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Jill hesitated. Imagine that.
Now it’s not that she never hesitates, hesitation could save a life where a split-second decision would end one, and vice versa. The nuance of it wasn’t lost on her, especially after so long in the field. But here it felt bigger, louder, even though her hesitation was a marked lack of noise instead of knocking on the door.
Arizona was not her usual wheelhouse. Jill stood on the cheesy doormat and glanced around the area. The house was small but nice, situated on a slope of a mountain she doubted ever saw snow. Rocks and green brush surrounded it, broken up by the occasional barrel, prickly pear, or saguaro cactus. Not exactly the secure tree cover of the flyover midwestern areas she was used to canvassing. But something about its exposure was equally unassuming, especially knowing who lived in the house.
Or, who she hoped lived in the house. Jill twisted her mouth, swallowed her hesitation, and knocked, waiting for Carlos. As she waited she stared at herself in the reflection of the door’s window. Her silhouette looked like her, even if in a haphazard way. She had taken a scissors to her hair as soon as she could after recovering. Anything to get that damn blonde out, the blonde she didn’t remember bleaching to. The blonde she felt her stomach scrunch when imagining Wesker’s fingers wedging against her scalp when she saw. Her first instinct was to take the clippers to her whole head. Go bald. What was there to lose at this point?
But cutting it that short would equally feel as alien to her, and though it would’ve been welcome if only to be rid of the blonde she needed something grounding, something recognizable, something that looked like her in shadow if not in color.
By now her brown roots were showing. Maybe if she got impatient she’d take the clippers to it so long as it was clear that she was brown-haired, not blonde, not bleached.
Heavy footsteps from within the house brought her to attention. He had been...difficult to find. After Raccoon City Jill had set herself dead straight on the path to taking down Umbrella at any cost. Carlos...she wasn’t sure. He dipped off her radar. Not without cordiality, she thought—she hoped. But it had been ten years, and neither the survivor’s guilt nor survivor’s relief kept them in each other’s sights. And in finding him here she wasn’t even sure it was him that gave the correspondence and not his current employer—some low-level local agency that didn’t seem all that becoming of him.
Jill silenced those thoughts as a body moved beyond the glass and the door opened. She stiffened and found herself dumbly mute. Carlos filled the door, thick and bold as she remembered him. Ten years of age wore well on his face, the darkening lines around his eyes doing all the more to make them bigger, browner. His hair was still dark and his beard covered whatever else age she would’ve been able to see otherwise, though she noted that it covered more of his neck than before, fuzzy hair disappearing down the collar of his t-shirt. Less incentive to keep that all clean shaven, and he seemed to be the type to grow a 5 o’clock shadow mere hours after a shave. That beard accentuated his smile, surprisingly eased and warm.
“Well, there you are, Supercop! Was beginning to think you’d never track me down.”
Jill tried to smirk but something yanked her away from meeting his ease, “It’s not because you hid yourself well , Carlos,”
He chuckled and stepped aside to let her in. As she entered she heard the tell-tale clunk of a handgun being placed on an end table near the door, a precaution that pricked her not just because she knew that anxiety all too well but also the indignity of being seen as a liability. Which—god forbid if he knew about. She hadn’t mentioned anything in her correspondence.
“I need to be a little but not a lot hard to find. Otherwise then where would you be?”
Jill immediately knew she didn’t want to entertain that question. Seeking Carlos out had been her dead last line of defense short of driving herself mad in civilian life while every colleague, every friend she had continued to put themselves on the front lines. Still, it seemed gratefully rhetorical as he shut the door, locked it, locked it twice, and set a laser tripwire over the threshold. Compensation for being able to be found.
“Want a beer?”
Jill didn’t know what to say. Get drunk? Tipsy? Lose what little control she had left? Put herself back in a susceptible mindset? She shook her head to be rid of the thought, Carlos took it as a no, then said with needling bravado, “Ah, tall glass of water for the tall glass of water. Got it.”
She narrowed his eyes at him, “Ten years and you don’t have a different line?”
Carlos pulled a beer from the fridge before lifting his hands, “Don’t misunderstand! Gotta ease you in to the new material by reminding you how good the old stuff was!”
Jill rolled her eyes. Carlos smiled watching her, then turned and slammed the cap off of the bottle.
“So!” he started as if this was normal, a normal get-together, like they were civilians. The only thing that didn’t raise Jill’s hackles was that it seemed obvious to her that it was a front to him as well, “What made you come down here? Missed me?”
“Well,” she started, achingly rehearsed, “I’m on leave for a bit. Figured I’d catch up with old friends.”
“Jill Valentine, on leave,” he rested against the counter and took a swig, “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“It was—forced.” she equally forced out.
“Mm,” he grunted, and it turned sharp in her mind. It was too short to be contemplative, much more like he was searching for her to tell a truth he already knew, “But seriously, something to drink?”
Jill brushed her hair behind her ears so she wouldn’t have to see the blonde in her vision before earnestly deciding, “Water would be good.” Really good.
Carlos turned and filled a glass for her, taking a cheeky swig of it before handing it off with the clean side facing her. It was an almost cavalier show that he hadn’t treated the water with anything, and it made Jill suspicious—not that he had , but if he was for some reason walking on eggshells around her when she had just escaped Chris’s worried helicoptering—
“By the way,” Carlos’s voice had dropped a pitch, like he had shucked off his coat, “BSAA contacted me before you arrived.”
Jill froze. Carlos’s eyes studied her, sympathetic, but no amount of sympathy was going to thaw her.
“...They told you.”
“Sorry.” His apology sounded like he wished they hadn’t, the question was did he wish that for her sake or for his. Frustration bubbled in her gut. All of the sudden she had to confront the fact that she didn’t know if she was going to tell Carlos everything with Wesker or not. It was just as likely that, if things with Carlos went well enough, she was going to use this time to ease herself into the idea of a civilian break, forget Wesker, forget Umbrella and the BSAA. For Jill those were the tallest orders in the world to try and fulfill, but maybe with Carlos and this unfamiliar Arizona desert she could try.
With Carlos knowing, though, with those big brown eyes shining in ache and sympathy, it was...this was going to be impossible. If she found out it wasn’t sympathy but pity, she’d drop his tall glass of water on the floor and walk out.
She hadn’t realized she had yet to move when Carlos’s voice broke through again.
“I did miss you Jill,” he tried gently, “And I’m happy to see you. No matter what happened to make you sniff me out.”
She looked at him, focusing her gaze. Suddenly a hot wash of shame sank into her shoulders. Had she missed Carlos? Every once in a while he’d flit in her mind, a curious glance out the window to wonder what he was up to. Sometimes it was paired with a pained hope that he was still alive. But did she miss him the way he seemed to be implying? That she didn’t know if she could match his emotion was the weightiest thing on her shoulders. She had been busy , that’s why. She was too busy to think of anyone beyond herself, the BSAA, and the millions of innocents she was trying to save.
Oh, that sounded ridiculous when surrounded by a domestic context. Borderline megalomaniac.
Maybe he’d take the shame over not thinking of him as much as a sincere apology, though. If he wanted to.
“...What else is there to tell, then,” she scoffed, not at him, at everything else (her included), “Chris put me on leave and I—know he’s right because for as much as I want to go back in the field I—,”
And what should she tell him? The nightmares? The trembling hand? The scarring from the parasite? Her evaluation had been abysmal for her standards. Jill sank into his couch, facing away from the kitchen. Carlos followed, sitting himself down on the opposite end and taking a longer swig of beer rather than look at her.
Then, casually, as if Chris reporting on her mental state to Carlos was no big deal (both an affront and a comfort), he filled in the blanks with a liltingly nonplussed tone, “So...ten years of BSAA, T-Virus outbreaks, Umbrella investigations…,” One arm of his was hooked over the back of the couch and he rested his face against that shoulder to look at her, “That about cover it?”
“Yes,” she said, then felt it. Felt that gap, not that she had wanted for anything else, but that there was nothing else to show him. Nothing she was personally very proud of. Chasing Umbrella left her only with the white-hot rage that it felt like it’d never be done. Umbrella or not some crackpot genocidal scientist would step over the bodies of so many infected to iterate on the previous scientist’s work. Outbreaks only added to that pile. It never felt heroic to shoot someone in the face, no matter how monstrous their body had become. It was neverending. Jill took her work home with her, her desk was neatly organized with files, and more than once she had forgone sleeping in bed to pass out combing through said files for a lead into the next postule of Umbrella tech.
Suddenly her heart was in her throat and her eyes darted around the room, looking for evidence of his life before he shared it. Was there something suspiciously child-like? Or a draped shawl that certainly wasn’t his? Something that hinted at more, a family or perhaps lovers, or even just scuffed bowling shoes to signify a night out with the boys. Things that were achingly mundane and far, far, far away from what she had been doing.
There was nothing so dramatically of the sort she was looking for. The house was relatively clean, the only shoes she could see must’ve been his, and the wet ringmarks on the coffee table seemed to suggest that there was only one person living there and he commonly sat in the same spot to watch TV.
“That it?” Carlos confirmed. Jill felt hollow as her voice dropped to answer.
“Yes.”
“Well Umbrella hasn’t taken over the world yet, so you must be doing some good out there.” He didn’t form it as a question, unequivocally a statement she couldn’t refute. It didn’t feel that way from how deep Umbrella and its similar ilk seeped into the shadows. But she couldn’t argue with the casual swing of his leg propped on the other.
“What about you, Carlos?” she asked finally. He inhaled deep, puffing out his huge chest. Hard to tell if he was happy for the question or dreading it, “All I know is that you disappeared after turning down BSAA.”
“Yeah, disappeared maybe isn’t quite accurate. Went back to merc’ing is more like it. But in a very...solo act way.” Carlos took another drink, the bottle swing appropriately bracing the both of them, “I turned down BSAA ‘cause after Umbrella and after years of merc’ing for one side per skirmish, I just...don’t trust like that. Anymore.”
H e looked at her, “It’s not you I don’t trust, Jill. It’s...that it exists at all.”
Jill frowned, “I’m...I don’t know what you mean.”
Carlos sighed, looking grimly pensive. Ever since he had brought up that the BSAA had contacted him his tone had shifted down and not recovered. It wasn’t condescending, but there was a melancholic air to it. Matured, maybe. At that realization Jill noted that the backs of his hands seemed harder than they were ten years ago. More pronounced.
“When I was growing up every country in South America felt like a house of cards and everyone was blowing it down from whatever angle they sat at. Got involved at a young age. Got kicked around as each skirmish went bad if the politics of our side either lost or decided they didn’t need us. Trailed up north. Spent a helluva lot of time in Honduras and got into deep shit. Umbrella came in and swooped me up for a second chance. Took it without thinking. And then...kaboom.
“I’m used to being expendable but...I dunno, something hit after that. After meeting you, Jill. I don’t even fucking remember who you were working for, y’know? It didn’t matter to you. You were there to stop it, cold. Rocked me a bit. A lot. Made me realize that for all my efforts it ended in derailed trains if I kept going with the orders I was given. No shade to your friends at the BSAA, but that’s...anything like that has power. Anything with power has the potential for corruption. And anything corrupting weasels its way in slow and unnoticed. And suddenly over years you’ve been roped into guerrilla skirmishes in the jungle as your balls are dropping. Brazil is so huge, what would they do with your body if you fell? Probably nothing. Jungle would claim you soon enough.”
H e sighed, rubbing his thumb around the neck of the beer bottle, “I know damn well I won’t be able to sniff it out before it happens again. But maybe if I set my compass just right, I’ll be able to figure out what’s right to me, in the moment. Like you did in Raccoon City, hearing that I worked for Umbrella but trusting me anyway. Fuck, Supercop…,”
Struck dumb, Jill didn’t know what to say. Should she be flattered? No, this ran too deep for that. Shocked, surprised, deeply moved but unable to untangle why, all of that, yes. All of that at once and more. She had no idea she had had such an impact on him, to her Carlos already had his compass set, it was just in the wrong hands. She looked down at the glass of water.
“Where did you wind up, after all that?” she managed after a bout of silence that Carlos had become lost in.
“Mostly? Juarez.” Carlos laughed, not quite bitter, not quite humored, “Living hellhole. And every employer hated me, because I kept swapping sides. Willy-nilly to them, but some of the locals started catching on I think.” He winked at her, and she was wholly unprepared for the warmth it caused in her gut, “But I was too valuable to let go. There’d be some shit close to the T-Virus, infected dead, all shit I had experience with already. Can’t say I kept order because nothing brought order there, but, hell. I think I helped.”
One last swig of beer and he gasped, setting it on the coffee table in a place that would surely make another ringmark, “ About a year back they got tired of my shit and booted me from the whole city. Found work here for a nice home. It’s quieter. Less shooting things, more muscling virus refugees back and forth to where they need to go.”
Jill shifted. She had known that thinking this life unbecoming of him would reach back to bite her and was glad she hadn’t said anything. It suited him perfectly. With the way he talked too, she couldn’t...quite see him in the ranks of the BSAA. Even when its wildest members went off-book, they still returned to it in the end. Jill chanced a glance, finding Carlos gazing at her with his chin in his perched palm. An easy smile spread his beard, admiring her, which felt strange after all he had just said.
“You look great, by the way. Did I say that already?”
“You didn’t.” Jill shoved an offending blonde lock behind her ear.
Carlos shrugged, “I mean in general.”
“It’s not—,” she gave a frustrated sigh, “Just about looks.” And what was it about? The lack of control she had had? That she had felt everything Wesker had wanted her to feel, but was only barely conscious enough to realize it until after Chris had yanked the parasite from her chest? That it wasn’t like a light switch, she had spent days on the precipice of a migraine trying to sort out what thoughts were genuinely hers versus ones that she was almost—certainly—close to positive—came from the parasite. With how difficult that was, how could she be sure she wouldn’t snap and hurt everyone again? She felt awful, she looked awful because of it, and the blonde in her vision was only a reminder of that. Maybe she should’ve shaved it all off—but the weightless peach fuzz on her head would be just as much of a reminder.
“Jill.” Carlos interrupted, and with a jolt of horror Jill realized that it had not been an internal monologue. Her eyes snapped to focus on him, finding him in much the same position as before but with eyes closed—tight. His voice was mumbled but tart, tongue speaking over thorns that she soon realized were stabbing him more than they were directed at her, “The first time I killed I did it for someone else’s cause thinking it was my own. First thing I looted from him was a photograph. Took me years to really understand what that meant. Years more to...well.”
He opened his eyes but Carlos as she knew him wasn’t quite back yet, staring down at the cushion that separated them. He spoke over the ridge of his palm.
“All that before this T-Virus shit. People are people and rile other people up until you’re stabbing faces without understanding why. T-Virus just makes it easier.”
Blinking, he slowly rose his gaze back to her, crawling out of the hole, “Sorry. What I meant to say was you’re not alone.”
Jill nodded. A parasite to be ripped out, same as hers. Same mental scrambling, same horrified questions, and—if she was reading him right, the same nightmares.
But. Look what he had done with the freedom since. She took the living room in again, this time less panicked. Hunter’s bows were mounted on the wall, paint chipped from use she figured wasn’t just over deer. Books scavenged from libraries, some blood-stained or partially burnt, were stuffed in a shelf next to movies. Both ranged in no fewer than three languages. A punching bag in the far corner where the living room gave way to the laundry room. A gently used soccer ball she got the feeling was fairly new, replacing an older one that had finally fallen apart with wear. Maybe kids in Juarez had aided in that, an image she didn’t know how to interpret since she couldn’t imagine him without at least a holster on. And blankets—blankets woven in so many different patterns she was certain they came from different areas. Small salvages or imports he gathered to remind him of all the countries he hopped between.
It felt much more genuinely lived in than her apartment space of cold documents and research. Even the plants she grew in the window were for medicinal purposes only, and not for the joy of gardening. Jill glanced back to the kitchen. Carlos was doing that too, though, and in pots far more decorative than she had thought to give them. If, or when, she got back to her apartment, it would be a simple enough transfer, wouldn’t it?
She looked back at him. A jolt to the system. Rocking her a bit. A lot. Was this what he had felt in Raccoon City?
The big man scooted forward, something she almost found humor in. He could swing himself down the couch in a single gesture with his size, yet he was inching carefully to where he remembered her personal space to be. What he didn’t realize was that he was already invading her personal space, now so expanded after what Wesker had done.
“You look great, Supercop,” he said again, low and gentle and sincere.
“Don’t say it’s because of the blonde,” she retorted quickly. He chuckled again.
“You look just as good as you did covered in blood and grime and fuck knows what else after RC.”
“Carlos,” Jill couldn’t help the smile starting to crack her features, “That’s a really strange compliment.”
“I got a better one. Ten years and you’ve matured from a tall glass of water to a tall glass of wine.” He grinned, a grin that grew at her cold stare, “Howzzat?”
“I think. That you need to revise your material.” Ten years for that. She could punch him were it not that the smile was staying on her face, “Also, fuck you.”
“Oh. Please,” he managed to sound desperate without overdoing it, even as he lifted a hand to where he measured her walls to be, “That’d be…,”
Jill watched his hand, watched his thoughts race through its minute movements. She didn’t push him away, even as he broached the space she had pushed him off of years ago. Still her voice was steely when she spoke, as if she would at any moment. Even though...even though the spark in his eyes said that he was in on it, in on her thoughts.
“Is that why you think I came all this way to see you?”
“And why else,” he had scooted so close she could almost feel his leg brush against hers, yet he maintained that degree of separation, “would you sniff out Carlos Oliveira?”
At that her smile wavered into a frown, “Come on, Carlos. You...mean more than that.”
“Yeah?” his fingers brushed against the folded ribs of her shirt.
“Look around you.”
He did not.
“Seen it before. What about you?”
What did he mean to her? Jill was quiet, not having the words nor the will to answer something that needed certainty. Until those words came, though, he got her answer when he finally placed his warm hand on her waist. Jill inhaled, the staggering of her breath coaxing him to slide to the small of her back, bringing him closer. Closer. Jill let him kiss her, opening her mouth before he asked permission to enter.
He was gentle and sweet but not in a way that let her forget about his strength. Firm in his position, but giving in that he adjusted to her movements. His thigh tucked against her knee, surreptitiously keeping her open even though they were otherwise contained to just kisses. Still they moved together with passion, enough that when Carlos shifted his hand up her ribs she moaned, jerked, and spilled water on his arm. He hummed a laugh against her jaw, releasing her gasp of shock to the air. Without lifting his lips further he fumbled for the glass in her hand and set it on the coffee table. Then his warm hands came back to her, bunching the fabric of her shirt in their hold that crept further and further up the deeper he kissed her.
“W-Wait, wait, Carlos,” Jill gasped, and though his mouth pulled away his hands remained where they were, clasping her ribs with his thick thumbs pressing the undersides of her breasts. Jill frowned, trying to push through her issues as fast as possible. She didn’t want him to stop but...Oh, to hell with it. Superceding him, Jill grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled.
Deep pock marks circled her heart, connected by a web of scar tissue that looked like veins. She knew Carlos wouldn’t judge her, but it still wasn’t a pretty sight, and this far along she was starting to cope with how it would never be one. Still she studied his expression, noticed that his weight didn’t shift backwards off of her. At least, not until his face lit up and he grabbed his own shirt.
“Oh, you wanna have a contest?” he grinned, yanking his shirt over his head and tossing it to the side. Jill’s breath caught in her throat, first because of his audacity, second because she expected scars, finally because she wasn’t prepared for the sight of his body nor what it did to her. From his neck down to his belt he was covered in thick dark hair, hair that sank into the gutters of his abs when he sucked in his gut and posed for her. There were several dark rosy colors that broke the thicket of hair when he flexed, mostly shallow cuts and one gunshot wound. Jill smirked at his bravado, covering for the fact that she was drinking his body in. Warming up to his presence. Warming up to being here, finally.
Carlos took her hand and guided her to something far older and more overgrown, a long jagged slash across his abdomen that by the thickness of the scar tissue was far deeper than it appeared. Curling her fingers against it, she looked up at him for an explanation.
“Fled Brazil because of that one.” he provided, mercifully sparing further details. Her experienced mind filled in many of the blanks. As if melting from his body heat, she unfurled her hand, spreading it along his skin. His stomach shuddered, and she was suddenly aware of his gaze fixating on her, brown eyes alert even though his lids were relaxed. Jill wandered higher, the more she pressed into his skin the more he unflexed so that it was plush to the touch. Still she avoided his gaze, thinking instead of how it would feel to lay on him.
T hen he reached forward and kissed her hairline—kissed the hair that was brown. Jill felt emotion spring to the backs of her eyes, threatening to tear her asunder right there.
To her relief Carlos tipped his head to the side before that happened , his shaggy hair falling with him as he studied her chest. After a bit he raised his hand, fingers curled, and reached forward to brush his knuckles against the stretched scar tissue. Jill sharply inhaled, exhaled too quick, sucked it back up. It was too obvious for him not to notice. Carlos caressed her skin thoughtfully.
“Does it still hurt?”
“It aches. Deeply.” Jill answered, her voice soft and vulnerable. Carlos didn’t react.
“It’s a tie then. Because I still feel it every time I sit down.”
Her heart sank, felt moreso by all the scar tissue that restricted it, “I’m sorry.”
Carlos’s smile returned and he leaned forward, planting kisses on the corner of her mouth, traveling over her cheeks, jaw, then finally her neck.
“Don’t be,” he urged softly, carefully sucking on the side of her throat, “Don’t be. Just...relax.”
She let out of a huff of irritation, “Carlos, I am relaxed.”
He laughed against her skin, “Maybe for Jill Valentine. But I think we can do better,” leaning forward to push her back against the end of the couch, he murmured, “I’ll do better.”
Before she could bicker more, Carlos was moving. Lips to the front of her throat, hands broaching the final barriers by peeling her cups away from her breasts, exposing her nipples. Sparks started turning into flames, and Jill felt heat spread in places that had not yet felt his touch. A little moan escaped her as he played her nipples pert, becoming loud as his lips slipped over ugly scar tissue. Her mouth opened to say—something. She wasn’t sure what. Carefully he continued to break her into the simplest components. Soon she felt her pulse beat between her legs, spiking in excitement whenever his body moved.
More than that, her growing arousal was taking over areas that she had become acutely aware of since recovery, until she barely felt them at all. A whimper she failed to stifle escaped and Carlos gave the corner of her lips a lick before swallowing it in a delighted kiss.
Soon her breast was in his mouth, then the other, sucked pink and dotted with loving bruises around each nipple. Jill’s whimper became a needy whine. It spurred Carlos to move faster, pulling her bra off properly, roughly dragging his hands along her front to her pants. She squirmed, helping him more than not, her eyes darting down to where his pants bulged in anticipation. Heat took over her mind, delicious and natural, and Jill palmed his shape.
Carlos grunted, low and animal. His fingers slipped on undoing her pants, distracted by thrusting into her hold. Jill closed her hold on what she could feel—a thick, throbbing core, as hard as it was begging. His grunt became a moan, desperate and wanting, and through that she intensely understood that she wanted it— needed it. Something wordless and primal, inexplicable save for how much she desired and how much that desire hinged solely on him. She had been pursuing Umbrella for so long she had forgotten what it was like to truly desire someone, to yearn for their cock buried in her, for the heat and sweat and friction to take over. To be able to forget. To be able to let go.
Relax .
Maybe she had convinced herself it was impossible. But there was no arguing with Carlos’s mad thrusting into her palm despite still be constrained, no arguing with the darkening of his gaze to something just as primal as the pulse between her legs.
“Jill…,” he moaned, heady and hungry. His thick fingers dug into the hem of her clothes and yanked everything free, exposing her beneath him. She saw his gaze turn ravenous at the sight of her pussy and his words became breathless and senseless.
“Yeah,” he breathed, “Jesus. Fuck, Jill,” Carlos propped her thighs in his hands and planted quick kisses from her navel down, down, down until he was kissing her entrance, “What are you doing to me,”
H is tongue pried her apart and Jill yelped, bucking from a sensation too forgotten and thus too much for her all at one. All Carlos did was spread his hand over her stomach, keeping her in place as he greedily lapped her up. Words flew past as he gasped for air, and she grasped how pink she was, how cute, how wet and open and welcoming. Jill’s moan turned into a sob, her writhing doubling as he swirled his tongue around her clit and teased her with a calloused finger. Then his tongue pressed up against her clit and Jill was rocked by a spasm that locked his head in her thighs.
So he did it again. Again, and more, and soon both her hands were in his hair, struggling with whether to keep him where he was or to beg and plead that it was too much, it had been so long, she was so sensitive , she couldn’t cope, she was, she was, so, so, so much.
Another spasm, coating his beard with her arousal. Carlos finally pulled from her throbbing entrance, licking arousal from his lips. Beads of her in his beard glistened in the sun that was cast low and orange across his face. Jill trembled, this time a good full-body tremble rather than the traumatized shake she had been trying to get rid of. Messily she pet his hair, trying to get a hold of her breathing as Carlos’s eyes fluttered closed and he leaned into her touch. He stroked her thighs up to her hips and back, easing her back down.
On one stroke he brought her thigh close to his pursed lips, kissing her lightly. Another time. Another, until he was lifting himself up by tracing kisses up to her bent knee. Replacing his mouth was the bulge at his pants, shamelessly earning stains by pressing against her. Jill’s thighs stiffened around him, and she gazed up at his relaxed body, sheening with a thin layer of sweet but still poofy with hair. Carlos released a breath, sliding his hands down her thighs to grip her waist. Lazily he rocked his bulge against her, not quite enough to chafe, but definitely not enough to satisfy either. Still he looked at her through hooded eyes that had not yet rid themselves of that desperate hunger she was craving. Carlos’s mouth opened as if he was going to say something, maybe a one-liner, or something sweet and genuine. But he clenched his jaw and swallowed hard, exhaling through his nose in a way that pinged danger in Jill’s mind.
A welcome danger. A warm, possessive danger. He was going to fuck her, hard and relentless until he had nothing else to give her. Jill widened her legs. Yes, her instinct flared in her mind, yes. Take me. Take all of me.
I trust you with it.
Message received. Carlos sped to undo himself, releasing his cock with a breath of unsatisfied relief. Jill heard herself make noises, pitiful needy whimpers that became cries of arousal when he slid himself along her pussy, teasing her clit with his length. She begged—what she said, she didn’t know, but she begged and Carlos did not make her wait.
Her walls tightened as soon as he entered, instinct jumping with far too much excitement. Carlos let out a rasped sound, seething at her tightness as he eased himself further in. Bracing himself against the couch, he held her waist and waited for her to adjust, drawing circles in her skin with his thumb. Jill was torn between begging more and being grateful, reaching to run her hands down his hairy chest, all the way to their conjoining. Carlos watched her fingers explore, then draw away to grip his forearm. Slowly he pulled back and pushed forward, and Jill moved in perfect time.
He was big, stretching her full. So full that she felt empty in a way she had never felt before when he pulled back, delighted in ways she had forgotten when he filled her again. Her thighs pressed against his hips, rubbing against his hair as they locked him in. Carlos moved faster within those constraints, faster still, until Jill was crying out in unrestrained ecstasy. He kissed her where he could, his lips hot against the sweat on her skin.
The pace was relentless. Lust stole control from both of them, but especially Carlos in his sweet reverence of her. Bending her writhing body to his thrusts, Carlos pushed her past her self-imposed limits until she was a simpering mess in his arms. Safely so, so safe that her pride cracked with her voice and she scrabbled for any purchase she could find on his body, raking puffy rosy lines in his back with her nails. His name sobbed out of her lips, her face pressed into his chest, she moaned and cried and forgot herself.
Her lower half became nothing but a bundle of nerves, fed and spoiled by his cock. Jill saw sparks in her vision. Overwhelmed. In his control, but inasmuch as she retained herself, retained her body, gave it over to him to have for a while in an exercise deeper and more secure than any she had done before. Another sob of his name. Did he know? Did he know what this meant, for her to be like this for anyone?
Her eyes scrunched closed when his thrusts rough. Of course. Of course he knew. This is what he had been feeling for ten years, the release, the freedom, the gratitude.
Carlos’s calloused hand tipped her face back to him and she opened her eyes to see his darkened gaze sear into her. His hips bucked wildly, intense and unstoppable and the bundle of nerves in her snapped. She cried out, clenched, almost wrenched herself off the couch were it not for his arms locking her in place. He came in response, with a cry that was as much shock as it was ecstasy. Nearly collapsing, Carlos braced himself on the armrest behind her as his huge chest heaved with shaky, deep breaths. His body hair was slicked to his skin now, his hair otherwise damp and curled more. Thrusts slowed, feeding her in a rhythm that almost felt like waltzing. Jill lifted her hips to him and noted the tremor in her legs as she rested them against his thighs.
“Ohhh,” Carlos groaned, “Fuck, Jill. I could...I could fuck you all over again.” His cock twitched at the thought, still keeping enough hardness inside of her that he wasn’t lying, “I want to fuck you again. So badly.”
“G-Give me a minute,” she managed to say. It had been so long, and it had been so...intense. A release of pressure she didn’t know she had built up within her. To her word Carlos pulled out. That, however, was followed by him wrapping his sweaty arms around her and pulling her close, burrowing in the nape of her neck while she drifted somewhere between cloud nine and sleep.
When she awoke the sunset had deepened into early evening. Carlos had wrapped blankets around the two of them as the sweat on their skin cooled, and he kept her neck loved with lazy kisses. His cock, softened but still feeling thick and full, rested between her thighs. His arms desperately clung to her waist, keeping her from falling off the couch completely.
“I remember this one,” Carlos said, kissing the flat of her left arm. Ten years ago it had been a mess of blood and infected saliva. Now it was barely a sheen of stretched tissue, perfect for Carlos’s smile to rest, “Glad it healed up good.”
Jill hummed, finding herself peaceful for the first time in months. Maybe years, “Thanks to you.”
“Don’t,” he muffled into her back, “I’ll get hard again.”
“Carlos…,” she breathed to say his name like it was beautiful to her. He moaned, peppering small bites down her spine. One of his hands went up first to grasp her breast, then to smooth over the scar on her chest. Jill felt herself fall into his bliss again. For a brief moment she allowed it, soaking in his reverence.
“Carlos,” she said again, sharp enough to get a questioning hum at her back, “My leave is six months, minim—,”
“Yes.” he interrupted, “Stay. You’re welcome here. Always.”
Jill hummed in satisfaction. Six months with him wouldn’t be enough for the ten years she squandered keeping him out of contact. But it would be enough to turn something around, to pick out prettier pots for her plants, to let Carlos heal another wound until it was as unnoticeable as the bite. When she was ready, she’d return.
For now, she relaxed in his hold.