lip. He sports a rich maroon shirt, and dark jeans. Unlike his friend, you can’t place his accent, only making you more wary of the pair.

“I’m- You begin but the blonde man interrupts you. He signals to the bartender to bring over another round of beers.

“She’s here on a gap year, José, here in Bogotá?” He informs his friend, a wicked smile spread across his face as you turn to the stern man to your left, his dark, scrutinising eyes afire with glee.

“What is a pretty girl like you doing in Bogotá? It’s not a nice place these days.” His tone is teasing, an echo of his friend’s. You want to just curl up and die, they’re clearly having fun toying with you. You feel like you’re twelve years old again, getting picked on the high school jocks.

I should have bought beer at the market, I could be at home, safe.

You think to yourself as you plaster a smile on your face.

“I’m travelling through South America for photography and, more importantly, life experience. “You wince internally, embarrassed that you were describing yourself as the kind of person avoid like the plague, all starry eyed, soaked in privilege and, worst of all, naive. “Going to be completing my PhD in photography when I get back. I want to capture the world through my eyes, y’know?” You let your eyelashes flutter a little as you speak.

“That’s pretty bold isn’t it, Stan?” The dark-haired man, José, asks, his lips set in a mocking smile. You can’t keep your gaze from drifting to the low cut of his shirt, left unbuttoned enough to show you the curve of his chest muscles.

“Very, mommy and daddy pay for this trip?” The blonde man, Stan, teases as you squirm. You’d happily take more gunshots outside your apartment than this. But you can’t help but notice that José’s gaze is lingering on you. Throughout the course of the teasing, you notice his eyes softening, curious and bright in the shabby lighting of the bar. You look back to Stan as you reply, tearing your eyes from the man who’s stirring a something inside you just by looking at you.

“I paid for it, my mommy and daddy aren’t around anymore.” You hiss bitterly at the rough treatment by these strangers, the information is only a half-truth. The DEA had paid for the whole thing after all, including your new camera. No matter how hot José is you don’t have to put up with this bullshit.

“Oof, stepped in it there, Stan,” José whistles low as he shoots you a slightly more sympathetic look, but the heat never leaves his eyes, “Sorry doll, he’s not the best with the ladies.”

“It’s fine, I’m just trying to have a drink before heading home.” You mutter, draining your beer in indication that you’re done. Your heart threatening to burst out of your chest as you try and get away from the two handsome men, already feeling like you’ve blown everything. The round of drinks land in front of you and you wince, not wanting to snub a kind gesture.

“No, I’m sorry, I’m heading back to my wife,” He says the final word with venom aimed at José and you almost smile, “Goodnight you two, enjoy the beers, have fun.” Stan waves as he walks away. You’re stunned, not sure what the hell had just gone on.

“Sorry about him, he caught me looking at you and decided to make it a whole thing.” José apologises, the skin around his warm brown eyes creasing at the corners as he grimaces at his friend’s teasing.

“It’s fine, I do think I need to get home though.” You insist, the interaction seems harmless but you’re already on edge. José is handsome, suave, a few years your senior, but you already want to run and hide from the world after the pair’s relentless teasing.

“Leave the beers, I’m sure I can share them around, how about a nightcap?” José asks with a smile as he gestures to the bartender, rolling off fluent Spanish as he orders the next round.

“Ok, but I do have to get back.” You insist but the large measure of whiskey is placed next to you makes you exhale. You were already feeling a little dizzy from the alcohol and lack of sleep, and you were conscious of not turning up hungover to your first day on the job.

“No worries, chica, one more drink.” José promises but you could see the flickering curiosity in his gaze as you fawn up at him. You wring your hands on the hem of your tank top before deciding to stay.

“So, what pick up lines do you usually use on the stupid American tourists?” You ask, savouring the rich spicy peat of a good whiskey. If living with your uncle had taught you anything, it was to appreciate good whiskey.

“Bold, I like it,” José chuckles as he nurses his own drink, “Usually that I’m a telenovela star trying to reconnect with my character, and that a night with a beautiful stranger is just what I need.” He rambles and you find yourself smiling, coming down from the adrenaline spike with ease as José’s face softens. He’d been all hard edges and brooding until you actually dared ask him a question about himself.

“Ah yes, because Arturo Peniche needed such inspiration to be so lusted after by little Latina aunties.” You tease and a flash of genuine delight crosses José’s face, and you take the win, knowing that you’re in good company.

“Where are you from, sugar? And how do you know who Arturo Peniche is?” José asks with genuine curiosity as you melt under his gaze. He smells divine, a perfect blend of smooth whiskey and not-cheap cologne that drives heat to your core.

“Albuquerque,” You had agreed that with the DEA, it made most sense, “But I grew up with an unorthodox family, my uncle loved telenovelas and I’d end up getting sucked in while doing homework after school.” You admit, the thought bringing you a soft buzz of nostalgia. José nods in approval.

“You and your uncle close then?” He asks, his tone light but you can see he’s reading everything you do, methodically.

“Yeah, when my parents passed, he took me in, I was ten?” You try and remember but it’s all a bit of a blur these days, “But yeah we were never close, but we bonded over our love of photography, guns, and Dolly Parton.” You admit, getting lost in your own thoughts as you realise, you’re giving way too much away to the second stranger you had actually spoken more than a few words to in Bogotá.

“So, your friend,” You gesture towards the door steering the conversation away from you, “He always such a good wingman?”

“Yes, and no, he’s always more interested in winding me up, than actually helping me score.” José admits with a shrug.

“I’d say he did a pretty good job.” You admit as you did enjoy watching José squirm a little.

“As my wingman? Or as an annoying prick?”

“Both.” You feel heat rising to your cheeks. The alcohol makes you bold as you place the empty glass on the bar, “But I have an early start, so I should be going.” You stand up too quickly and he steadies you with a strong, firm hand on your waist. You laugh at yourself as the heat rises to the tips of your ears.

“You alright, doll?” He asks as his other hand comes up to rest on your cheek. The calloused skin of his fingers is delightfully rough against your cheek. Your lips part involuntarily as you look up into his dark eyes, bottomless pools of chestnut and ochre, framed by long, thick lashes. The grip on your waist tightens slightly as you see his chest heave, the tan skin of his chest glistening slightly with perspiration. You’d never been one for one-night stands or casual hook-ups but something about the way this man was drinking you in had you weak at the knees.

“I’m fine, just tired from all of the travelling.” You whisper, your breath coming in shallow rasps as you try and resist the urge to kiss him. You wanted to blame the alcohol, but you were only slightly buzzed, a false sense of confidence flooding you as you smell his subtle, floral cologne that draws you closer to him.

“Need me to call you a cab?” He breathes, you feel his hand twitching on your waist as you feel him constraining himself.

“Please.” You nod, dropping your gaze to your feet, trying to reel yourself back from the point of no return. José turns to the bartender and asks him to call a cab for you, you let out a shallow breath as his hands leave you, trying to collect yourself.

“One’s on the way, come on I’ll wait with you outside.” He insists and you let him walk you out, the hot night air oppressive as you expect to step out into a cooler atmosphere than the bar.

“Fucking Colombia.” You grumble, not used to being so hot all the time, the presence of José at your back not helping matters. You stand in the alleyway, just off the street, waiting for the cab when you hear him chuckle from behind you. The snap of a zippo catches your attention as he lights a cigarette. You wrinkle your nose; you’ve always hated smoking. He catches the look on your face and snubs the unsmoked cigarette on the wall. He clearly doesn’t want to put you off if he was even remotely in with a chance of taking you home. You turn away, not trusting yourself to not throw yourself at him if you kept his gaze.

“Not a fan of the heat?” José asks as he eyes you from behind, you mentally beg him to step forward and close the distance, to grab you from behind and touch you. The tension is just too much.

“Not when I have so many clothes on.” You whisper, something in you hopes that it was too quiet to hear but the soft hum in your ear as strong arms circle around your waist, pinning you to him, confirms that he definitely heard you.

“You sure you need to go back to your place tonight?” He asks as he presses a soft, lingering kiss into the sensitive flesh of your neck, the brush of his moustache on your skin and the warm press of his lips bring a strangled moan to your lips and you feel his smile against your skin as he hears it.

“Yes, I really do.” You assure him, you ball your fists at your side as you try and fight the urge to tangle your fingers in his hair. You could feel his growing erection against your ass, and you whimper softly, this time he hadn’t heard you, to your relief.

“Shame, would have loved to hear what other noises I could tease out of you.” He chuckles as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, sucking an angry mark into your neck, the sensation is enough to moisten your panties as your head rolls back in pleasure at the depraved act.

“Fuck.” You breathe as he plants a kiss on your jaw, nipping lightly as he thumbs the hem of your cargo shorts.

“Your ride’s here, shame, but maybe I’ll see you around before you leave Bogotá?” He asks as he pushes you forward. The abrupt release from his tight hold startles you and you just manage to right yourself before turning to scowl at him.

“Maybe, I don’t know how long I’ll be in town.” You say with a smile, “But maybe I’ll see you here Friday night?”

“Sounds like a plan, goodnight, sugar.” He gives you a mock salute and you roll your eyes, fumbling to get the back door of the cab open in your flustered state. You practically fall into the back seat as you give the driver your address. You try not to look back like a love-sick puppy as the car pulls away. You massage the spot where he had left a mark and hope that you can cover it up in the morning. Somehow.

Bogotá, what a fucking place.

~*~

You stand at your bathroom mirror, frustration rolling off you in waves as you take in the large, angry mark on your neck. You apply concealer and a bit of foundation over the mark, it looks better but it’s still there. You give up and glance at your watch, you have a few minutes before you needed to leave. You grab your camera bag and take one last look around your new home. It needed some decoration, especially if you were going to be here a while.

“Idiot, what were you thinking? Should have stayed home.” You curse yourself for being so stupid as you fly down the flights of stairs. You notice the tall blonde woman at the last moment, stopping just short of mowing her down in the foyer.

“Shit, sorry! Uh, lo siento!” You correct, forgetting where you were for a moment.

“No worries, hon, you alright there?” The blonde woman gives you a knowing smile as she looks pointedly at the already smudging makeup on your shoulder.

Another American, are there any Colombians in this part of town?

“Yeah, sorry I’m going to be late for work.” You blurt and the woman raises an eyebrow at you. “So, you’re not the woman Javi was with last night? I thought, seeing as you were coming from that direction…”

“Don’t know anyone called Javi. Sorry, ma’am!”

“Connie, Connie Murphy, my husband Steve, and I live in this block too. Nice to meet you” You give her your name and she nods, filing it away for future reference.

“Anyway, nice to meet you Connie, I really do need to run.” You apologise as you sprint out of the building.

Connie watches you go, a wry smile plastered on her face as she connects the dots.

“Oh Javi, what have you done?” She asks herself with a chuckle as she heads back into the apartment.

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