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You should explore hubby Javi’s lactation kink more in your fic. Just saying… 😈

Weekend Off

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A/N: Here to add fuel to the lactation kink javi fire. I hope you enjoy this because my writing has been activated again after a long period of not really being as passionate about it as I was. I feel like it’s reflected in this piece, the fact that passion is coming back after I started reading books again.

Summary: Javier plans a weekend off to make sure that he puts baby 4.0 in you.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18, mdni, domestic, humor, fluff, longing, filth, lactation kink, morning sex, married life, baby-making, breeding, f!masturbation, finger sucking, grinding, deep and intense piv, biting, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names, creampie, pillow talk, aftercare

Word count: 4.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72491391

Weekend Off

A couple of nights ago, Javier promised, albeit half-asleep, that he would find the time to drop the kids off at Chucho’s. He added that he would make up a plausible excuse when, in reality, the motive behind getting you all to himself is an attempt to get a head start on Project Baby 4.0.

Today, when you wake up, the large house is completely quiet in an eerie way that any parent wouldn’t trust at first. He must’ve slipped out of bed in the early hours of the morning to get the kids dropped off, shushing and rushing to not disturb you, before collapsing back into bed with the sheets still warm.

You glance at the clock on your nightstand. 9:21 AM, the sun is already dancing on the curtains and casting a single stripe through them. It’s almost like everything is holding its breath, the stillness buzzing in your ears until you start to worry that one small creak of the floorboards will send Inés bounding down the hall to say good morning.

You carefully roll onto your side to check on Javier’s side of the bed. He is asleep face down next to you, his face smushed into the pillow to the point where it muffles his soft snoring. You want to wake him up for a kiss or maybe even a first round, but there’s still that hesitation within you.

What if making your presence known causes Sebastian’s cries to travel from down the hall? You blame it on only just waking up, getting used to being awake; Seb isn’t here. Logic hasn’t passed through your groggy mind yet.

It seems that logic has also avoided your body. You only think about baby Seb calling for you, letting out a series of whimpers and complaints that border just on an unhappy wail, before it sets the taps running.

Let-down starts to trickle down your chest. You feel the warmth of the leak seep into the cotton of your tank top, slowly spreading out until the dampness makes it see-through and cool.

You groan quietly in frustration from the tingling that it brings, not to mention the mess. You don’t feel ready to get up and deal with it, covering your chest with your forearm to slow down the steady flow.

Beside you, Javier starts to stir by instinct. His breathing changes to something more superficial before he does a quick intake of air and wakes up. His arm automatically reaches out, searching for you in his foggy state. His brow furrows when your arm isn’t by your side as usual.

“Mi amor (my love),” he says gruffly while rubbing his eye with his other hand, his voice still laced with sleep, “You okay?”

“I missed the morning shift,” you lift your arm and reveal the mess on the front of your top, only now realizing how milk-heavy your breasts are because of the ache the pressure has caused, “Should’ve gotten up to pump when you were sending them out the door.”

Javier’s gaze lazily travels down to your chest in sleepy confusion. A second later, he blinks up at you again with darker eyes after realizing what you’re referring to. He looks very awake all of a sudden, seemingly stuck between being the understanding husband and the husband who desires his wife first thing in the morning.

“C’mere,” he murmurs in an attempt to be both. There are butterflies in your whole body.

You shuffle closer as he does, meeting him halfway on the bed. He leans over you with an arm braced above your head and his hand cupping the curve of your waist. The kiss isn’t rushed now that you have the chance to take your time. It is relaxed with no worries about a kid or two barging in while you’re softly sighing against his lips like he is touching you everywhere.

The heat comes after he parts your lips to lick into your mouth, electric desire pooling low in your belly. You should care about your morning breath, but you don’t because he’s just as messy with sleep as you, and he is Javier. He is yours. You want him either way.

When he slowly starts to ease the spaghetti straps off your shoulders, you feel your body respond quickly. There may be no baby in the house at this moment, but with how full your breasts are, the mere routine of exposing your chest in the morning triggers another steady flow of milk.

The fabric of your top peels off your nipples with a near-obscene sound. Javier draws back to look down, swearing softly under his breath as a bead of foremilk trickles down over your chest.

“Javi,” you warn him as his hand travels from your waist up your torso. It settles just beneath the swell of your breast, and you notice that you’re leaking on him, “I’m—“

“I know. Don’t care,” he announces as his gaze hungrily tracks the next few droplets that follow a path to your belly button. He dares lean down to trace the streak with his tongue, the act so filthy it makes you throb between your legs.

He finds your lips once more for another kiss, the taste sweet like you have just bitten into a piece of honeydew. You cup the back of his head with fingers in his hair, moaning softly into his mouth.

“Gotta change the sheets later anyway,” he murmurs roughly into your mouth and cups your whole breast with his warm hand. He doesn’t squeeze hard but rather gently presses from the edge to the center to make a generous amount of milk spill over his fingers.

“Christ, mami,” he says in a low voice, filled with awe. He squeezes again, creating tiny river patterns down your chest and belly.

You gasp at the sensation, the way it relieves some of the pressure in your breasts. The milk, coloured like porcelain, is warm against your already heated skin, sweet-scented in the air. Your hungry husband doesn’t waste his time, dipping down to your chest again to clean up the mess he’s made.

He carefully squeezes again, and another trickle of milk immediately answers him. You shiver in anticipation when his mouth hovers teasingly over your nipple for a moment before covering it completely. The sight is so sinful that you can feel your whole pelvic floor tug deliciously, a rush flowing down between your legs.

Javier is just as affected. He drinks like a man starved of you, deprived of water, and you can feel his cock press against your thigh. He was half-hard from sleep moments ago, but now, he feels rock-hard, not sleepy at all.

“Oh God,” your voice trembles, your gaze fixed on his dark curls. The sleep-heavy pleasure in your body almost makes you tear up. He glances up at you, sporting a filthy grin while moving to the other side.

“You’re getting me worked up here,” he tells you with milk lewdly staining his lips white. There’s a roll of his hips against your body, almost like he is doing it subconsciously because he just can’t help himself.

“Really? I’m getting you worked up?” You huff out a breathless laugh at the ceiling. He hums like it’s obvious, closes his mouth around this nipple too, and gives it a slow pull of his mouth. There’s a practiced swiping press of his thumb, one that would tell anyone that he’s done this before.

“Well, if you’re that into this…” He taunts without being cruel, the cocky, desiring husband, briefly having won over the understanding one. He grinds against your thigh again in a way that makes your toes curl, “Then maybe you should touch yourself.”

Your cheeks heat, up but there’s not a bone in your body telling you to protest. You follow through, doing what you’re told by sliding both hands into your panties. You feel the fabric drag against your knuckles as you circle your clit, finding a rhythm, and your breathy chuckle turns into a needy whine.

The way your belly does a somersault is different now. It’s not only from feeling him worshipping your body until milk dots the sheets beneath you; it’s also because you know that this isn’t just playtime away from the kids. Instead, it is deliberate and purposeful, like Javier wants you soaked enough for him to go deep, to make good on his promise of baby number four.

“Good girl,” he praises, and it’s enough to make your hips tilt, desperately seeking out your hand on their own accord. You stuff yourself with two fingers, the noise slick and obscene as you curl them inside yourself repeatedly. Javier’s cock twitches in his boxers when he hears it mix with the sound of him suckling on your chest, a damp spot on the front of his underwear now dragging against you.

“Getting me worked up here,” he jokes shakily and pauses his tongue on your tender breasts. The milk flow doesn’t stop; instead simply begins pooling in your belly button.

“Well, if you’re that into this…” You joke back with a moan, finding yourself balancing on the edge in no time. Your jaw clenches while you hold back your orgasm, the denial making your heartbeat pound in your ribcage, “Then maybe you should fuck me.”

Javier’s breath hitches, the hand above your head curling in the sheets. He swears while his hips stutter, forcing them to still so he doesn’t lose all self-control. You don’t say it out loud, but there’s a warm, prideful sensation spreading out across your torso from the sight. It’s been a decade now, and he’s still so crazy about you. You still have this power over him, like the very sound of your voice can bring him to his knees.

“Take off your panties, baby,” he growls, teeth gritted as he slots between your thighs. He watches you do it, and you feel the power you claimed to possess just a second ago slipping into his hands. He has you in his grip just as much, you realize, because the command alone makes you gush messily into the thin fabric between your legs.

They stick to your skin as you peel them off. You throw them to the side, thinking they might as well go in the washer along with the sheets. Then you cup yourself for a moment of sinful relief, rubbing the ache until your fingers are wet again. Javier nearly loses his mind, another dark patch of precome blooming on the front of his underwear.

“Don’t have fun without me,” he notes while shoving his boxers off as you dip the digits into your cunt, trying to get a preview of where he will be shortly. Nothing could ever compare, but you’re so horny that milk is beading on your chest once again, and your fingers are nearly sticking together.

“Fun? I think you’re downplaying the gravity of this. We’re creating another human being,” you answer cockily but tweak your voice to something more whiny, scooting down on the mattress to open yourself more up for him. You keep your hands off your clit, afraid that a single touch might set everything off in this state.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he groans softly, crawling closer until you feel your bent knees touching his thighs, the coarse hairs deliciously rubbing your skin. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, red at the tip and jumping slightly in the air with every labored breath he takes. He squeezes around the base and says your name like a warning.

“What? Scared you’ll come before you’re inside me?” You tease him with a tiny moan, fully awake, and happy to push his buttons. Yet it only earns you a hand locked around your wrist, and everything in your lower belly clenches with burning heat.

Your fingers slip from your heat, making you gasp for breath. Javier leans forward on his free hand, hovering over you, but instead of that hazy, heated gaze you expect, he gives you a grin. It is boyish and hot, yet accompanied by the warm crow’s feet that you have seen develop around his eyes over the years.

“Fix that attitude, baby, or else,” he tells you, and guides himself into you. You both trail off because of how good it feels, the bickering forgotten quickly as he buries himself inch by inch. Like a reflex, your walls clench around him from the sting of the stretch. His forehead falls against yours, his breathing ragged already.

“Hi,” you breathe with a little laugh. You cup his face, but he turns his head to kiss your palm. He continues to your fingertips, circling in on the two that were just inside your cunt.

He takes them into his mouth. You push them slightly down onto his tongue until he groans in such a way that your veins feel like small electric currents, shocking you with desire. He stares into your eyes with heat behind them as he slips your fingers out again with a slow drag of his lips.

“Hola, mami,” he mutters with the same awe he always has during those first few moments, wicked and wanting, “You taste so good. Taste like mine. Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

You moan at his praises. If he wasn’t seated so deep inside of you already, you’re sure that the mere words would have made something pull taut in your belly and pushed you closer to the edge along with it.

“Say it again,” you beg quietly and cup his face once more to kiss him, trying to give him your most pleading voice. He starts a steady series of thrusts without being harsh, but the force behind them makes a groan rip from your throat with each one.

“You’re beautiful,” he repeats. The lack of hesitation gives you no time to breathe because he’s so earnest that you’re back to drowning in him a moment later. He kisses you again afterwards. There’s something so delicate about how he talks right into your stuttering breath with each meeting of lips, “So beautiful when you sound like that. It makes me stupid. No other woman for me.”

Your hand slides to the back of his neck. You hold him there as he drives into you over and over again, burying his face into your neck when kissing is no longer an option because none of you can breathe properly. He says your name, your nickname, your title - his wife - into your ear.

The first slam against your G-spot is actually by accident. It steals the breath from you both, but it makes stars appear on your eyelids. Your knees and thighs tighten around his rolling hips, and the sound that comes out of your mouth makes you happy to know that the rest of the house is empty.

“Hold it there,” you instruct firmly, but it’s only because you think you might be so desperate that losing that specific touch inside you would make you go mad, “Don’t stop!”

“I’m not stopping,” he promises against your ear, his voice strained. There are noises coming from him that match yours in desperation. He sounds like he needs to make them, or he’d be done for, and there’s no version of this where he leaves you with your heartbeat pounding between your legs.

His hips push into you until everything in your body tightens like a bowstring. His weight is on you in a way that feels unbelievably masculine, the mattress giving in and letting you sink deeper than normal. You can’t even see the ceiling anymore; every inch of your vision is nothing but him.

“Fuck,” you gasp on the brink. His chest is slick with milk and sweat, salty and sweet, his back covered in stripes because your arms hook beneath his so you can clutch at the broadness of him. Your nails dig, your moans pitch higher, “Javi.”

“I know,” he coos ever so softly despite the hard labor he is putting into this. He moans when you start to flutter around his cock, shivering beneath him just before the wave crashes.

You turn your head because even looking at his morning stubble feels like too much. Above you, his strong upper arm hovers like temptation. You plead for him to come closer, and he answers by crushing you with his weight.

Your nose pokes into his bicep. You think there might be a hint of his deodorant, but to your pleasant surprise, there’s nothing but the smell of him. Your body pulses with the ache of ovulation, ready to be filled to the brim but simultaneously feeling like a bottomless cup.

“Bite,” he orders into your cheek, but it’s not with the intent of being in control but rather with concern for you, “You’re tearing at the seams, baby, I can feel it. You need to get it out. Bite.”

You close your teeth around his salty skin and groan loudly because somehow you can feel everything so much more; the thickness and heaviness of him inside of you now that he’s just grinding, taking and giving you lazy inches in a steady rhythm. His bicep twitches in your mouth, his sounds transform into something louder and deeper in his chest.

“Come for me. I’m right here, mami, give it,” he whispers with his teeth scraping your jaw because he’s too lost in it to just kiss you. You hear his free hand release the sheets, traveling down your body until it slips beneath the small of your back. He scoops you up, sets you off with the first few slides of his lower belly against your slick clit.

It happens, and it isn’t pretty. The wave crashes overwhelmingly, and it sends you trembling off into a land of whitening pleasure, one that you will never want to lose again. You want to scream, but the flesh of his bicep is still in your mouth, so instead the noise tumbles down through your teeth and into his skin.

He holds you through it despite the need to let go too, keeps his thrusts right where you told him to, and because you asked him to do it before, he whispers breathless praises throughout it all, “Mi amor, mi vida. Gorgeous when you come for me, bebita. So fucking stunning and gorgeous and mine.”

You ride it out beneath him, thighs shaking, milk flowing freely, your eyes shining with tears as your cunt seizes around his dick because it knows exactly what it needs.

After a never-ending minute, your breathing switches from frantic gulps, caused by his weight preventing your lungs from fully filling up, to heavy intakes of air.

“Look at me,” you say when you finally unclamp your teeth from his arm. There’s a mark, reddish purple and deep, and you kiss it apologetically before the two of you find each other’s gaze, “Come in me.”

“We don’t have to rush, we have all day and—“

“Javier,” you interrupt him, shaking your head, “Now. I need it now. It’s this time, I can feel it.”

It’s the right choice of words. He takes what he needs afterwards, speeds up his pace, and barrels towards the border of the same land of euphoria you’ve just been in.

You lock your ankles around his calves, tipping your hips to open up even further and welcome what he gives. The gift of life, the most important thing you’ll ever have. His eyes look as honest as the day he married you; deep with longing and affection and love.

He comes hard at your command, his whole body stiffening for a second before he melts with a hoarse groan. You feel him settling inside of you, the very base of his length right against you. He shoots warmth into you, tipping over the edge with his whole body in a way that makes his eyes grow distant.

Your body answers him with a greedy grip around him, milking each warm drop where it needs to go. Yes, this might just be it, you think to yourself, we just made one more of us. He chuckles breathlessly like he can read your mind and agrees with what he’s found.

You don’t know how long you lie there, counting the beats of his heart against yours, but instinct tells you that everything is over when he draws in a breath to the very bottom of his lungs. You follow suit, reach up to stroke his shoulder, then up into the damp curls at the nape of his neck. Both of your bodies seem to be unaware that they’re allowed to relax again. Maybe it’s because you both know that everything is about to change again.

Time moves differently, slower, when it’s just the two of you. You always forget that it feels like that, but it just means that it always surprises you too. Pleasantly, achingly. It’s slow as you come down, slow as he softens, and slips out of you.

You make a noise at the loss of him. He coos like a husband, like a father who already has his newborn on his chest. Your body is in ruins, spent to the fullest, and trying to settle after the high intensity. Your thighs tremble in his presence, like they believe that his mere proximity means another push against your cervix.

He rolls off to give you some space, adds a kiss to his comforting until you sigh instead of whimper from the sting. You don’t have a clue whether the stickiness of everything stems from milk, sweat, or come. Perhaps it is all three at once, but the conclusion is the same nonetheless; you need a shower if not to clean up then only just to soothe the ache of really great sex. It hurts a little where he’s been for the last decade, enough to make you wince but with a smile.

“No,” he protests when you brace a hand on the mattress, so you can sit up for the first time today. He splays a hand across your belly to soothe. Your top still hangs around your waist, the straps curled around themselves, “Give the boys a minute. They just clocked in.”

You roll your eyes, but your husband just grins. It makes you laugh softly, a gush of white spilling down your inner thighs. Following it comes a familiar cramp, slowly unfolding beneath his palm until it reaches your sore hips. He breathes an ‘easy’ as if he’s taming a wild animal.

“It’s slipping,” you tell him.

“I got you,” he reassures.

Gently, he folds you up by lifting your legs to your chest, and the feeling of being full starts all over. You shift slightly to tip your pelvis, and another wave of becoming aware of your muscles hits you. There’s a mix between a moan and a strangled sigh falling from your mouth, and you hook your hands under your knees to hold yourself there,

The single stripe of sun has traveled a few inches further on the floor. Javier lets time pass, comfortable and soft enough around the edges to the point where he doesn’t need to say anything. Instead, he simply watches you with the same awestruck look in his eyes as the first time he ever tried for a baby with you.

You make sure that your legs don’t fall back down when you reach up to cup his cheek. He kisses your hand, nudges further into your palm, and you stroke your thumb along his cheekbone.

“Mamá of four,” he says, like it’s already true. That chat in the kitchen on Christmas morning plays in your head, the way he looked mad with baby fever.

“Suits me,” you smile and imagine a tiny hand curled around your finger, a milk-drunk newborn breathing heavily against Javier’s bare shoulder. Instantly, you feel the prickling sensation of more milk threatening to make a mess. You groan.

“¿Qué necesitas, mi amor (What do you need, my love)?” He asks, and you know that he’d do anything right now.

You say the first thing that comes to mind, in no state to reflect on anything deeper, “I need Connie’s lasagna from the freezer. Maybe a shower.”

He looks at you for a moment before huffing out a chuckle, the crow’s feet back around his eyes, “Right, yeah, of course. That tracks.”

“And garlic bread,” you add without thinking.

“It’s barely after ten,” he teases and kisses your palm again, this time repeatedly with sound effects until it’s ridiculous and you laugh, “You sure it’s what you want?”

You catch the double meaning. The answer doesn’t wait; nothing leads to hesitation in either scenario. You smile, certain to the very core, “Yes, exactly what I want.”

.

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