Work Text:
He’s just heard that Carrillo’s shot some kid in the head.
A fucking kid.
And listen. Steve knows that sometimes bad things have to happen in order to get back to good.
But Pena was uncharacteristically shaken. Which set Steve’s protective instincts alight.
They need Carrillo. He’s the best. Steve doesn’t know if they can get Escobar without him.
But if he pushes too far too fast—he’s going to get them all killed.
And Steve’s just lost Connie.
He can’t lose his partner too.
Carrillo’s had a target on his back for years. But if Escobar finds out how much Pena means to Carrillo—
The thought alone is too overwhelming to process.
So tensions are a bit high. For everyone. That’s why Pena isn’t with Carrillo right now. Maybe if he was they wouldn’t be in this...current situation.
Steve has no fucking idea what they’re doing.
He’s married, for fuck’s sake.
And he knows that Javi’s got something going on, something serious—with Carrillo.
They think they’re so slick, messing around where no one can see them. They forget that Steve’s a cop too.
He’s no fool.
He doesn’t care what they do—but he knows Escobar and a small army of sicarios will.
Carrillo and Pena fucking— it’s a risk, a weakness. It leaves the whole team vulnerable. That’s why Steve got into with Pena 10, maybe 15 minutes ago.
They both ended up yelling— losing control.
“Shit’s serious now. And if you keep fucking off with Carrillo every chance you get—“
“What I do off the clock is none of your goddamn business—“
“You’re missing the point!”
“And what is the point, Murphy?”
Steve banged his hand so hard against the steering wheel he thought he sprained a joint.
“You guys shouldn’t be doing that—“
“Doing what?”
“You know what, Javier.”
He never called Pena by his full name.
Pena stared at him, inscrutable.
“So you know, then.”
Steve threw his arms up. “Of course I know!”
He sighed before continuing. “And Javi—it’s...it’s not okay.”
Pena looked unimpressed. “And beating the shit out of a civilian at the airport? That was okay?”
Steve runs his hands through his hair, trying to calm himself. “Really Pena? That was different. Connie left—“
Pena interrupted him, “Connie left because you’re a hot-headed train wreck with a shit attitude—“
And that was low.
So Steve lunged at him, which turned into grabbing him by his collar and smashing their lips together.
And now here they are—aggressively making out in the back of Steve’s old Jeep, overlooking Medellin, like a couple of overeager, anxious teenagers.
Pena sticks in his tongue in Steve’s mouth and Steve sucks on it—slick, dirty—like when he and Connie first got together and he wanted to find the quickest way to get her wet.
“What the fuck?” Pena pushes him away, moving to the side and molding himself to the fogged up window. He has the most bewildered look on his face.
Steve pants heavily, deeply confused.
“What is this, Steve?”
He sounds so lost, so distraught.
Steve’s heart pounds. He feels awful, head a blaring, foggy mess.
“Javi—I don’t, I’m...” He trails off, at a loss for words.
Pena gives him a look. The one he normally reserves for Messina or CIA Bill or taking secret calls from Los Pepes he thinks Steve doesn’t know about.
“Try again.”
Steve squeezes his hand into a fist. “Be smart, Javi. You’re a cop. You know how fucking stupid it is getting entangled with him.”
Pena laughs in disbelief. “Just so we’re clear—he was involved with me way before you got here. So you calling shots? Fuck that, Steve.”
Steve doesn’t respond. Pena has a point. But there’s this pulse inside him—pumping, aching to be eased. Steve doesn’t know what to say.
“Why are you acting like this?”
Steve tilts his head back, looking him right in the eye.
Pena continues. “You said “all in” Steve...If you want out, Messina’ll arrange the first flight to Miami—“
“I don’t want out,” Steve interrupts, petulant, “it’s not that. It’s you. And Carrillo. You’re playing with fire.”
Pena leans forward, whispering harshly, “You don’t think I know that?”
Steve scoffs, kicking his leg up to rest his arm on his knee. “Come on, Javi.”
Pena looks distressed as he glances out of the window, muttering, “You sound like a jealous wife.”
And that’s some bullshit.
Because Steve’s not jealous. Not really.
Whatever Pena does with Carrillo makes him curious, sure. But he has a great life. Had a great life.
He loves his wife and their daughter with the whole of his heart. Even if they're not here with him they're everything to him.
But Pena is something else entirely.
He’s defensive of him, watchful. Maybe a little possessive at times—but it’s never been an issue before.
He’s also terribly fond of his fucking careless attitude when they’re out of the precinct, driving recklessly down the city streets asking for trouble.
Steve’s boy likes to kick back on another level and Steve supports it—Javi works too damn hard not to let loose every now and then.
But then. There’s Carrillo.
And Carrillo—Steve’s even fond of him too. His vocational...methods...may not be how Steve does things but the colonel gets shit done, which very few officers do. Especially in a place as corrupt as Columbia.
But when Pena and Carrillo are reckless together—then what? Steve doesn’t care if he’s excluded. They’ve been excluding him since day one. But their fearlessness of death—that scares Steve.
They need to be more careful, more considerate of the anguish their loved ones will feel if they hurt themselves.
That’s it. That’s all.
So what’s he doing kissing his partner like he’s in love with him then?
“Steve?” Pena’s voice is cautious, careful. He drums his fingers on his knee, probably craving a cigarette.
“Is that what this is? You jealous of Carrillo?”
Steve rubs his temples with both hands, a nervous tick he’s developed over the years. Pena frowns at him, rotating his shoulder against the car door.
“Fuck this,” Steve mumbles, face aflame as he climbs out of the car.
He’s half hard, which somehow feels like more of a betrayal than kissing his partner.
He thinks of Connie, thinks of her pink, perfect lips, her soft, blonde hair—thinks of her walking out the door with their daughter—not even sparing a second thought—
He’s starting to get pissed again, blood not quite boiling but bubbling—simmering near the surface of his skin.
He hears Pena get out of the car. He doesn’t turn around as he keeps walking.
“You don’t fucking get to walk away,” Pena calls, acid in his voice.
“I’m walking,” Steve shouts back, his long legs taking him quickly down the road.
Pena jogs up behind him and Steve feels inappropriately giddy the closer he gets— like they’re playing tag or hide and go seek.
Except there’s nowhere to hide from Pena.
He catches up soon enough and elbows Steve hard, directly in his ribs.
“Javi, back off—“
But Pena’s stronger than he acts out on raids. They need his brain more than his physical strength which is why he’s always trailing behind the police but he could easily kick someone’s ass.
He better not fucking try with Steve, though.
He grasps him, hard, by the shoulders, maneuvering them off the dirt road towards the tree line.
Steve shoves back at him, adrenaline pumping through his veins, making him high with it.
“Stop it—lemme go—“
“Fuck—that—“
Pena slams him up against the hard, unforgiving trunk of a tree. Pain shoots through his lower back and he can’t help but let out a low, hurt whimper.
“Asshole—there’s a branch in me—“
Pena moves him off it, a little to the left.
“Sorry,” he says, not looking sorry at all.
Steve’s got a few inches on Pena but the man is intimidating as all hell when he’s angry.
And right now he’s pissed.
His eyes are aflame, sweat trickling down his right temple, and he hits the tree—right next to Steve’s head.
“Don’t fuck with me like this, Steve,” he says quietly, warm breath hitting Steve’s cheek.
Steve looks at the ground between them as he brings his hands up to his face. He has an impulse to cover himself but Pena doesn’t let him, grabbing him by his skinny biceps and pinning them against the trunk.
“Look at me,” Pena demands, breathing heavily.
Steve does, eyebrows raised in an attempted condescending smirk—trying too hard to come off like he doesn’t give a fuck.
But Pena’s known him too long. Been with him on too many rough nights. He sees right through him.
“Answer my question.”
Just to be a smartass— “What question?”
Pena pushes a leg between his thighs and Steve lights up inside like the fucking Bellagio fountains.
Pena leans in, eye contact unwavering. “Are you jealous of me and Carrillo?”
And this shit feels petty, so very high school. Steve has to laugh, just a little. Because his life is a mess. He could blame it on bureaucracy. Blame it on cocaine. Blame it on Escobar.
But real men accept responsibility for their own feelings.
And how he feels right now—a little like his heart is being split down the middle—it’s how he felt the day Connie fled the continent.
But this time the pain lies with Pena.
And Steve doesn’t know what to make of that.
He tells him the truth. “Yes.”
A flicker of surprise crosses Pena’s features before he nods—understanding. His eyes stray towards Steve’s mouth, obvious.
“Is that why you initiated a goddamn make out session back there?”
Steve huffs, rolling his eyes. He has to. What even is this situation.
“I don’t fucking know, Javi. I guess.”
Pena shoves at his shoulder—blunt and forceful. He looks mad again. Steve should probably fix this.
“You guess? You do know you have no fucking right to be jealous? You have a wife.”
“And Carrillo doesn’t?”
The color drains from Pena’s face.
He shakes his head as he grips Steve’s hip tight in the palm of his hand. “Don’t talk about him, Steve. You don’t understand anything between him and I.”
His voice leaves no room for discussion. It’s how he talks to Messina when he has information he needs her to believe in. Or a vital sicaro who thinks that just because he has information, he’s going to live.
But between Pena and Carrillo—Pablo’s players rarely walk away.
“Is that understood, Agent Murphy?”
Steve bites his lip, Pena’s eyes track the movement.
“Understood.”
He‘s aware Pena’s known Carrillo for years, knows their bond is unbreakable. And Steve isn’t trying to break it—he just wants them to be more careful.
Connie’s barely been gone three weeks and already his life is completely spiraling out of control. It’s concerning, how lately, he’s been craving the temerity of it all.
So he should probably stop before he falls too far off the edge.
It’s just.
He needs Pena to know how much he cares about what happens to him.
But as they stare at each other, neither smiling and deeply serious—Steve thinks Pena might already know.
“So what‘s happening here then, Steve?” Pena moves closer, “Talk to me.”
Steve shakes his head, frustrated. “Man I already told you. I don’t know—“
Pena shoves at his chest, stepping back.
“Cut the bullshit or I’m leaving without you.”
“I care about you!” Steve shouts, flinching at how loud his voice rings in his own ears.
Pena tilts his head back and doesn’t say anything.
“You must know that,” Steve pushes, “Javi, you’re so—“
He struggles to find the right words, opening then closing his mouth.
His brain short circuits, speech floundering as he widens his eyes.
The source of his pain is manifested in two people. One who’s gone, and one who’s right in front of him.
Confronting the cause of his utter angst is jarring.
He doesn’t know how to explain it.
Pena takes pity on him, stepping closer, right in Steve’s space, breathing his air.
“It’s alright,” he murmurs like a prayer, hands coming to grasp Steve’s collar, “come here.”
Steve’s mother always used to say men are better with actions than words.
Like with most things, she seemed to be right in this regard.
There’s so much Steve wants to say— mostly how dangerous Pena’s position in Columbia’s most wanted officer’s bed is—but he doesn’t say anything.
Pena kisses him and he kisses back. They kiss and kiss against the tree, the night drowning them in near-black darkness.
Steve’s pratically vibrating out of his skin he’s so nervous—his hands digging into Pena’s hips, trying to stop their shaking.
He’s heard stories, from fellow officers, from informants, from hookers roaming the back streets—Pena’s reputation as an excellent lover proceeds him. But he’s never been on the opposite end of his ministrations.
He’s somewhat glad, because the minute Pena opens his mouth and dips his tongue in again his knees buckle and his head balloons with clouds—dizzy, light—like he’s on a tight rope and just lets go—
“Javi,” he whispers against his lips, broken.
Pena leans into him, molds their bodies together as he cups his face in the palm of his hands.
Steve’s been partners with this man for years now, been with him practically as long as he’s been with Connie.
He loves Javier Pena so much that the idea of losing him is tearing him apart inside.
“You have to be careful,” Steve begs, heart racing as he closes his eyes against the onslaught of repressed emotion.
“I will. I’m right here,” Pena keeps saying, over and over.
“Just breathe, it’s okay,” he murmurs, kissing the side of Steve’s mouth softly.
“You mean to so much to me,” he quietly reveals.
Steve’s heart rests in his throat.
Pena rarely talks about his own feelings so the admission pumps Steve’s insides with some sort of tender veneration. He‘s always thought he meant as much to Pena as Pena meant to him—but to think it and to hear it are two separate concepts.
Pena’s hand slides down his chest to grasp at his belt buckle, slowly undoing it as he continues sliding his tongue inside Steve’s soft, wet heat.
“Do you want me to stop?” He pants, so quiet Steve can barely hear him.
“No,” he answers immediately, wrapping his arms around his broad, strong shoulders.
Pena spits in his hand before grasping Steve’s cock. They both moan at the initial contact.
“You’re impressive,” Pena whispers, in awe.
Steve smirks, nearly says something sleazy to break the tension but he doesn’t.
He can’t.
He just leans further against the tree, bringing Pena with him, pressing his lips against his temple as he starts jacking him off.
“This is what you need?” Pena asks, “My touch?”
Steve nods, moaning low in the back of his throat.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Pena pushes, clamping down on Steve’s thighs with his own and beginning to move against him.
“Don’t,” Steve pleads, “Javi—don’t—“
Pena’s hips rotate back and forth, using Steve’s twitching, muscular thigh to get off on.
He’s making little wounded noises, like all the sensations are too much for him.
“You gonna come in your jeans, Javi? Like a school boy?”
Pena groans, moving his mouth to suck on the slick, sweaty skin of Steve’s neck.
“Yeah,” Steve encourages, “that’s it—“
Pena whines, frustrated at the lack of any solid friction against his own cock.
“Get it out,” Steve demands, suddenly desperate for a look, needing to see what drives everyone so crazy about this man—
Pena unzips himself quickly, revealing his pink, leaking cock. Steve’s never seen one in this capacity before—in locker rooms, sure, a brief flash or an accidental glance— but another man, hard and aching, for him? Never.
It’s fitting that it’s Javi.
There’s no one he trusts more.
As far as cocks go, it’s not as big as Steve’s but it’s nice—decent length, a little thicker. He supposes it’s what Pena does with it that matters most.
“You like what you see?” There’s no trace of insecurity or reticence in Pena’s voice, only gruff arousal and chopped, uneven breaths as his calloused hand closes around both of their pulsing lengths.
Steve’s thighs quiver at the contact, directly where he needs it the most.
“Yeah,” Steve breathes.
It’s been awhile.
Before she left Steve hadn’t been fucking Connie as regularly as when they first got down here. He knew he was being negligent but it wasn’t on purpose. The job was just coming first—only for now, only temporarily—
“Jesus Javi,” Steve mutters, voice low and positively dripping with lust, “never seen one like this before—“
Pena leans in, nipping at his chin with his sharp bottom teeth.
“What do you think, huh? You like it? You feel dirty?”
Steve hunches over as all his pleasure centers in on the space between his legs—he grips Pena’s shoulders so hard he’s nearly afraid he hurts him.
But even if he was, Pena probably wouldn’t say anything. Masochistic fucker.
“Yeah,” he sighs, high and breathy, “you’re so good—“
He drops his head down on the space between Pena’s neck and shoulder, biting at his warm skin through the thin material of his sky blue shirt.
Steve loves that shirt on him.
“Yeah?” Pena questions, directly in Steve’s ear, moist breath caressing the lobe, making Steve shiver—
“You’re so big,” Pena tells him, strokes growing relentless in their speed and grip, “this cock would get so deep in me—“
“Fuck, Javi—“ Steve pulls him closer, one arm still wrapped around his shoulder while his other hand slides down, gripping his ass hard and possessive.
Pena moans, moving even closer.
Steve can feel his orgasm approaching—it’s been so long since he’s been touched this way. And being with a man, especially one as sexually experienced as his partner, is nothing like being with Connie.
He steers his mind away from his wife, wondering briefly how Pena learned to touch like this.
Carrillo’s face flashes in his mind but Pena bites down, hard, on his ear and Steve forgets how to think.
“Come on Steve, come,” Pena urges, tone somewhat pleading, “I know how bad you need it—“
“Javi—“ Steve’s voice breaks, “please—“
He doesn’t know what he’s pleading for but he knows Pena will take care of it, take care of him.
Their lips brush in the barest hint of a kiss, Pena whispering, “let go” and—
Something in Steve breaks just a little.
His orgasm overtakes him, cresting throughout his body, from his heart to his fingers to his toes—but nowhere more powerful than between his thighs. His cock covers Pena’s hand and dick in an obscene amount of slick and he squeezes whatever skin he can reach—
“Jesus,” Pena whistles, sounding unbearably turned on.
“Uh,” Steve mutters, woozy and reeling from getting off damn near perfect.
“You really needed this,” Pena sighs, kissing the corner of his mouth gently as he gazes down between them.
“Yeah,” Steve replies, an unbidden, ridiculous urge to say “thank you” sitting on the tip of his tongue.
His cock’s sensitive, swelled— as he brings a shaking hand down from Pena’s shoulder, clumsily grasping Pena’s cock, thinking of how he likes to touch himself as a guide.
“That’s it, up and down—slow—“ Pena instructs, wetting his bottom lip.
Steve looks at him, gives him a sleazy half grin as he moves along Pena’s cock, using his own come as lubricant.
Pena grinds against him—into him, groaning deep against Steve’s neck.
Steve wonders what he’s thinking about, if he’s thinking about Carrillo, and what they do together.
“I want to make you come,” Steve confesses, quiet and honest into Pena’s soft hair.
“You’re gonna. Steve, I’m—close—“
Steve kisses him again, somehow knowing in his very soul that this probably won’t happen again.
It can’t.
So he pours himself into it, passionate and scared and even hopeful—hopeful of Pena realizing how grateful Steve is for his presence, his patience, his partnership.
His grip tightens, both on Pena’s ass and around his cock, and he speeds up, not fucking around. He focuses on the tip, getting it wet and spreading the come around the head, dipping a thumb into the slit for good measure.
Pena stands on his tiptoes, moaning into the night air, hands gripping the tree for momentum as he fucks his hips into the soft, firm skin of Steve’s lower belly.
“Jesus fuck,” Pena pants, “finish it Steve—“
“Come on me, Javi—“
With a final thrust, Pena’s sticky cock spurts against Steve’s warm, humidly wet skin.
“Ahh,” Pena groans, knees buckling against Steve’s.
“Ride it out Pena, that’s it,” Steve gently encourages him, feeling like he has to talk him down through whatever the hell is happening.
Steve should probably already regret what they’ve done but he doesn’t know if he actually ever will. It’s too soon to tell but something about being down here, at the gates of hell, has greatly affected his perception on things.
There’s not much time to sit and stew on mistakes when any day could be the last day.
Safety and security were forfeited the minute Steve step foot on foreign soil.
He doesn’t think of Connie as Pena leans in and gives him one last kiss—fleeting and delicate.
Later, when they get back to their shared duplex and go to sleep in separate rooms, the reality of the situation will hit Steve like a brutal punch to the gut.
But for now, he doesn’t think about that.
All he thinks about is Javier.
He holds his partner close, presses a kiss to his sharp cheekbone as he tells him, “Thank you.”
Pena laughs, though it sounds hollow. “No need. We probably shouldn’t bring this up again. Right?”
He steps back, zipping up before reaching into his jeans for a cigarette.
Steve zips up as well, trying to compose himself.
"Right."
He doesn't know what else to say. If anything. After all, men are better with actions than words.
Pena looks over his shoulder, back towards the road.
He turns and looks at Steve, nodding. Then he starts walking.
Steve follows.