𝔐𝔢𝔯𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔯𝔶'𝔰 𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔪 Carlos Oliveira x male reader
Summary: Raccoon City is burning and Carlos refuses to let you out of his sight. When a mission for Dr. Bard goes sideways and you end up trapped with zombies in the R.P.D., Carlos makes it very clear you don’t get to run headfirst into hell without him. The line between survival and lust blurs fast, especially when a certain Brazilian mercenary decides you’re his.
Tags: No use of Y/N. Male reader. Dark Carlos Oliveira: territorial, controlling and cocky. Dubious content. Possessive behavior. Overprotectiveness. Gore. Power imbalance. Manhandling. Top Carlos Oliveira. Bottom male reader. Size difference. Breeding. Anal sex.
ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 - Gif
Words count: 5000
The west gate of the R.P.D. Had iron bars eaten through with orange rot, hinges swollen and crusted. When Tyrell braced his boot against the concrete lip and shoved his shoulder into it, the metal answered him with a shrill, grinding shriek that made the hair on your arms prickle. He let out a small, strained groan, breath puffing through clenched teeth as the gate dragged open inch by reluctant inch, then Carlos slipped past, catching the edge of the gate with one broad palm to hold it wide for you like a gentleman.
He grinned at you, a bright and infuriating thing that had no business existing in a situation like this, teeth flashing white beneath the smear of soot along his jaw. You refused to give him even the twitch of a smile, just stepped through with your WCX assault rifle snug against your chest and eyes forward and if your shoulder brushed his on purpose or by accident, you did not acknowledge it, though the heat of him was immediate and distracting.
That grin only widened at your stubborn silence, like a challenge rather than a dismissal.
Behind, Tyrell huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh. “You know,” he started, voice low and teasing as he adjusted the strap of his rifle, “the quicker you just—”
“Not another word.” You cut in sharply without looking back, boots crunching over broken glass scattered along the pavement.
He clicked his tongue. “I was just saying, man, the quicker you let Romeo here get it out of his system—”
“T,” you warned, tone edged with enough bite to make him raise both hands in mock surrender. “We’re here for Dr. Nathaniel Bard,” you reminded them, voice tight but steady. “Our best shot at getting information on the vaccine for the T-Virus. That’s it, our mission.”
Carlos’s eyes lingered on you a second too long before he dipped his chin in agreement. “Sí, jefe,” he murmured lightly, though the way his gaze dragged down your frame and back up again made heat coil low in your stomach despite yourself.
Adjusting the strap of your WCX, fingers brushing cool polymer of the grip, checking the magazine out of habit more than necessity before moving forward again.
Behind you, Tyrell muttered loud enough for you to hear, “He’s not gonna give it to you that easy, Romeo.”
A scoff from Carlos, low and amused. “Please. He’s already weak for me.”
Your jaw tightened, not turning or absolutely acknowledging how your pulse had kicked at that, back of your neck feeling suddenly too warm under the collar of your tactical shirt while focusing instead on the grand façade of the R.P.D., stonework looming pale and imposing.
Deep down, though, there was a sliver of loathing at how uncomfortably close to the truth he was.
Because he had been there every time.
Since the first hours of the outbreak, Carlos had been at your side with unnerving consistency. When you had sprinted through the narrow alleys off Kite Bros Railway as infected civilians staggered out of doorways with jaws slack and hands grasping, he had been half a step behind you, rifle up, eyes scanning over your shoulder.
When the drain deimos had skittered along the brick walls in the subway power station, all clicking limbs and glistening mandibles, he had cursed to himself and dragged you back by your vest before their ovipositors could lash out.
That time you had run dry on ammo outside the pharmacy on Main Street, fumbling with a fresh magazine while a zombie lunged at you, teeth snapping inches from your throat, Carlos’s rifle barked in rapid succession, muzzle flash strobing gold as bullets tore through the zombie’s torso with precision, punching holes through decayed flesh. Even after its legs had been chewed to ruin by earlier blasts and it collapsed in a ruin of twitching limbs, he kept firing, needing to make absolutely certain it would never rise again. By the time he released the trigger, the corpse was little more than a sagging sack of perforated meat.
He had leaned close then, breath hot against your ear. “Reload faster next time,” he’d murmured, voice almost gentle despite the carnage at your feet.
You had told him to go to hell and he laughed, low and pleased.
Now, as you crossed the courtyard, you caught the faint scrape of movement near the main entrance. A uniformed R.P.D. officer stumbled into view, clutching at his bleeding torso while a zombie clung to him, teeth buried deep. The officer shouted hoarsely, desperation cracking his voice as he slammed the butt of his handgun into the creature’s skull. He managed to shove it away long enough to stagger through the front doors, leaving a smear of blood across the stone.
You raised your rifle, tracking the infected as it lurched after him, but before you could squeeze the trigger a sharp burst of gunfire erupted from behind and the zombie’s chest snapped back, red mist blooming from impact points as bullets stitched up its torso and into its ruined face.
It collapsed with a wet thud, skull splitting open as you turned to see Carlos lowering his rifle, faint smoke curling from the barrel.
He winked at you, quick and shameless even when you scoffed, trying to ignore how your stomach flipped.
Hating deeply the thought of actually giving in to his stubborn advances.
Tyrell was already at the doors. “Locked,” he muttered, fingers flying over it. “Give me a second.”
Carlos drifted closer to you that his shoulder brushed yours again.
The doors clicked open and you immediately went to step inside, R.P.D.’s lobby unfolding in solemn, aching grandeur. A massive statue of a goddess holding scales and a sword, stone worn smooth by time. The marble floors were scuffed and smeared with drying blood, warm lamplight still glowed from wall sconces, casting honeyed light over dark wood paneling and the grand staircase that split into two sweeping arms on either side of the statue before meeting again at the second-floor balcony.
It was beautiful in a way that made your chest ache, civilization frozen mid-collapse.
Tyrell headed straight for the computer near the front desk, Carlos trailing after him for a moment as you peeled away toward the east hallway, moving past the reception area, boots echoing against marble, senses stretched thin.
From somewhere deeper in the building came muffled cracks of gunfire, rapid and panicked, followed by a strangled shout.
Pivoting toward the sound down the corridor to a closed door, handle rattling under your grip before you managed to force it open, stepping immediately to the side of the frame, rifle raised as you peeked in.
A police officer was being dragged backward across the floor, as a grotesque, pallid creature clung to the ceiling above him, elongated tongue lashing out, wrapped tight around his neck and reeling him in with horrifying strength.
His screams devolved into wet gurgles as blood bubbled from his mouth and in seconds he vanished on the other side of the hallway.
You stepped fully inside, heart hammering, scanning for movement before a thunderous crash exploded behind.
Spinning just in time to see a tall metal wardrobe topple over, slamming down across the doorway with bone-rattling force, dust billowing up.
On the other side, fists pounded immediately against the barrier. “Hey!” Carlos’s voice, sharp and edged with something raw. “Open this door!”
Had he been right behind you all along?
“I’m fine!” you shouted back, already bracing your shoulder against the fallen wardrobe, shoving hard, muscles straining, but the thing did not budge more than a fraction of an inch. “It’s stuck!”
“Move back!” he barked and you could hear the impact of his body hitting the door, once and twice, wood groaning under the force. “Are you hurt? Tell me!”
“I said I’m fine!”
The noise had drawn attention as, from the far hallway, came low, guttural moans, drawn-out and hungry sounds joined by the rasp of dragging feet along broken shrieks.
Carlos hit the door again, harder this time. “Damn it!”
You stepped away from the wardrobe, raising your rifle as the first zombie staggered into clear sight, jaw hanging at an impossible angle. Squeezing the trigger as the shot cracked inside the hallway, recoil firm against your shoulder as three bullets punched clean through its forehead and it dropped instantly.
More poured in behind it, gunfire roaring from your rifle in controlled bursts, brass casings clattering against tile as bodies jerked and fell. One lunged closer than the rest, fingers snagging briefly on your sleeve before you pivoted and fired point-blank into its skull, feeling the spray of warm gore across your cheek.
Every footstep you took in the hallway got cushioned by dust and the faint tack of drying blood while you moved through it with the deliberate economy of someone who had learned, very quickly, that panic was louder than any gunshot.
Aiming only at heads, no wasted rounds or panic spraying. One clean squeeze of the trigger and a skull snapped back with a hollow pop as the bullet punched through bone and gray matter, already shifting to the next target before the first body had even finished collapsing.
The muzzle flash strobed briefly against those narrow corridor’ walls, painting peeling paint and cracked bulletin boards in harsh white light, reaching the corner where you had seen the officer dragged away.
He hung suspended near the ceiling, body slack, a length of jagged metal shattered rebar from a collapsed ceiling fixture, had pierced clean through his jaw, pinning him grotesquely in place. Mouths frozen open around the metal, teeth cracked and bloodied.
A slow drip hit the tile beneath him while you exhaled through your nose, steadying yourself, scanning upward for movement because whatever had taken him was not something that shambled.
One zombie lurched into your peripheral vision and you sidestepped, not wanting to waste a bullet and instead pivoting around it, slamming the door shut behind you once stepping inside the room and throwing your weight against it just as the corpse crashed into the other side with a meaty thud.
Walkie talkie crackling to life in your vest pocket while the zombie outside began battering the door, wet groan vibrating through the frame.
“T,” you hissed once you yanked the walkie free and pressed the button, keeping your voice low but urgent. “T, you copy?”
Static answered first, a hiss and pop that made your pulse spike before a familiar voice cut through.
“Where are you?” Carlos, not Tyrell.
There was no teasing lilt in it now, tone urgent and tight, already riding the edge of anger. “Where are you? Are you hurt?”
In the background you could faintly hear Tyrell’s voice, even more distant and edged with static. “Carlos, relax, let him—”
A click of safety disengaging audible through the interference like he was preparing for something he could not see but already hated.
“Near the west office,” you replied. “There’s something nasty in here.”
A beat of silence before Tyrell’s voice returned, fuzzed by interference. “Something nasty? Alright. I’ll take a look at the cameras. Watch your six.”
The door creaked as wood began to splinter.
“Carlos—”
You heard Tyrell again, sharper now, but the warning was swallowed by a crash as the zombie finally burst through the weakened door, wood exploding inward in jagged shards. It came at you with a hungry groan, jaw working and cloudy eyes fixed on the warmth of your body.
Darting through the connecting door on the opposite wall, fumbling the handle open and spilling back into the main hallway, boots skidding slightly on blood-slick tile. Two more zombies had shuffled into view drawn by the noise and they turned toward you in eerie unison.
Rifle raised as the first shot took one cleanly through the forehead and it dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.
Shifting rapidly aim to the second, firing again but the bullet tore through its cheek instead of its skull, blowing out a chunk of rotted flesh but failing to penetrate fully, making it stagger away nonetheless.
The magazine was now empty and you realized it too late as the wounded zombie lunged, rotten hands slamming against your shoulders. The impact drove you back against the wall, smell of decay flooding your senses while its jaw worked frantically, teeth scraping uselessly against the reinforced plate of your bulletproof vest where the shoulder met neck.
The pressure of each bite attempt vibrated through fabric and into your bones, breath hot and fetid as it tried to chew through Kevlar.
After an hard shove with the help of the wall it toppled backward but another one was already there, fingers clawing for your throat. You dropped the useless rifle and grabbed both of its wrists mid-lunge, muscles straining as you held it inches from your neck. Its teeth snapped so close you felt the rush of air against your skin, saliva flecking your cheek.
Planting your boot against its midsection and kicking with all energies’ resources in your muscles and it flew backward, falling onto the floor. One arm twisted under it at an unnatural angle, bone jutting through gray skin, but it still writhed and tried to rise, broken hand clawing weakly at the air.
You pivoted to run and pain exploded at your ankle.
The first zombie you’d dropped had not been as dead as you thought. It had rolled and now its bloody mouth pressed against your lower leg, broken teeth grinding against the reinforced fabric of your tactical pants.
Licked it square in the temple, hard enough that its head snapped sideways and it went limp.
Once free all your muscles worked together to ran at the far end of the corridor where moonlight spilled in through a broken window, casting silver bars across the floor. Beyond it a narrow stairwell might lead to another floor with another chance to regroup.
You were three strides away when something cold and slick wrapped around your ankle.
It happened so fast your brain barely registered it before your body reacted, appendage coiling tight, muscular and sinuous as it yanked and caused your body to hit the ground hard, air blasting out of your lungs in a harsh whuff. The world tilted and you were dragged backward several feet before friction slowed you.
On the ceiling clung a nightmare, body lean and sinewy, muscles rippling beneath skin that looked flayed raw, every fiber exposed in wet, glistening red and yellow. No eyes adorned its elongated head; instead, a pulsing brain bulged obscenely where a skull should have been.
Its ribcage flared outward grotesquely, long and clawed forelimbs dug into the ceiling tiles with effortless strength, each talon curved and sharp enough to gut you in one swipe. Its mouth hung open in a vertical, lipless maw from which the whip-like tongue extended, corded with muscle and tip barbed but slick with saliva.
You scrambled for your boot, fingers fumbling for the knife sheathed there while the creature’s head tilted slightly before wrenching the knife free and slashing that tongue with a wet slice. Dark fluid sprayed on the floor while the creature screeched, tongue recoiling instantly and releasing you.
It dropped from the ceiling as you rolled to your feet just as it landed in a crouch, claws gouging deep furrows into the tile ready to pounce—
Gunfire erupted behind it, a storm of bullets tore into the creature’s back, ripping through exposed muscle in violent bursts. Its body jerked under the impacts, flesh shredding and chunks flying free in wet arcs.
Carlos advanced as he fired, CQBR braced firmly against his shoulder, face carved from fury and a blazing hatred that sharpened his features into something almost unrecognizable. Jaw clenched so tight a vein stood out along his neck, eyes locked onto the creature as he kept firing even after it collapsed, bullets punching through its already ruined body until the magazine ran dry and the rifle clicked empty.
If he hadn’t needed to reload, the look in his eyes suggested he might have kept going forever.
Now he let the smoking barrel dip slightly, chest rising and falling hard.
In three long strides he was at your side and his hand shot down, fingers wrapping around your upper arm in a grip that was firm enough to bruise, bicep flexing as he hauled you upright with little struggle, pulling you close enough that you felt the heat of him even through layers of gear.
“Move,” he ordered, voice rough and urgent as you stumbled once, still catching your breath, but he didn’t release his hold, steering you down the hall, boots pounding, until you reached the corner. You glanced back just long enough to see the two earlier zombies sprawled on the floor, skulls shattered open, dark pools spreading beneath them.
Carlos shoved open a door nearby those stairs and pushed you inside, following immediately and slamming it shut behind.
Only then did he let go.
You bent forward instinctively, both gloved hands braced on your knees as you sucked in air, lungs burning and heart hammering so hard it felt like it might crack your ribs from the inside.
Gradually, the silence settled.
Rows of metal lockers lined the walls, dented and streaked with grime. A faint hum from a flickering fluorescent light overhead cast the West Office in a sickly glow, shadows pooling in the corners.
“How did you find me?” You straightened slowly, turning to him.
His answer came immediately, sharp as a blade. “Why the fuck did y’ separate yourself from us the second we stepped inside this damn station?”
He was furious.
Not the playful irritation you were used to or a cocky and teasing remarks. His shoulders were rigid, chest heaving slightly, dark curls stuck to his forehead with sweat.
“I went to see where that cop was,” you said, trying to keep your tone steady. “I thought maybe I could help—”
“You went after someone you saw get bitten by a fucking zombie?” he snapped, stepping closer, free hand curling into a fist at his side, knuckles whitening under the glove.
There was a tremor under the anger, something darker.
He had almost lost you.
“We’re here for information on a vaccine. There’s still a chance he could have survived long enough to—” tried to fight back, what Umbrella did to this city was unforgivable.
“Were you bitten?” he cut in abruptly.
“What?” You frowned.
“Were. You. Bitten?” His gaze raked over you now, lingering on the dark smear across your back, blood soaking into the fabric of your pant leg.
“It’s not mine,” you said quickly. “They didn’t bite me.”
He stepped even closer.
“Strip,” he ordered.
“Are you serious?” You stared at him.
In one fluid motion he raised his rifle and aimed it squarely at your chest, safety clicking off with a decisive sound that echoed in the small room.
“I can’t bringing an infected back to the few survivors we have left,” he said, voice dangerously calm now, anger condensed into something colder. “So you’re gonna let me see for myself.”
Rifle of your own in that hallway, lying somewhere near the corpse of the creature that had nearly dragged you to your death.
His silence was flat and unflinching, carved out of anger he refused to voice.
Scoffing under your breath, irritation prickling hot along your ribs… and something else that bloomed because of his order. “Why can’t you just trust me?” you muttered, fingers already tugging harshly at the straps of your bulletproof vest.
Item soon peeled off your torso with a wet scrape, section near your side stained with that rotten smear of blood where the zombie’s teeth had scraped fabric. You threw the vest down at his feet, slap of heavy Kevlar on concrete loud in the cramped room.
“Good enough for you?” you bit out.
Carlos didn’t even glance at the vest. “Need t’ see skin,” he growled, voice low and steady. “Or you already forgot what we had t’ do back at the metro station?”
Your stomach twisted at the memory of your team having to put down a man who swore he wasn’t bitten.
Frustration punched out of you but your fingers still reached your waistband, lifting the side of your pants where the dried smear of blood clung to the fabric, baring the unbroken skin of your hip.
His eyes locked on it, relief flickering over his features before he strangled it dead, forcing his gaze back up to your face like he had to physically drag it away from the line of your exposed skin.
Fuck, the way he looked, even in anger, made something warm uncurl low in your stomach.
You didn’t think about it as your hands went to your shirt next, tugging it over your head and letting the sweat-slick fabric fall.
Turning than around, arms crossing over your chest as you showed him your back. Only sweat, strained muscles and a bruise blooming near the back of your collarbone where the zombie had tried to bite.
“Enough for you to stop pointing a rifle at me?”
Silence heavy as a held breath, cheeks burning and cock stirring inside your briefs, an embarrassing and involuntary throb you tried to ignore until the sudden clank of metal hitting concrete made your senses jump.
Rifle dropped and forgotten by his hands.
Two massive arms wrapped around your bare waist as Carlos hauled himself flush to your back, warmth searing into your exposed skin. His weight pressed, large and sturdy chest heaving against your spine as he stilled.
Face buried in the crook of your neck, stubble scraping that oversensitive spot just under your jaw while the hot exhale through his nose puffed on your face.
Your own body leaned back into him, unthinking and traitorous.
“Y’ scared the shit outta me,” he murmured, breath vibrating against your neck. “Door wasn’t budgin’ and all I heard were those fuckers makin’ noise with you trapped in there.”
“I had everything under control,” you shot back, though your voice wasn’t as sharp as you meant it to be. “I can fight. Don’t need you breathing down my neck all the damn time.”
Carlos chuckled. “I was gone for minutes, cariño. An’ you were ‘bout t’ get eaten by that ugly motherfucker.”
Opening your mouth ready to argue, the words died in your throat when something heavy and thick pressed against the curve of your ass through your pants, heat shooting down your spine so fast you swayed.
“Carlos…” you whispered and you weren’t sure whether it was a warning or a plea.
That only made it worse.
A rumble rolled out of his chest against your back. “Care so goddamn much ‘bout you,” he muttered, voice darkening. “An’ you keep runnin’ headfirst into shit without me.”
He rolled his hips forward, bulge straining against his pants grinding deeper between your cheeks, thick and demanding like it was furious at being contained.
It felt big enough to split you.
Your fingers twitched against his arms while his voice dropped to a husky whisper against your ear. “Hoping t’ show you why that’s a bad idea.”
His mouth trailed up your neck, dragging heat across your skin before he pressed slow, claiming kisses along your jaw, then your cheek.
The corner of your lips never fully touches, just stealing pieces of your breath. His hands slid down, cupping the bulge through your pants, squeezing enough to make you choke on a sound that wasn’t fully pleasure and fear.
Biceps of his arms swelling as he pulled you harder against him, ass grinding into the large shape of him.
“And what d’you think of that?” he murmured relentlessly as he rocked his tent into you, stubble scraping your cheek every time his lips brushed close.
You bit your lip, a tiny gasp escaping before you could swallow it and your hips tilted back on instinct.
When he felt your body answering him because words were too fragile and shy to come out, his breath hitched, groaning deep and satisfied.
Soon after your feet left the ground for a second as he manhandled you into the air and just as fast he moved you down in front of the scarred metal table, bending you over it so easily it stole your breath.
“Knew you were head over heels for me.” He rasped, leaning over your back.
You were about to snap something back in full denial but the words shredded in your throat as he ripped your pants down in one violent motion and cold air hit your bare ass.
The thick ridge of his cock still trapped in those pants got pressed between your cheeks with a massive weight, heat of it soaked straight into your spine.
“Hold still.” Large palm flattened between your shoulder blades, pinning you easily while the other hand worked his zipper, metallic rasp loud in your ear, followed by a wet sound of spit into his palm, slicking himself generously to let the blunt head of his cock nudge your entrance, already pushing without waiting.
“Carlos—”
A low growl behind you, as he pushed in, all oxygen in your lungs bursting out of you in a broken, strangled gasp as your body stretched around him, hole forced wider and wider until your muscles trembled. He bottomed out in one long, unstoppable thrust, hips pressing flush against your ass, pubic hair brushing your skin, coarse and warm.
“Fuck,” Carlos groaned, voice ragged. “Goddamn… you’re taking me so well.”
He stayed there for a moment, grinding in small circles to seat himself even deeper and you swore you felt him in your lungs, body fluttering helplessly around him, giving tiny spasms he felt all too clearly.
“Yeah… loosenin’ up for me already.” he murmured, leaning over you, chest heavy against your back.
Pulling out an inch before slamming back in, table jolting hard enough to scrape across the floor.
Your fingers clawed at metal, mouth dropping open but no sound came out while Carlos set a rhythm of deep thrusts that shoved the air from your chest each time he buried himself to the base, cock dragged along every nerve it made contact with (all of them), forcing sparks of pleasure to crackle up your spine no matter how hard you tried to fight the noise building in your throat.
The table creaked dangerously with each impact, body rocking forward and back helplessly on his length, large hand sliding from your back to your hip, gripping hard enough to bruise as he pulled you back onto him, doubling the force of every thrust.
Your vision blurred, knees shaking as his cock felt impossibly thick inside while he kept slamming your prostate that made your toes curl.
“Carlos—ah—Carlos—” while his hips kept snapping forward.
He fucked you harder and faster, every thrust pounding through you, breath hot against your neck, hairs on his chest slick with sweat.
You didn’t know whether you were moaning or choking, all you were capable of detecting was his weight and how your body clenched around him.
The table shuddered violently despite Carlos’ pace faltering only for a second as he groaned your name like it was torn from him, then he rammed back into you with renewed force.
“Gonna keep showin’ you—” he grunted and stopped for a fraction of a second as his hips slammed against your ass so hard the sound echoed, “—exactly why you don’t get t’ run off without me.”
His thrusts turned brutal, relentless, owning every inch inside you.
“An’ you’re gonna take every damn bit of it.” Carlos’ grip tightened on your hips, cock dragging out of you so slow your trembling hole clung to him desperately before he slammed back in with the same devastating force as before.
Metal legs of the table your body was bent over scraping inch by inch across the floor with every brutal rut of his hips.
Your breath broke on a sharp gasp, forehead pressing to the cold tabletop as heat pooled deep in your abdomen from every nerve inside lit up, pulsing around the thick length splitting you open, one massive hand taking hold of both of your wrists, yanking them together and hauling your arms behind your back.
Palm engulfing them completely, locking you in place as he slammed you down flush against the table, angle making you choke on a moan you couldn’t swallow.
“Stay right there,” he growled, breath burning against your ear, hips crashing into your ass.
The strain of your arms pinned behind only fed that dark coil of heat twisting under your ribs, cock throbbing against your stomach, leaking against the metal table.
Actually whimpering when his grip on your shoulder tightened, thumb pressing into the nape of your neck.
“Yeah. That’s it,” he growled in approval, hips snapping harder. “Y’ just needed someone t’ keep you in line.”
“You’re—fuck—Carlos, I—” He cut you off with a brutal drive of his cock that slammed your hips flush to his, air punched out of your lungs, cry muffled into the metal table and something inside him snapped.
His hips surged forward, plugging his thick shaft deeper and faster as your body shook violently with each slam of his cock, hand sliding from your shoulder to the back of your neck to keep you in place as he fucked you with ruthless and hungry rhythm.
Your vision blurred and when he angled his hips just slightly, climax was ripped through you so violently you nearly screamed, body convulsing under him, cum spilling hard onto the table in thick, hot ropes as your hole spasmed uncontrollably around his cock.
Carlos groaned deep as you drove him right over the edge.
“Oh, fuck—fuck—” He slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his entire body shuddered, large cock flooding you with thick, hot spurts of cum that you felt spill deeper with each involuntary jerk of his hips.
He held you pinned while he emptied himself.
Carlos didn’t let you go right away, chest still pressed to your back, breath hot and uneven against your flushed flesh, stubble scraping lightly against the side of your neck as he leaned forward, forehead pressing between your shoulder blades.
The fluorescent light overhead buzzed faintly, somewhere distant a zombie moaned low and aimless.
“You drive me insane, you know that?” He muttered, voice rougher now, less bite and more breath.
Your arms slid free when he finally released them, but you didn’t move away, metal table cool under your palms, grounding you in a way that kept your pulse from running wild again.
“You’re the one who pulled a rifle on me,” you shot back, though it lacked its usual sting while he let out a soft, humorless huff against your skin.
That made you finally turn your head.
He’d stepped back just enough for you to see him, sweat-dark curls stuck to his forehead.
Eyes back to playful and calm, no longer murder fueled.
Tyrell’s voice crackled faintly over the radio clipped to Carlos’s vest. “You two alive in there? I’ve got movement on the east wing. And, uh… try not to wreck the entire west office, yeah?”
Carlos rolled his eyes skyward. “We’re good,” he called back, voice steady again, slipping into that easy bravado like a jacket. “You worry ‘bout the cameras, I’ll handle my noivo.”
You reached down, grabbing your shirt from the floor, pulling it back over your head. He watched you the whole time, gaze dragging slow and possessively admiring a mark left by his big hand on your waist.
When you stepped close to retrieve your vest, he bent first, scooping it up before you could.
“Turn around,” he said.
You arched a brow.
“Don’t start,” that old grin creeping back.
You did and he slid the vest back over your shoulders, hands firm but careful as he adjusted the straps. fingers brushed along your sides, lingering a second longer than necessary before tightening everything into place.
“There,” he muttered. “Back to bulletproof.”
“Mostly.”
He stepped around you until you were face to face again.
“Listen to me,” he said, serious now. “We finish this mission. We get Bard and that vaccine info, than we get the hell outta this city.”
“And then what?” you asked.
“Then,” he said slowly, shit-eating grin handsome and affecting your thoughts, “we find somewhere that ain’t tryin’ to eat us. Quiet and lonely.”
