“Thank you,Tío.”
The older man plopped back in his chair with a sigh. “My Sylvia…she likes this boy?”
Javier sat down in the chair across from him. “She loves him. All he did was compliment her house and her cooking.”
Histíothrew back his head and laughed. “Well, I hope you’re in love because you are never getting rid of him now.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I guess once you’re willing to kill for somebody, it’s as good as a vow.”
* * *
Javier and Angelo passed the afternoon half-watching a recordedfútbolgame while discussing his business dealings and Javier’s time in LA. When Sylvia and Bowie returned, they had a late dinner, but Bowie only picked at his food before excusing himself and letting them know he was going to retire early. Blaming jet lag.
Javier followed soon after, histía’s andtío’slaughter trailing him up the stairs. When he entered the room, the shower was running. Javier didn’t join Bowie, instead stripping down to his underwear, sitting on the edge of the bed to wait. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. Javier couldn’t think of a single time in his life he’d ever been nervous about sex…not even when he lost his virginity. But nothing had ever carried this much weight.
When Bowie exited the bathroom, he was naked, skin still damp. He stopped short at the sight of Javier. “Hi,” he whispered, breathless.
“Were you expecting somebody else?” Javier asked with a smile, sauntering towards Bowie.
He rolled his eyes, toweling off his hair. “Yes. You figured me out. One look at the pool boy and that was it. We can’t be together anymore.”
Javier took the towel from Bowie, dropping it to the floor, before gathering him into his arms to growl against his ear, “Eres solo mío. Entiendes?”
“What does that mean?” Bowie asked, voice raw.
Javier bit at the shell of his ear. “It means you’re mine. Just mine.”
“Oh,” Bowie managed, more a forced exhalation than an actual word.
Javier wanted to take it slow, give Bowie a chance to ease into things, but he was standing there, naked, hard, mouth gaping, and pupils blown wide. How could Javier not kiss him, not slip his tongue inside, not swallow the startled sound that fell from Bowie’s lips?
“Amo tu piel contra la mía,”Javier whispered, placing open mouthed kisses along his jaw to his throat, translating, “I love the feel of your skin on mine.”
“Fuck,” Bowie mumbled, his hands clutching at Javier. “More.”
Javier smiled as he licked along his collarbone, dipping his tongue in the hollow of his throat. “Me robas el aliento. You steal my breath,” he crooned against his ear.
“Oh, God,” Bowie moaned. “You could have been doing this the whole time.”
Javier might have laughed if he wasn’t already so turned on by Bowie’s breathy responses. Instead, he led him to the bed and gently pushed him back onto it, following him down.
Bowie gazed up at him with those bright green eyes. Javier used his pinky to push the lock of damp hair off his face, just like he had the first time he’d walked him to work. “Me pierdo en tus ojos.I get lost in your eyes.”
Bowie lifted his head, capturing Javier’s mouth in a dirty kiss before gently pushing his head down. “I need your mouth on me.”
Javier was more than happy to comply, tonguing over one nipple and then the other.“Quiero comerte a mordidas.I want to eat you in bites.”
Bowie moaned. “Yes, please."
That was all the permission Javier needed. He kissed his way along Bowie’s torso, burying his face in his groin, nosing along Bowie’s erection before ignoring it entirely to push his legs up, spreading him open, spearing his tongue against his entrance.
Bowie’s hands found Javier’s hair, not to push him away but to pull him closer, his heels pressing against Javier’s back. He was more than happy to comply, licking over his hole with broad strokes until Bowie was mindlessly babblingyesandmoreandplease.
Javier loved being able to taste the most intimate parts of Bowie, loved that he could make him feel so good that he stopped worrying about everything and just let himself feel. He also liked talking to Bowie in his native tongue, found it easier to say the things that normally seemed to stick in his throat, even if he reiterated them in English seconds later. Sharing that part of himself with Bowie was important. Javier wanted him to know all of him. “¿Te gusta como se siente, mi ángel?” he asked. “Do you like how that feels?”
“Yes. Yes. Your mouth always feels so good on me,” Bowie panted.
