Side by Side

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/45204448.

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Narcos (TV)
Character: Javier Peña (Narcos), Steve Murphy (Narcos), Chucho, Joaquín Pollard
(Pollo or Pollito)
Additional Tags: Love, True Love, Internalized Homophobia, Sweet, hand-holding, Hand
Jobs, Kissing, Boys Kissing, First Kiss, Romance, colleagues to friends
to lovers
Language: English
Series: Part 4 of Javier & Joaquin
Stats: Published: 2023-03-09 Updated: 2023-03-14 Chapters: 7/? Words:
6111

Side by Side
by Gavin_Bell

Summary

Snippets from Javier's and Joaquín's love life.

 Joe
Chapter Summary

It might make sense to read my Diaries and Javier & Joaquín series first.
Joe Pollard takes care of Javier in this one.

Javier came to a halt and bent over panting for air. He was getting old, he thought and leant heavily
into the wall, resting his head against the uneven surface. “Hey,” a soft voice startled him, “hey –
hey.” Unnerving. Javier opened his eyes and cast his company a vicious look. Pollard, he thought.
What was he doing here? “You should sit down,” the other man said, and Javier frowned, but the
tall blond would have none of it and grabbed the dark-haired man’s arm to pull him along. “Here,”
Pollard handed Javier a handkerchief with a tiny embroidered JP in a corner, and the Mexican
scoffed, “Fancy.” He dabbed his bleeding nose nonetheless, suddenly glad for the steadying hand
on him. Javier felt lightheaded and sick, and he needed a smoke. Pollard directed Javier into a
small office space and made him sit in a plastic chair. Javier groaned and hung his head, while
Pollard dug up a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers. “Drink this,” he said quietly and held out one
glass, and Javier looked up and quirked a shy smile. The whiskey burned a little, and Javier
coughed. His nose started bleeding again, and Pollard gave him another pitying smile. “What?”
Javier gruffed, and Pollard pulled another nice handkerchief from his pocket and stepped into
Javier’s private space. Without asking consent, he gently wiped the blood off the other man’s face,
and Javier gaped at him in shock. The touch felt so intimate, and Pollard’s face was so close to his
that it made Javier’s head spin. Pollard’s breath fanned the clammy skin and moustache, and he
dabbed the hot skin carefully. Some of the blood from earlier had caked around Javier’s nostrils,
and Pollard dipped the cloth into his whiskey to wipe away the traces. Javier swallowed and felt
the blood trickle from his nose. He was hot, and the other man’s closeness made him feel
uncomfortable in a schoolboy way. Was Pollard attracted to him? Coming onto him? Did Javier
want Pollard to come onto him? “I should go,” he stated and tried to get up, but his knees were too
weak to support him. He noted that they were shaking badly, and the muscles in his thighs were so
tense he could not move. “I think you should stay,” Pollard replied factually (or playfully?), and
Javier scowled. “Is this your office?” Javier asked looking around the tiny space, and Pollard
shrugged. Javier pulled a face, and the other man deadpanned that it wasn’t a desk in a corridor.
“Points to you,” Javier snorted. “You’re with Steve though,” Pollard’s voice was laced with
sadness and something else that made Javier narrow his eyes at the remark. He wasn’t with Steve.
Oh! Oh, he thought. Javier eyed Pollard, and the tall man smiled. “You with someone?” Javier
asked, and Pollard’s smile warmed as he shook his head, “Hard to squeeze in.” Pollard nodded at
the room, but Javier felt he was talking about something else entirely.

“You got your fruits?” Pollard inquired, and Javier gave a brisk nod. He had been to the evening
market the day before. He loved the fruit stall, and he smiled at some random memories of
bumping into Pollard. “Anywhere else I should try?” the blond asked, and Javier wondered what he
was asking. “There’s a ... bar in La Candelaria,” he began, treading carefully, then giving
directions, and Pollard nodded. “It’s safe,” Javier added. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Pollard said.
Javier pursed his lips, hating the awkward silence that ensued.

“I think I’m good to go,” Javier decided eventually and stood unsteadily. He straightened his shirt
and heaved a sigh, “Sorry about- … they’re nice tissues. JP.” Javier bunched up the expensive
handkerchiefs and put them in his pocket. JP. As in Javier Peña. As in Joaquín Pollard, too, he
mused. “Thanks,” Pollard said, and Javier gave a curt nod and turned to go, “See you around,
Pollard.” – “Joe,” Pollard corrected him, and Javier stopped short. He turned back briefly, his hand
on the handle, and said that he wasn’t with Steve at which Joe smiled.
 Gato
Chapter Summary

Javier and Joaquín flirt.

Again, might make sense to read my Javier & Joaquín series first.

Chapter Notes

Javier is bi-sexual in this. He gravitates towards a tall, blond colleague of his, but he is
uncertain if he should act on it.

They had cooked and eaten their meal, and they had taken their beers to the couch where they had
sat and talked. Javier was amazed at how easy Joaquín was to talk to. He was intelligent and well-
read, and they had immediately hit it off comparing book notes. While he came across as guarded
and quiet at the office, Joe was funny and warm outside work. He smiled a lot more, and he made
Javier feel appreciated. He wasn’t mean, even though there was a certain sadness to his character,
and Javier didn’t pry. He was glad to have someone to spend his nights with (someone he didn’t
have to charm or pleasure), and he was happy to be Javí from Laredo. Not Agent Peña. Or Sir. Just
Javí. “You with me?” a soft voice said, and Javier felt a gentle nudge to the side of his knee. Javier
blushed and took a swig, nodding profusely. The beer was going to his head, he realised. He should
stop nodding, he thought. Joe laughed and repeated his question, “I said I was going to see the
architecture exhibition this weekend. Do you want to come?” Javier had the feeling that this was a
loaded question. Joe was asking him out, right? They went to the market, did their shopping,
caught up after work, ate, drank, talked, but they didn’t go out. They weren’t dating, for fuck’s
sake, or were they? Javier wondered when he had last felt comfortable around someone. He tried to
remember home-cooked meals, nights in without a pile of files to go over, without losing himself in
dark thoughts, without losing himself in another body. Funny really, he mused. He did find Joe
attractive, but the thought of having it on with him hadn’t occurred until just now. Did he want to
go to the museum with him? “Yeah,” he shrugged, “why not? You an expert?” Joe laughed his
self-deprecating little laugh and pulled up his shoulders, and Javier thought that the shy man was
adorable. And he never failed to amaze him. Just like now. “Quit my studies about two years in …
when … my mom got sick,” Joe said and sighed, “yeah, well … the rest you know.” Javier
frowned. He didn’t know shit. He hadn’t even known about the sick mother, and he felt a pang
thinking of his own lovely mamá. “You studied architecture?” he gaped, and Joe’s eyes lit up at the
genuine enthusiasm that made the amazing man next to him ask such a redundant question. Javier
Peña was easily the most intelligent man he had met, so smart that a mere line from him could
intimidate a whole room of people. He was educated and sharp, and Joe was fascinated by his
elegance and poise. Javier wasn’t the arrogant asshole some colleagues of theirs would make him
out to be. Javier was actually a timid guy hiding his interest in men from the rest of the world.
Huh? Joe blushed, burying the thought, and forced himself back to his guest. He pursed his lips
and nodded slowly, then he recounted his studies and works, “I’ve some of them here … if you
want to see-“ – “I’d love to,” Javier placed his beer on the table, and Joe got up to get some sort of
journal clad in black linen. It was big and bulky, and there were page markers all over the thing.
Joe held it out to Javier and heaved a sigh, “I’ll do the dishes … feel free to shout and ask if-,“ he
shook his head and turned away, and Javier frowned at the sudden sadness. He placed the book on
the couch and opened it. There was some personal data followed by a list of contents, and Javier
realised that this was Joe’s sketchbook. Curious as to what his colleague had done, he flipped
through the pages of neat drawings and technical sketches. Joe seemed to love glass. There were
huge windows to the objects he had imagined. Nothing crazy. The buildings he had designed were
light and organic and held some European quality. They looked contemporary. Joe wasn’t into mad
colours either. His works were shades of black and white with a touch of reds. Javier found that he
liked the airy objects, and he smiled as he leafed through the designs of the aspiring young
architect. The sketches ended about two-thirds into the book, and Javier slowly closed it when his
thumb caught on the back cover and revealed some more drawings. These were different in style
and clearly showed a ranch. Javier looked up at Joe’s back, “I thought you were east coast?” Joe
said that he was and turned, towel and a plate in hand, “Ah … you’ve found … yeah, well. The
ranch.” Javier studied the sketches. The building and its outhouses weren’t unlike the Peña ranch,
and Javier felt the heat rush to his cheeks, when he caught himself imagining these changes to the
existing structure. It was feasible. “Why a ranch?” Javier prodded, and Joe said that he loved the
West and the image … and cowboys, and Javier snorted, “You should come home with me then.”
The words were out before he could stop himself. Fuck, Javier thought, and it was Joe’s turn to
stare. Had Javier just asked him to come and see him? Outside Colombia? After this (whatever it
was) was over? Or had he just been polite? “You live on a ranch?” he asked incredulous, and
Javier grinned, “Born and bred in Texas, you got it. Not so much a cowboy though,” Javier made
an apologetic face, “my family breeds horses.” Joe swallowed, and he tried to imagine Javier
reining in horses under a burning Texan sun. The image was almost as hot, and Joe quickly turned
away and busied himself with the dishes. Javier closed the book and joined him, grabbing a towel
and reaching for the plate Joe had just washed. Their fingers brushed, and each man felt the little
jolt of electricity. Joe chuckled nervously and joked that Javier had an effect. “Could say the same
for you,” Javier deadpanned. They looked at one another, but just as quickly as the moment had
come, it was gone again. Javier helped dry the rest of the washing-up, finished his beer, and put on
his jacket. Joe walked him to the door and thanked him for his help. “See you in the morning,”
Javier said, and Joe lingered, making the other man wonder if he expected a kiss. Javier peered out
into the darkened corridor and shook his head. Too dangerous! He blinked slowly, realising that he
wasn’t opposed to the idea of kissing Joe; he just didn’t want to do it out in the open. “Sleep well,”
Joe said, and Javier smiled, “You, too. Sweet dreams, Pollito.” Pollito, he wanted to kick himself.
It was a nickname he had come up with when the other man had still been Pollard. Pollo. Or
Pollito. It had slipped out before, and Javier felt silly for it. “Should start calling you names as
well, Agent Peña,” Joe found the other man’s discomfort endearing, and Javier rolled his huge dark
eyes at him. “Gato,” Joe decided, “you sometimes move like one. And you certainly look like one
now.” He laughed at Javier’s scowl and resisted the urge to smoothen out the lines that had formed
on Javier’s forehead. “’m not a fucking cat,” Javier growled, but his words held no bite, and Joe
didn’t feel intimidated by them.
 Tell him
Chapter Summary

Joe is in hospital.
Again, it might make sense to look at my Javier & Joaquín / Diaries universe first.

It happened so quickly, and Javier’s heart stopped for a second. Then he leapt from his chair and
rushed across the room. Joe was holding his face, palm pressing into the injured eye, and there was
blood seeping through his fingers. Javier groaned at the sight, trying to block out the pained little
noises the other man was making, too busy pointing his gun at the assailant. He noticed how quiet
the place was, how conversations seemed to have stopped, not because of the attack but because he
had pulled a gun, and how people were staring at him. Joe whimpered behind him, and the
barkeeper stood frozen. Javier knew he had to act, that Joe needed help, that the attacker would do
a runner, and so he shot his leg. Twice. The man screamed in pain and cursed the DEA man, and
Javier grabbed him roughly and slapped handcuffs on him before turning to his boyfriend. The
barkeeper was still staring, and Javier asked Joe to let him see. Joe lifted his hand, and Javier
caught a glimpse of an angry gash across the other man’s eye. There was so much blood. The agent
demanded a clean towel, but the barkeeper just outstared him. Javier demanded an ambulance, but
nobody moved, and so he lunged forward and took several towels from the counter before he led
his friend outside and towards the payphone. He rang the office and gave a brief account of what
had happened, then he saw to Joe’s wound. It was bad, he thought. The cut was deep, and from
what he could see the eyelid had been sliced as well. As for the eye- “I can’t see, Javí,” Joe was
panicking, and Javier told him that that was because of the blood. Once the wound had been
cleaned, he would be alright. “He caught my eye,” Joe protested, “it hurts, Javí! Hurts so bad!”
Javier swallowed, uncertain of what to do, so he pulled Joe into a bear hug and whispered sweet
words of comfort he didn’t dare believe himself. It took the ambulance forever, and when they
pulled Joe from his embrace, Javier felt so lost and broken that he forgot everything around him.
He didn’t know what to do, and if Joe hadn’t put his foot down, he would have remained where he
was, frozen to the spot, but then he was gently nudged into the van, and when it took off, he patted
Joe’s thigh mumbling that everything would be alright.

Joe was taken to surgery straightaway, and Javier was left alone. He stared at his bloodied hands
and shirt, and he kept hearing Joe wailing and howling in pain. When one of the paramedics had
stuck a needle into his face, the blond man had cried out, and Javier had almost felt his pain. What
if Joe lost his eye? Would he still keep his job? Would they send him home? Javier could not bear
lose his boyfriend. He would go with him, he resolved. They had managed so well for so many
years – they would get through this, too, right? Javier looked at his trembling hands and could not
stop the sob breaking free. He was out of his depth, and surgery would take hours. His eyes fell on
the wallphone, and he remembered using one like this before. In another corridor. At another
hospital. He grabbed the receiver and dialled the number he had not used in years.

Steve Murphy picked up at the third ring, and he sounded tired, but Javier did not care, “It’s Joe!”
Steve knew. He had known for a long time, and he didn’t need Javier to spell things out for him.
The quivering voice, raising towards the end, repeating the same frantic statement over and over
again (No sé qué hacer. - I don't know what to do.) told the experienced agent enough (How could
Javí not know what to do? Between the two of them he had always known what to do!), and he
asked Javier to elaborate. “We were at a bar, and Joe went to get drinks, cuando fue atacado. Con
una botella rota. I didn’t see it coming, Steve. It was totally unprovoked, and his face- … su rostro
fue cortado con una pieza de vidrio. He might lose his eye, Steve!” Steve took a deep breath. This
was really bad, he thought. Javier always kept a level head. He had never heard him mingle his
languages like this. “Estaba dolorido, Steve. He told me- … he was hurting. And there was so
much blood,” Javier sounded like a frightened little boy, “there was so much blood. And there was
nothing I could do. He was scared … he was so scared.” Javier sounded as if he was scared, too,
and Steve told him to sit with Joe once he was out of theatre, “Be there when he wakes up … and
tell him.” Javier frowned. Tell him what? Steve sighed, wondering if Javier was really that clueless.
“That you love him,” Steve stated factually, and Javier swallowed. Steve knew. And he brought it
up straight. “I-,” Javier began, but Steve insisted, “It’s what he needs to hear, trust me. You do love
him, don’t you?” Javier felt the lump in his throat and croaked a quiet yes. “Then tell him,” Steve
repeated, “You’ll get through this.” – “What if he hates me? For … standing by and not keeping
him safe.” Steve chuckled, “He’s not a damsel in distress, Javí.” Javier sniffed. No, Joe wasn’t.
“Could have fooled me, Murphy,” Javier hummed, and Steve noted the change in tone. “Jav? –
What happened to the other guy?” Javier growled that he had shot him, and Steve laughed, “There
you go. You didn’t stand by. Joe won’t hate you. He will if you run off to one of your hookers for
some fucking expensive comfort though.” Javier felt ashamed. He had stopped seeing prostitutes
about a year before, though he had not yet got round to telling Joe. He had sought out those
women’s services excessively before Joe, and he had not stopped in all those years he had been
with the other man, but he did stop the year before. He could not say why. Joe had always been
kind and understanding, and he had never complained, and somehow that hadn’t sat right with
Javier anymore. He liked sex, and he was good at it while Joe frankly sucked in bed (and no, not
literally, he didn’t), but Joe was sweet, and he would hold him through his nightmares. He was also
there when he woke up. A constant that had somehow snuck into his life. His rock. And when
Javier had finally admitted to himself that he was in a serious relationship with this man, he felt
guilty about sleeping with women. “I … don’t do that … anymore,” Javier told Steve, and the other
man grunted, then added, “Tell him, if he doesn’t know.”

And Javier did. Not straightaway, but soon enough.

He was there when Joe woke up, held his hand and rubbed his arm, and when he was sure that Joe
was with him, he reached up to caress the side of the familiar face that wasn’t heavily bandaged
and then leant in to kiss the man’s lips. “What if-,” Joe’s eye (!) flitted to the door, and Javier said
that he didn’t care if anyone walked in on them.
 Peace
Chapter Summary

Javier's and Joaquín's first time.

It was the shirts that came off first (after Javier had dumped his tie), and for a second, both men
hesitated, Joe taking in Javier’s white undershirt and his broad shoulders, the tiny scar on the left
one, Javier beholding the figure-hugging grey t-shirt Joe was wearing and that accentuated the
man's long neck (freckles, Javier thought, mesmerised by the reddish spots dusting the pale skin).
Next came the pants, and soon enough they were sitting on opposite corners of Joe’s bed. The
blond wore black boxers, and Javier was intrigued (and a little hurt) to find no signs of arousal. His
own erection was straining against the briefs, and Joe raised an eyebrow at it. He had seen Javier at
the pool, had admired the toned body, the firm little ass, long legs, narrow feet. He had noticed the
rather prominent bulge, too, of course, and he had wondered what Javier might look like naked.
Javier swallowed, guessing Joe’s thoughts and readjusting himself before (more or less) cupping
his best bits while leaning on his other arm. They crawled beneath the covers, and turned to face
one another, and Javier propped up his head. He smirked, and before he could say anything, Joe
leant in and captured his lips in a fleeting kiss. “Goodnight, Javí,” he said when he pulled back, and
Javier gaped at the man and stammered a surprised reply. Joe got comfortable and drifted off
slowly, and Javier stayed up, wired, watching the other man sleep, knowing that if they took this
(whatever it was) any further, there would be no going back. Javier swallowed, feeling tired and
corrupted and just a tiny bit guilty for tainting the other man with his sins. He didn’t think of
himself as a good man, saw his faults and failures instead of his achievements, and he knew that he
was a bad partner. He had stayed well clear of relationships since Lorraine, and he remembered
that only too well. He enjoyed sex, yes, no secret, and he was (finally) comfortable in his skin, and
yet, he felt like Joe deserved better than him. He knew that he was overthinking, that he could just
have this, have Joe, then move on. They were consenting adults after all, but a little voice inside his
head kept whispering that he should not move on, but make an effort instead to keep this man, and
so the dark-haired agent carefully inched closer and placed a tentative hand over Joe’s heart. He
felt it beat steadily, and he smiled to himself. Joe did not wake, and Javier soon dozed off to the
comforting little puffs the sleeping man was producing.

The next morning, Javier woke up spooning Joe. One of his legs had moved between his friend’s,
and his dick was nuzzling the other man’s balls. His left arm was firmly wrapped around Joe’s
waist. “Good morning,” the man said and shifted a little, rubbing against Javier’s hard-on, and the
darker man grabbed Joe’s t-shirt and pulled him closer, growling into his ear that he was a
troublemaker. “Am I?” came the innocent answer, and the man wiggled his bum a little to drive
Javier mad. He hissed and dropped his hand to grab Joe’s hip to still him, but his body betrayed
him and he bucked into Joe, dick poking his lower back. “Sorry,” his voice was coarse, and Joe
turned his head to look at a dishevelled Javier with eyes like saucers and pupils heavily dilated.
“Malparido,” Javier hummed and rubbed his nose against Joe’s ear, and the blond man chuckled
and reached for Javier’s head to card his fingers through the black waves. Javier looked beautiful
like this he found and smiled. What now? He knew that, unlike himself, Javier had a high sex drive
and would probably want to act on it. Joe felt his pulse quicken, but he stayed where he was,
allowing Javier to reach under his shirt, roam his skin, paw at his tummy, toy with his belly button
before his hand slipped into Joe’s boxers to play with his half-hard member. Joe felt his sleeping
partner’s impressive girth against his back, and he produced a helpless moan that spurred Javier on.
To his own surprise, Joe felt himself grow and harden under Javier’s ministrations, and when the
man behind him gently bit his earlobe, he fell apart with a shocked gasp. Javier kept caressing the
other man’s groin, pressing kisses to his neck, shoulder, and jaw, and he distracted Joe enough to
pull him onto his back and rid him of his underpants. Javier himself had stripped in record time,
and he nibbled at Joe’s neck when he rolled on top, bringing their naked members together. Joe
moaned and grabbed Javier’s shoulders, and Javier grinned and rolled his hips, rubbing against the
other man’s sticky lap. Joe was so soft, he thought, reaching down to give himself a good stroke,
and he moaned against the other man’s skin. “Tan hermoso,” he purred, and Joe groaned, then
chuckled, and Javier licked a stripe up the other’s jaw and kissed his cheek, “muy tentador.” Javier
rolled his hips again, dick brushing dick, and when Joe gave him more space to hitch a knee up and
give a good thrust, Javier came with a little yelp of surprise. It wasn’t the most intense orgasm. It
wasn’t elegant. Wasn’t mind-blowing or spectacular, and he didn’t make much of a mess, but it
was special in an unexpected way, and Javier stilled and cradled Joe’s head before he dipped down
to crash his lips to Joe’s, coax them apart, and kiss him deeply. Their tongues tangled, and Javier
let out a raspy breath. Joe kissed him back, and when he wrapped his arms around Javier’s neck
and held him close, Javier felt oddly at peace.
 Calls
Chapter Summary

Javier speaks to Joe on the phone.

Chucho had heard the way Javí talked on the phone. He had never listened in, but he heard, and he
had picked up bits and pieces. Like chuckles or snorts. Littles pensive hums. Words of affection.
There had been a lot of all of it lately. The old man was happy for his son, and he felt relieved that
Javí had someone to share Colombia with. Colombia. A loaded word. Ever since Avianca, Javí had
been on edge. He had drunk, smoked, whored around, and he had cried. A lot. The weekly father-
and-son calls had often turned into confessions of sorts, and they had ended with profound
apologies and expressions of deepest regret. The past months had brought a change, and Chucho
wasn’t sure what (or who) had brought it about, but whenever he saw his son spread out on the
couch with the receiver tucked under his chin while his hands were drawing circles in the air, he
could but smile. Javí seemed elated. And whoever the person on the other end was, she was
making him happy.

Javier knew that he had to go back eventually to tie up loose ends. He also wanted to see Joe. The
weekly calls were nice, but not enough. Javier missed the other man, missed their nights in, missed
feeling Joe next to him, holding the other man's body, kissing him. He caught himself wondering if
Joe was thinking of him, and he wondered if he missed him, too. Joe seemed jolly enough during
their phonecalls, but he never gave any indication of there being more than friendship between the
two of them. Fact, it would have been a risk to be explicit over the phone, but Javier would have
loved to hear some words of appreciation. And that was why he had to go back.
 Home
Chapter Summary

Javier brings Joe home.

ANNOUNCEMENT

“I’m bringing someone, pops,” Javier took a long drag on his cigarette and continued with a
slightly shaking voice, “His name is Joe.” He bit his lip and held his breath, uncertain as to how to
continue and how much to say over the phone, and just as he was about to elaborate, his dad asked,
“He any good for fencing?” And Javier, caught off-guard, laughed and said that he thought so,
“We’ll try him.” He told his dad that Joe worked in Archives and that he was good with files, “We
could set him up with your tax returns. Might be worth a try.” Chucho chuckled at the idea that
Javí would let a stranger look into their finances. He had to really trust this Joe. Both men fell quiet,
then the father decided to end the charade, "Are you happy?" Javier sensed the subtext and
swallowed. His answer was spoken with great conviction, "Yes. I guess I am." Subtext, he thought,
wondering if his dad would pick up on it. "That's good to hear, mi hijo," Chucho said, and that was
it. Nothing to add, right? "Does your friend like tamales?" Chucho inquired, and Javier smiled. Joe
had a curious spirit and loved to try new foods, and he was sure that Joe would love Chucho's
tamales. "We'll feed him then," the father decided, "lo vamos a engordar." Javier snorted, and
Chucho wondered if Joe was a chubby man. Something told him he wasn't and that he was as
slender as his boy. He asked if there was anything the other man enjoyed eating, and Javier named
some sweet treats without having to think long on it.

ARRIVAL

“Mr. Peña. Sir,” Joe shook hands with the stern Mexican in the white Stetson, and the old man
chuckled, “Call me Chucho, mi hijo – or Jesús.” Joe looked at Javier who just shrugged and said
that it was a common name in Mexico, “Everyone calls him Chucho though – or pops.” The
corners of Chucho’s mouth lifted a little, and he watched his son’s companion curiously. He was
tall, slightly taller than Javí, slender, and blond like Steve Murphy. He had a kind face, open and
boyish, and Chucho could see why Javí might be drawn to him. “I’m off to the barn,” he tipped his
hat, then invited the younger men to come and help once they’d unpacked. “Sure,” Javier wiped his
brow, and Joe’s eyes shone. Javier smiled to himself and watched his dad walk away. “So is this
what you imagined it to be like?” Javier tilted his head and nodded at the ranch. Joe beamed. It
was. Even better than he had imagined. This was real, authentic, lived-in. He loved it, and his
enthusiasm warmed Javier’s heart.

ASTONISHMENT

Chucho had seen the glances and hidden looks that lingered just a bit too long. He had noticed the
gentle touches, always fleeting and subtle, nothing too obvious. A clap on the back. A nudge of a
shoulder. A brush of fingers when the young men cleared the table. No one would have noticed, if
they hadn't known what to look for. One morning, Joe had finished the washing-up, and Javí
placed a hand on his hip and pushed him out of his way. Joe went to the porch to read, and Javí
began drying the dishes. “Your colleague,” Chucho cleared his throat, “seems like a nice guy.”
Javier put down the plate and hung his head, “yeah.” His father frowned, and the young man
guessed that he was confused. Chucho had believed the two men to be in a relationship which he
had expected to be physical. Now he seemed uncertain whether the two were just friends. "He’s
more than just your colleague though, right?” the father added quietly, and Javí heaved a sigh,
“¿Cómo?” The older man said that he had guessed as much. Javier had mentioned a Joe before
during their weekly calls, and he had spoken about dinners, street markets, museums, so Chucho
had had his suspicions even before his son had announced that he would be bringing a friend.
“Pops,” Javier pleaded, “it’s not- … we’re not- I mean-“ – “I know what you mean.” And Javier
was certain that his father really knew.

“¿Te hace feliz?” Chucho watched his son's schooled face, emotions well in check, and faltered.
Had he got it all wrong? Or had he got it right? Eventually, the young man exhaled and answered,
“Si, papá.” And then he told his dad about the man in his life, and his dad hummed and
deadpanned that he had done a shit job hiding it. “You don’t mind?” Javier asked, certain that his
dad had given up hope for Javí to give him grandchildren. “Would it matter?” Chucho barked, and
Javier frowned when he replied, nó. “I’m happy, if you are,” Chucho clarified, and Javier closed
his eyes and felt like a massive weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

"You don't ... sleep together," Chucho stated, and Javier scowled at him. The father didn’t
understand the sleeping arrangements. Joe was staying in the annex, while Javí slept in his old
room. Wouldn’t they prefer to stay in the same room? Share a bed? Javier blushed and pursed his
lips (which meant yes). “Oh, come on, Javíto,” Chucho laughed, “You never used to be this shy.”
Javier's blush deepened, and his dad patted his back and said that they should take the annex, "for
obvious reasons."
 Nightswimming
Chapter Summary

Yup, inspired by R.E.M. - this is what you think it is:

Javier and Joaquín going swimming. At night.

“Let’s go swimming,” Javí suggested and gave Joe’s leg a feeble kick. The blond looked up from
the book he was reading and blinked against the setting sun. “There’s a lake on the other side of
town,” Javí cleared his throat, trying not to conjure up memories of past visits to Lake Casa Blanca,
“you’ll like it, I promise.” Joe closed his book and tilted his head to study his boyfriend’s
expression. Javí’s face had lit up, and his lips curled up in a shy smile. He looked beautiful, Joe
found. The worry lines were gone, and Javí’s skin had taken on a healthy tone. His hair was a
damp mop of messy waves, and when he took off his aviators, his eyes were round and begging.
The blond man laughed and nodded, “Okay. Let’s go then.” Javí rose and held out a hand to help
his friend up, too.

They chose a quiet and secluded spot with thick undergrowth and stripped down to their
swimwear. Javí flashed Joe a contagious smile and waded into the water, and Joe dropped his shirt
next to the neatly folded pile of his partner’s clothes. To his surprise, he found the water cooling,
yet warm enough to feel comfortable, and he sank into it with a grateful moan. “That good?” Javí
joked, and Joe hummed that he could well kiss Javí for this. “Come here then,” Javí’s voice was a
low growl, and Joe swam over and pecked the dark-haired man’s cheek. Javí sighed and sank onto
his back, and Joe smirked at the visible bulge in Javí’s pants, before he made to float beside him.
They drifted lazily and mainly in silence, their shoulders bumping every now and then, and when
the moon disappeared behind the trees, Javí reached for the other man’s hand and held it. “You
hungry?” he asked, and Joe said, not really. They would stop at the little diner close to the last exit
before the ranch, pick up something for Chucho as well. “Strawberry shake,” Joe mused, and Javí
chuckled and squeezed his hand. Joe loved his strawberry milkshakes, and Javí enjoyed watching
the other man slurp them. “You ever thought it could be like this?” Joe asked, and Javí shook his
head and said, no. He had never seen himself in a relationship. With a man, too! But he wasn’t
uncomfortable. They had found one another, and that was what mattered. Javí slowly turned
towards the other man who seemed to have been watching him the whole time, and he smiled,
“Hey.” – “Hey,” Joe replied, and Javí crowded the blond to steal a real kiss. The water was too
deep for their feet to touch the ground, but Javí kept kicking his legs even when he brought their
middles together. Joe giggled into the kiss, and Javí ran a flat hand up his spine. “Get out?” the
dark-haired man whispered, and Joe gave a nod. He knew what Javí was implying, and they could
hardly do it out here in the open. “We could,” Javí guessed his thoughts, “but we’d end up in
custody.” Joe laughed, and Javí grabbed his bum.

They got out of the water and shed their trunks, then lay side by side by the water’s edge to dry off.
Javí lit a cigarette and smoked quietly, running one finger up and down Joe’s arm. When he
propped himself up a little to flick the cigarette into the lake, Joe rolled onto his side and brought
his fingertips to Javí’s thigh. He felt a muscle twitch and explored further, roaming to the inside of
his partner’s leg. Javí squinted, unable to watch him in the near-darkness and forced himself to stay
calm. Joe’s hand went to his balls and caressed the heavy sack, and Javí moaned quietly. He lay
back down when the other man began stroking him, slowly, unrushed, and the dark-haired man
wondered why this didn’t feel obscene. Joe’s touch was sweet, hesitant, inexperienced, and it made
Javí’s head spin. He let Joe fondle him until he was starting to nod off.

A couple of days later, there was a song playing on the radio, and the two DEA men stared at one
another over dinner. Neither of them had a particularly romantic streak, but if there was a suitable
soundtrack for their love, it had to be this. “And what if there were two side by side,” Michael Stipe
sang, and Joe smiled at his lover.

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