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drabbles-mc · 1 year

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Out of Time

Amado Carrillo Fuentes x F!Reader

For Day 29 of @whumpril's 2023 Challenge: surrender

Warnings: 18+, language, angst

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: In true drabbles-mc fashion, I have no idea what happened here with this one but I thoroughly enjoyed writing it. We love fics all based on vibes in this house lmao. Also, thank you @hausofmamadas for giving me a little nudge out of my comfort zone. tqm, df 🥰

Narcos/NMX Taglist: @thesandbeneathmytoes @garbinge @winchestershiresauce @panagiasikelia @616wilsons @hauntedforsst @mirabee @buckybarneshairpullingkink @boomclapxox @nessamc @southotheborder @supersanelyromantic @padbrookcottage @mysun-n-stars @raincoffeeandfandoms @justreblogginfics @ashlingnarcos @proceduralpassion @artemiseamoon @narcolini @cositapreciosa (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

Once it all started to unravel the way that it did, Amado decided that there was no other choice. Surrender was never going to be an option for him, not the way that it was for the godfathers. He wasn’t going to turn himself in and simply do his bid. What would it all have been for, then?

So there he was, packing his bags. All the work he’d put into his beautiful home, or rather, all the money he’d put into his beautiful home making others do the work, and now he was going to take off and leave it vacant. It was a small loss, he supposed. With the money he had he could afford to make just about anywhere home. It was a skill that was going to come in handy, too, because he didn’t know how long he was going to have to be on the run before he finally settled down somewhere quiet enough for him to live out the rest of his life in quiet, secluded luxury. That’s really all he wanted now: to be left the fuck alone.

The suitcases that were on the floor beside his bed were already filled with clothes. The zippers on them were strained, nearly to their breaking point, but they still held. There was another still on his bed, open and only half-full as he continued to pack away more clothes into it. Part of him felt like it was a bit ridiculous, packing up his clothes and some of his other easily replaceable belongings, but he still found himself doing it. Maybe it was sentimental, he wasn’t sure—there wasn’t enough time for him to sit back and try to figure it out.

He was the only thing in the entire house making noise, so it wasn’t difficult for him to hear the sound of someone else coming up the stairs that would lead to the hallway that held his bedroom. He reached for his gun even though he wasn’t quite sure who it would be. If it had been the cops, or the feds, they would’ve already caused a scene. They wouldn’t have been able to make such a quiet entrance—they wouldn’t have sent one man in alone.

He moved quickly, quietly across the floor of his room. He positioned himself so that he was hidden behind his open bedroom door. His breathing was slow, controlled as he listened to the footsteps slowly but surely get closer and closer to his room.

Through the sliver between the door and its frame, he caught the silhouette of the person as they started to step into his room. The second he was able, he stepped out from his hiding place, grabbing them and pushing them back towards the wall of his room with his gun pressed underneath their chin before he even had a moment to stop and check and see who it was.

When the wall stopped him from being able to keep pushing the person, he finally looked to see who it was. His eyes widened when he saw that it was you, the nerves that had been mounting went away, replaced instead by guilt when he saw the fear in your eyes with the mouth of his gun pressed harshly against your chin.

“A-Amado?” you stammered out, unable to even get your arms to cooperate enough to try and push him away from you.

He lowered his gun, tucking it back into his waistband as he loosened his vice grip on you. “Querida? Qué paso?” He knew that he should’ve been apologizing for nearly splitting your skull in two, but the question came out first instead.

There were still goosebumps on your skin even though the only thing still touching you was Amado’s warm palm. His fingers curled around your bicep, thumb tracing back and forth to smooth over the way that he’d gripped onto you so harshly before. You were trying to get out the words that you wanted to say, but it was proving to be more effort than you thought it was going to be.

“Estás saliendo?” you finally asked, a slight tremor to your voice.

He hesitated at that for a moment. The answer was evident—he knew that you knew. He wondered if you just wanted to hear him say it. Maybe you were looking more for the answer to the question that was coming next: Why? Although you were also smart enough to put together the broad strokes of the answers to that question as well.

Stepping back from you, granting you some more breathing room but with his hand still on your arm, he nodded once. He watched you look at the suitcases on his floor, the one sitting on top of his mattress. Your eyes traveled around the room—it was the only spot in the house where things were looking like they’d disappeared or were out of place. All that square footage and the only room with things that mattered enough to take with him was his bedroom.

“Cuándo…” your voice trailed off, not quite sure if the answer mattered once you started to ask the question. The exact time of his departure wasn’t what your real concern was. Whenever it was, it was clearly soon. Too soon.

Selfishly, the next question you wanted to ask was, “Were you just going to leave without telling me?” but you couldn’t manage it. It seemed small, childish even, to ask that when hardly two minutes before he’d had his finger on the trigger of his gun that was pressed against the bottom of your jaw.

Clearing your throat, you allowed yourself to lean back against the wall behind you for support, taking what you could get. “Adónde vas?”

He gave a slight shake of his head before shrugging. He made just enough of a motion with his arm, like an attempt at throwing his hands up in defeat without truly committing to it. “No sé.” He huffed out something that would’ve been a laugh if the air surrounding the conversation between you hadn’t felt so heavy. “Lejos de aquí.”

You nodded slowly, trying to process what he was telling you, still trying to process the scene that you were seeing in front of you. For as much of a mess as Amado’s life could be, his house had always been spotless. That was one of the perks of never having the time to be there—it never got to the point where it looked lived-in. The only person who had been around enough to even try to make a mess had been you, and you were always careful. But now his room looked like it had been pulled apart, broken down like an old car in search of decent scraps to put into a new one.

Pushing yourself off the wall, you slowly walked over towards his bed. Aside from the wrinkles at the foot of it where he’s been rotating out his suitcases, it still looked perfectly-made. The pillows were all in their correct spots, the blanket and sheet by the head of the bed still folded and set to perfection. You found a spot beside his suitcase and sat down, trying not to think about the way that he was watching you so intently.

You reached into the suitcase, fingers dragging along the fabric of one of the last shirts that he had thrown into the bag. The black cloth passed so smoothly beneath your fingertips. An impulsive part of you wanted to ball it up inside your fist, leave a set of wrinkles that he would have to contend with whenever he got to wherever it was that he was going. Leave him some nuisance to sort out that would make him think of you once he had left you behind. You thought about it, pressed the pads of your fingers harder into the fabric, but then you stopped and just smoothed over it with your palm instead.

“Esto es el fin?” you asked, “Para nosotros?”

For us might’ve been a little presumptuous on your part. But you still deserved an answer. After all, you’d caught the man getting ready to leave without offering you so much as a goodbye or a warning first. If you were here, you might as well make him to through the effort, the pain of stating the obvious. You’d earned that much at least, you’d like to think.

He frowned at the question, and you tried to figure out if he was frowning in confusion because the answer seemed obvious, or if he was frowning because he was actually sad about leaving you behind. Maybe it was something else entirely. Still, you waited patiently for his response.

He shrugged, pausing a moment, his brows knitting like he was trying to think of an answer that wasn’t the most obvious one. “Sí…” he dragged the word out for a beat longer than necessary as he reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment.

“Amado,” you said as you shook your head, sadness plaguing your voice, “what the fuck?”

His eyes snapped back to you at that. You weren’t sure what caught him more off-guard, the sudden switch or the heaviness and sadness that accompanied a question that was usually shouted between the two of you in anger.

He walked over to the bed, positioning himself so that he was standing between your legs. He looked down at you, silently waiting for you to look up at him. “Qué quieres de mi, mija? Hm? Digame.”

“I—” you started, stopping yourself short as you shook your head. The reality of it was that you weren’t really sure what you wanted from him. A heads-up? An invitation? For him to go back in time and not wind up on a path that led to him having to make the choice to either live on the run or to surrender and die in prison? Sighing, you dropped your chin towards your chest as you admitted, “Yo no sé.”

“Hey.” He rested his hand on your shoulder. When you didn’t look up at him, he said, “Mírame.” When you finally looked up at him, he repeated his question. “Qué quieres? Quieres salir conmigo?”

You found yourself shaking your head even though you weren’t quite sure if that was your real answer. You tried not to think too hard about the way his hand warmed your shoulder, about the look in his eyes that you almost thought meant he wanted you to say yes to the question.

“No puedo…” you started, stopping and shaking your head, “I can’t just…”

He tilted his head, like he was curious, almost confused. “Por qué no?”

You leaned back, shock all over your face, “Por qué n—” you cut yourself off, shaking your head, unable to believe that he really just asked you that.

Maybe you should’ve expected it. The rest of the people in his life could pack it all up and leave just like he could, after all. You were the one thing that wasn’t like all the others. You were the only one in his world who couldn’t trade it all in with the flip of a switch. Maybe that’s what the offer was, though, an opportunity to change that.

Despite the fact that you’d thought about it, contemplated it for longer than you thought, you knew that you weren’t going to go. It was an easy choice for Amado. If you had been left with the same choices that he was, you’d probably pick the same thing. But those weren’t the choices that you had. There was so much more left for you here than there was for him, and despite every hopelessly romantic bone in your body, you knew that neither one of you was enough to sway the other. Amado was going to leave no matter what you said, and you were going to stay no matter what he offered.

Reaching, you took his hands in your own. You tried not to think about the tears gathering at the edges of your eyes as you gave him a small pull towards you, trying to coax him to come just a little closer to you before he left you for the last time. You watched him, all of him, the slight slump in his shoulders when he made the decision to give in, when he realized the answer you were going to give him.

He knelt down in front of you, putting himself just below eye-level with you. Your fingers were still threaded through his. Your lips twitched as you tried to keep your tears from spilling, keep your bottom lip from trembling. Leaning forward, you rested your forehead against his.

Taking a deep breath, you said, your voice shaking more than you’d ever admit to after the fact, “Tu sabes…”

You felt the rise and fall of his shoulders and chest from the deep breath that he took. Precious seconds that he didn’t have an excess of anymore, still being spent on you, for you, with you. “No puedes salir,” he said, his voice heavier than you thought it was going to be.

He didn’t know why it hit him so hard. Just a few minutes ago he was ready to leave without even saying goodbye, knowing that for one reason or another he wasn’t ever going to see you again. He’d been ready for that. Maybe the melancholy would catch up to him when he finally slowed down, maybe then he’d feel a passing twinge of regret. What he felt now though was so much more than that, heavier on his shoulders.

Leaving without telling you would’ve been all on his terms. He was in control of it. He wouldn’t have had to stick around to see the pain on your face over it, either. By then he would’ve been long gone. Also, if he had just left without telling you, he wouldn’t have been stuck in the situation he was currently in—he wouldn’t have been getting rejected by you.

Taking one of your hands out of his and resting it on the side of his face, you traced your thumb along his cheekbone, over the stubble that was growing longer, somewhere between unruly and an actual beard.

“No,” you finally said, your voice soft.

The two of you lingered that way for a moment, letting that one word hang between you, the short, simple confirmation that this was the end of the road for the two of you. It didn’t have to be, but it did. Amado couldn't resign himself to what life would look like if he chose to stay, but you could. You had to.

He took a deep breath, and for a fleeting moment you thought that he was going to have something profound to say, something that would shake the foundations of the entire situation. Or maybe he’d kiss you, something so fierce that it would blot out the heart-wrenching reality that the two of you were facing something that would sweep you off your feet one last time. But he didn’t do either of those things. Shaking his head with his forehead still pressed against yours, he let out the breath he’d taken in before getting back up onto his feet.

Neither of you said anything else as he went back to packing up the last of his things. Every item he put into the pile, you found yourself running your hand over it. The next shirt, each pair of pants, rinse and repeat.

By the time he was done, with all of his bags now stacked by the door, you were hoping to have something more to say. He was hoping you’d have something more to say too, because this part had never been the part that he was good at.

Walking from his doorway back to the bed, he sat on the mattress beside you. He let his hand wander, allowed his fingers to hook into yours. He was looking down at your joined hands rather than in your eyes. “Estas segura de esto?” he asked.

You chuckled quietly at that, the sound a little sad beneath the humor of it. It felt like you were supposed to be the one asking him that question. He was the one leaving everything behind to start over somewhere else, drop his old life in favor of a new one without knowing how it would play out. Your life was staying startlingly the same. The only thing that was going to change was that Amado wasn’t going to be in it anymore.

Finally forcing himself to look you in the eyes again, he saw the hint of a smile on your face. He mirrored your expression, knowing exactly what you were thinking. He gave your hand a light squeeze. “Ven conmigo.”

Your smile widened a bit at that, the tears in your eyes growing. “Es mi última oportunidad, yea?”

He nodded. “Yea.”

Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his. It was soft, drawn out longer than it would’ve been any other day because you both knew that it was going to be the last one. He leaned back into you, not the way that he usually did, not in a way that was aimed to escalate or rile you up. He was soaking it up, savoring the feeling in a way that he didn’t take the time to do nearly enough before.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes were still closed for a few seconds longer. You studied his face while you could. When he finally opened them, all he said was, “Lo siento.”

Your automatic reaction was to tell him that it was okay, but you both knew it would’ve been a lie. Part of you wanted to make a joke about how he should get going before he missed his flight, both of you knowing that the humor lied in the impossibility of it. But nothing was making it past your lips. Instead, you leaned in and kissed his cheek, unbothered by the stubble when maybe on a different, better day you might’ve been.

With more effort than he thought it would’ve taken, Amado forced himself up onto his feet. He leaned down, pressing his lips to the top of your head before walking towards the door. He picked up his bags, lingering in the doorway as he turned back to you. You could spot the lingering sadness in his eyes that hadn’t been there when you’d shown up. Still, he managed to give you a smile.

“Disfruta la casa, yea?” He took another step back out into the hallway. “Para mi.”

You nodded, the sad smile on your face pairing a little too well with the tears that were beginning to trickle out onto your cheeks. You desperately wanted something more to say, but the same emotions that were clouding your mind were also choking out any chance to give him a comeback, to end things on the same note that they’d started so long ago. But you couldn’t, so you watched him turn and disappear out of the doorway, the last of your seconds with him finally spent.

#whumpril #whumpril2023 #whumprilday29 #surrender #narcos #narcos mexico #narcos: mexico #nmx #narcos fanfiction #narcos mexico fanfiction #narcos netflix fanfiction #narcos netflix #amado carrillo fuentes #amado fuentes #amado carrillo fuentes x reader #amado carrillo fuentes x you #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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drabbles-mc · 10 months

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Unprofessional

Walt Breslin x F!Reader

For Day 10 of @narcosfandomdiscord's July Smut Alphabet: jealousy

Warnings: 18+, language, smoking, alcohol, smut

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: The way that I had to fight myself to not let this turn into a 10k fic 😂 I'm already in love with this reader and the general vibe of this fic and idkidk maybe I'll write more for them down the road. Who knows? Not me!

NMX Taglist: @narcolini @ashlingnarcos @hausofmamadas @garbinge @cositapreciosa @southotheborder @artemiseamoon @proceduralpassion (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

Walt watched as Sal’s car rolled up to the motel that you and Walt were staying at. He was glad that you at least let someone else bring you home, because based off how you were when he’d left the bar a little more than an hour before, you probably shouldn’t have been behind the wheel. It was usually him that was driving you to and from wherever you had to go, or vice versa on days when Walt didn’t want to put up a fight about it. Judging by the way you were laughing as you opened the door and stepped out of Sal’s car, you didn’t seem to mind the switch up.

He watched you as you leaned on the edge of the window, smiling and laughing still as you thanked Sal and told him that you’d see him tomorrow. Walt caught the way the man waved to him as well, and he returned the gesture from his chair. It was your chair, actually. It’d come out of your room. You set it up in the little stretch of space between the door to your motel room, and the door to Walt’s. You’d be sitting there with your coffee in the morning, and Walt would sometimes be out there in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep, dragging on his cigarettes, not unlike he was now.

You were practically sauntering up to him, the headlights of Sal’s car behind you rendering you as nothing more than a silhouette in the few seconds before he turned around and peeled out the lot to head back to his own spot.

“Hey,” you greeted him with a smile, “you left early.”

He shrugged, noncommittal. “Yea.”

You still felt like you were buzzing, warm more from the alcohol than the actual temperature. Still, even in your slight haze, you could see the annoyance on Walt’s face. “You okay?”

He gave a short nod, his tone and his words not lining up in the slightest as he said, “I’m fine.”

You were in no mood to try and pull it out of him, and even if you were, you didn’t know if you would be anything close to successful. So instead, you swiped the pack of cigarettes off the arm of the chair he was sitting in and took one out for yourself. The two of you were in a constant loop of bumming them off each other—neither of you bothered asking anymore.

“You know,” you spoke as well as you could with your lips wrapped around the cigarette—you sparked the lighter before continuing, “I know shit has been real rough lately, but that doesn’t mean you can’t ever have a good time.”

Walt shook his head, like you were saying the most ridiculous thing in the world. “Looked like you were all having a good enough—”

“Would’ve been nice if you were there, though,” you cut him off, smoke swirling out from between your lips as you spoke. “Couldn’t take, what, three hours out of the twenty-four to not be all broody?” you said, just enough of a smile on your face to keep that question from starting a full-blown argument. Walt gave you another shake of his head and it only caused you to double-down. “We missed you.”

He scoffed. “Didn’t seem like you were missing much of anything when I left.”

You burst out laughing at that. “I’m sorry?”

“No, I’m just,” he took a drag off his cigarette, “just surprised that Sal brought you back. Looked like you were gonna be goin’ home with your new friend there at the bar.”

You rolled your eyes at him, laughing as you tapped the ash off the end of your smoke. “You think I’m that easy, Breslin?”

He frowned slightly as he shrugged, an expression that was less about being upset and more about being uncertain. “I don’t know what I think about you.”

The statement was a little bit of a lie. Walt thought about you plenty. Some of it had to do with work, a lot of it didn’t. He’d had plenty of time to think about you since he met you, but there was still a lot that he didn’t know. Like how suave and flirty you could be when you were trying to get a free drink or two out of someone, like how watching you do that put a knot in his gut that had no right to be there.

It was the first time the two of you had ever worked together. Before you all got pulled together into the Smash & Grab that you now were, Walt was working in El Paso while you came over from Miami. Neither of you had known each other prior to this, and while you noticed that Walt seemed to have built a rapport with a few of the other men on his team, you were flying in completely blind. You didn’t know anyone. Walt quickly noticed, however, that that didn’t seem to slow you down. You quickly made it part of your job to get to know everyone at least a little bit, just enough to figure out how you should interact with them for the sake of not letting the team fray apart at the edges. It was a good skill, one Walt made a mental note to work on if you all made it out of this mess alive.

All of you had your own rooms, scattered across a few different low-budget motels. You were all smart enough to not all hole up in the same place together, but no one wanted to be completely alone. There was a fine line between having safety in numbers, and making yourselves easy targets to get wiped out in one fell swoop.

Your rooms weren’t adjoining, but you and Walt did share a wall. The walls were thin enough for him to hear the muffled sounds of your television, or for you to hear him if he was on the phone with someone, but you’d have to have your ear pinned tight to the wall if you wanted to make out the exact words on the other side.

He felt like he’d learned a fair bit about you in the relatively short span of time that he was your neighbor, one flimsy wall away from being your roommate. You were always up early, but went to bed late. He only had the latter part of that down for himself—he’d never mastered being a morning person. He’d step outside to have his first cigarette of the morning and you would already be up, coffee in one hand and a manila folder packed with information in the other. But there were still too many blanks for him to have any right feeling the way he felt about you.

“Hey,” you said with a quiet laugh as you tapped the side of his boot with yours, “Earth to Breslin.” You waited for him to look over at you. “Are we good?”

He shrugged, nodding. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I don’t know,” you said as you took an inhale from your cigarette, the warmth from your liquor at the bar fading for the moment as you tried to figure out why it felt like things were suddenly off-kilter between the two of you. “You took off, and now you’re acting different. So…are we good?”

“You just,” he looked everywhere but at you, knowing that he was digging himself into a hole that was going to be a bitch to try and get out of, “you gotta be careful.”

“About what?”

“About all of it!” He dropped his cigarette to the ground and put it out with the ball of his foot. “You can’t trust anyone we—”

“The guy bought me a drink, Walt,” you cut him off, unable to believe that this was the conversation the two of you were having. “I wasn’t telling him trade secrets. Fuck, I didn’t even give him my real name. As far as he knows,” you gestured to where Sal had been a few minutes before, “Sal is my fuckin’ boyfriend.”

Leaning back in the chair, he finally looked at you. “Alright.”

You shook your head. “Alright.” You paused for a beat. “You know, maybe you should’ve stayed for an extra drink or two. Maybe you could loosen up for all of two minutes.”

He didn’t want to keep arguing with you. Really, that was the exact opposite of what he wanted. Even so, it took more effort than it should’ve for him to finally say, “Maybe.”

You weren’t really looking for an argument either. You’d left the bar in a perfectly chipper mood and the last thing you wanted was for it all to fizzle out now. You hadn’t expected to come back to this. Walt always had that edge to him, an overtone of sourness, but this felt different.

“There something we should talk about?” you asked.

Of course there was. There were plenty of things that he should talk to you about. But he wasn’t going to start those conversations, didn’t really know how to. Instead, he pushed up out of his chair, standing up so that the two of you were hardly a step away from each other.

“Shit’s different down here,” he finally said. “So just, just be careful.”

“It’s a little late in the game to have doubts about me now,” you told him. “If you have issues with what I did, how I operate, then you shouldn’t have brought me all the way—”

“It’s not that,” he cut you off. He could tell by the look on your face that you wanted to snap and say, “Then what the fuck is it?” but he didn’t know if he was ready to get into all of that. It definitely didn’t feel like the right time now. “I just…don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” He knew that the statement was skating too close to the complete truth, so he tried to cushion it with, “All you guys, you’re my responsibility. I don’t want shit going south if we can prevent it.”

“Can you be less of a pain in the ass about it?” you asked, the smallest hint of lightness returning to your tone.

He let out a weary chuckle. “I can try.”

You waited for him to have something else to say, but when it didn’t seem like he was going to, you prodded. “Anything else?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but then he backpedaled on it. “No.”

You had the nagging feeling that the conversation wasn’t done, but you didn’t know how to continue it without letting it devolve into another argument. Putting out your cigarette, you gestured to your room. “Drink? Since you bailed early.”

Walt knew that he shouldn’t go, that he should just turn and head back into his own room. But he felt like he owed you this. It was the best he could do for an apology without having to actually apologize.

“So,” he sat on the edge of one of the two beds in your room, the one that didn’t seem like you slept on it every night, “what’d you tell him?”

“Hm?” you asked as you poured liquor from the bottle in your bag into two paper cups. It wasn’t as nice as drinks at the bar, but Walt lost that opportunity quite a while ago.

“Said you didn’t tell the guy your real name. What’d you tell him?” He was as curious as he was jealous. It was a side of you he’d never seen before and he wondered if any of it was genuine.

You laughed as you handed him one of the cups, taking a seat on the end of the bed next to him. “I’ve got a whole rolodex of lines I give people in bars,” you took a sip of your drink, “especially when I’m working.”

He chuckled at the mental image of that, just cards upon cards flipping through in your brain whenever someone approached you and offered to buy you a drink. “Yea?”

“Yea. Why? Looking for some pointers?” you asked as you nudged his shoulder with yours.

“No, no.”

“Sounds like you might be,” you joked. “Should’ve stuck around and seen it for yourself.”

“I saw plenty,” he mumbled out without thinking better of it.

The statement didn’t give you pause so much as the way he said it. Turning to face him, you asked, “What was that?”

He shook his head, a little too quick to be casual. “Nothing.”

The fresh wave of warmth washing over you from the drink you’d been sipping on didn’t slow down the turning of the gears in your brain. “Is…is that why you—”

“No,” he cut you off, already knowing where the sentence was going and not wanting it to go there.”

Your eyes widened for a moment. “All that shit about me being careful,” you shook your head, “and you’ve been sulking here this whole time because you were jealous?”

“Don’t fuckin’ say it like that,” he told you, unable to look you in the eyes.

Leaning back, you braced the palm of your empty hand against the mattress. “Then look me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong.” The silence that passed spoke volumes, as did the fact that Walt’s eyes stayed glued to the cup in his hands. “You could’ve offered to buy me a drink,” you said, shifting your tone a little bit, softening the conversation just slightly.

Walt rolled his eyes, not liking the fact that this was all starting to feel a lot like pity. “It’s not,” he sighed, bringing one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “just forget it.”

“No,” you said with a laugh, “I won’t.”

Finally, he turned and looked at you. “I have never seen you act like that with anyone before.”

You chuckled. “Yea, well, that’s because they say it’s usually bad form to flirt with your coworkers. Bedroom eyes are unprofessional, apparently.”

That got a choked laugh out of him. “Apparently.”

“I like you, Walt,” you said.

His eyes widened for a moment as he registered what you’d just said. “Yea?”

You laughed, nodding. “Yea. When you’re not pouting quite so much, I like being around you. I’m, you know,” you gestured to the wall behind you, behind the headboards, “I’m glad I share a wall with you.”

His eyes dropped back to the floor. “It’d be stupid to do something, right?”

You shrugged, finishing off your drink. “Yea. But, I mean,” you laughed softly, “it’s also kinda stupid to get jealous over some random guy in a bar buying me a drink sooo…” your voice trailed off.

Walt sighed, letting his head drop back so that he was looking up at the ceiling. No matter what did or didn’t happen next, he knew that he wasn’t ever going to live that down. “Right.”

He followed your lead, finishing off his drink as well. You could see it in his body language that he was about to get up and leave, take the few short steps that would get him back to his room on the other side of the wall. You didn’t want him to go.

Clearing your throat, you said, “Walt?”

He looked over at you, and only got half a syllable out of whatever his response was going to be before you leaned in and brought your lips to his. You felt the way he froze for a moment, a brief hesitation that almost had you pulling away and apologizing. You two had just finished saying it would be a stupid idea.

But then Walt’s brain caught up with the rest of him and he was kissing you back. Empty paper cups fell almost silently to the floor as you brought the hand that wasn’t helping you keep your balance to his chest, fingers curling into the cloth of his flannel and pulling him towards you even more. Walt had one hand on your thigh, the other barely grazing the side of your face, like he was afraid to commit to holding it.

If the circumstances had been different, maybe you would’ve taken your time. Knowing that Walt had been stewing on those feelings for however long would’ve made you a little more patient. But every second since you crossed the border had felt borrowed, and you didn’t want to waste a single one. So you quickly maneuvered yourself, swinging one leg over him so that you were sitting, straddling his lap.

You ran both hands up Walt’s chest, and despite the fact that he still had on his flannel and his t-shirt, he still let out a, “Fuck,” under his breath as your palms and fingers raked over him. His hands settled on your hips as you kissed him again. All either of you could taste off each other was liquor and cigarettes, but at least it was honest.

Your hands gripped onto his shoulders as you began to grind your hips against his. He moaned into your mouth as he kissed you, hands sliding from your hips to your ass. Whatever hesitation he’d felt before was long gone now, along with the annoyances the two of you had been volleying back and forth since you got back.

You pulled away just enough so that you could pull your shirt off over your head. Walt was left slack jawed for a moment, taking in the sight of you on his lap with nothing on but your bra and jeans. When the gears finally started turning again, he ran through all the buttons on his shirt faster than you’ve ever seen anyone ever do it before. Within seconds, both his shirts were discarded onto the floor alongside yours.

His hands came to rest on your sides, gentle at first, like he was still wrapping his mind around the fact that he got to touch you like this. Then he gripped onto you with a little more force, bringing you back in so he could kiss you again. His arms wrapped around you, hands splaying across your back. Every motion was punctuated with blunt fingernails and rough callouses, the sensation of it making you put a little more urgency in your movements as your hips moved against his.

Letting his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, he spoke, words coming out muffled against your mouth but you could make them out well enough as he said, “C’mere.”

Deceptively strong in a way that caught you off-guard, Walt had you on your back on the mattress, himself positioned between your legs and hovering over your chest. He kissed you on the lips one more time before pulling away from you. He pulled away just enough so that he could undo the button and zipper of your jeans. You quickly toed off your boots, making it easier for Walt to pull your pants and underwear down your legs and completely off you. You shimmied a little farther up the bed as he rid himself of the last of his clothing as well.

Then he was right back on top of you, one hand cupping your face, one hand gripping onto your thigh. You didn’t let him pull his lips back off of yours, desperate for just a little more. Sliding one hand down between your bodies, you wrapped it around him. The contact immediately caused him to moan, made him buck into your hand even though you hadn’t started moving it yet.

Smiling into the kiss, you brought your other hand up, lacing your fingers through his hair and gripping, tugging just slightly as your other hand started to slowly move up and down his length. He muttered curses against your lips as he brought the hand that was on your thigh between your legs, pulling sounds out of you that he hadn’t even dared to daydream about.

Not wanting to wait any longer, you lined him up at your entrance. You let him feel how wet you already were, dragging the head of him up and down your slit. His hand was balled into a tight fist on the sheets beside your head, trying to have a modicum of self-control. You saw how hard he was fighting to keep it together, and you almost wanted to have something slick to say, but more than that you just wanted him inside you, so you guided him in and he had no hesitation about thrusting the rest of the way into you.

All the stress, the anger, the weight of the world that Walt always made himself carry around on his own shoulders, it all seemed to disappear for a moment. You wondered if it was because he finally found a good enough distraction, or if it was because he could channel all that anger with the world into the thrust of his hips. Maybe things just seemed a little less hopeless when he had you saying his name against the shell of his ear, asking for more.

You made it so easy for him to not have to think about anything but you. Every single part of you felt like it was there for him in that moment, and that feeling alone almost had him seeing stars right off the rip.

He could hear it in your voice, the way you gasped and whined, that you were close. Your nails raked down the side of his face, over the stubble that was getting longer by the day, searching for any kind of tether to hold onto. Your nails left a series of crescents behind, digging into his shoulder and back as you came, your hips desperately bucking up against his. He followed shortly after, reveling in the feel of you, in knowing that he was able to get you like this. He kissed you hard as he came inside you, rough enough to put a little pain in with all of the pleasure.

When the two of you finally pulled apart, you slipped beneath the thin sheet and blanket on top of the bed. Up until now it’d been perfectly made the entire time you’d been staying there. You watched Walt as he swiped his underwear off the floor, pulling them on before grabbing yours as well. He held them out slightly, a wordless question, and you couldn’t help but to laugh as you nodded and let him toss them to you.

You saw the flicker of apprehension on his face, like he was trying to figure out whether or not he should be putting the rest of his clothes back on too. “You can stay,” you told him with a nod, propping the side of your face in your hand. “No point in leaving just to be on the other side of the wall.”

He visibly relaxed at that, relief coursing through him. “Right.”

He climbed in on the other side of the bed, laying close but still leaving a bit of a gap between you. He didn’t know what was supposed to happen now, what the protocol was supposed to be. None of this had been in his plans.

Rolling over, you swiped your pack of cigarettes and your lighter off the night stand that was between the two beds. You held the pack out to him, offering him one. He took one, of course, and since you were the one with the lighter in your hand, he even let you light it for him before you grabbed one for yourself and sparked it up.

He watched as you laid on the bed beside him, staring up at the ceiling as you blew smoke rings. You looked so pleased with yourself, bedsheet pulled up over your chest as you watched the smoke rise and then disappear.

“That your party trick?” he asked.

You laughed, turning your head to look over at him. “Hardly. My last partner, the one I had before I came down here, he taught me how to do it.” You took another drag off your cigarette, puffing out another ring for emphasis. “Too many hours cooped up in a shitty car on stakeouts with nothing better to do.”

He chuckled. “Oh yea?”

“Don’t worry,” you looked over at him with an amused glint in your eyes, “I wasn’t doing this on stakeouts.”

“I didn’t say—”

“You would’ve thought of it later and never let it go,” you cut him off, giving a small dismissive wave of your hand, painting a swirl with the smoke coming off your cigarette as you did.

There was more to be said, you were sure of it. There were discussions to be had, probably boundaries to be laid out. But you didn’t want to get into all of that in the moment. It was good. Things felt good and easy after weeks of everything feeling anything but good and easy. Judging by the look on Walt’s face, he was having very similar thoughts. So you both finished your cigarettes in silence. Walt leaned, reaching over you to drop it into the ashtray. On the way back, he stopped, letting his arm drape across you for a moment. The look on his face was one of asking for permission, like he needed to know that this little bit of softness was okay after everything that had happened.

You just smiled before reaching and turning off the lamp, sending the room into darkness. Rolling onto your side so that your back was to Walt, you gently grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm around you. He slid up behind you so that his chest was pressed to your back, keeping the two of you close. This would do for now. Everything else could at least wait until morning.

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