Complaint
Fandom: Narcos (Narcos Masterlist) Pairing: Horacio Carrillo x Reader Rating: M Word Count: 3.9k words Summary: Carlos Holguín School was a special police base, but when someone as familiar as she is beautiful walks in with a complaint out of Major Horacio Carrillo's jurisdiction, he can't help but aid. Warnings: Pretending that cops are good, uniform, uniform kink, smut obv, desk sex, office sex, drinking and smoking bc narcos, cum eating, like 1 ruined almost orgasm, no beta we die like horacio carrillo, he stays alive here though don't worry A/N: I don't know what came over me. I rewatched Narcos to get back into writing Javier Peña fics. I have so many that are like 500 words short of completion. And then this guy grabbed my attention? Carrillo is a Major in this fic, not yet the Colonel we know and love (and hate). Oh and if you guys like this character, you should all check out Olive Branches. It hasn't been updated in eons but it's so worth it and expand upon his character so well. The characterization and writing are soooo on point and I'd say even if you don't care for this character, you should read it bc is just that damn good.
The street falls silent as soon as you shut the door to your car. You lock it, check if you did and check again. It was a safe neighborhood with constant police presence, but you were you and marrying a man in a profession known for paranoid men didn't really help. One of his men nodded to you, holding up a coffee as though asking if you wanted a cup. Like you weren’t already too keyed up to sleep. You gave him a polite smile, shook your head and continued on into the Carlos Holguin base.
The click-clack of your shoes should have announced your arrival, but he sat unaffected, drowning in bourbon and endless hours of tape recordings. While he was as handsome as ever, you could see even in the dim lighting, the toll the work was taking on him. He didn’t let his men see it. But you could. When he came home, his gait as familiar as his heartbeats, boots heavy on the ground to relieve the pressure on your chest, it was on your lap that he laid his head, to your thighs he whispered the frustrations of the day.
Medellín stayed oblivious to the fire that had already been ignited, but your Major was already at the helm, putting out small sections, delaying the inevitable engulfing of the city. The country. All you asked was for it to not devour him whole.
You shut the door behind you. His officers didn’t need to know more than they already did. When your shadow hit his papers as he took down notes, he finally noticed and looked up with a weary smile.
He took his headset off, look down at his wristwatch and asked, “What are you doing here?”
“What would a woman be doing at a police base at this hour?”
He tilted his head up in a questioning motion, an eyebrow raised as he awaited your explanation.
“I’m here to make a complaint.”
He put his cigarette out and leaned back on his chair, his eyes trailing down your body like he’d never seen you before. Like he hadn’t snuck a hand under that very red skirt at the breakfast table and began your day with his fingers. “Sí, Señora.”
“Have you no shame? Looking at a married woman like that?”
You caught his lip curving upward so slightly you wouldn’t have caught him smile if it weren’t for his dimple. Pulling the corners of his lips down to conceal it, he cleared his throat, a mask of professionalism taking over as he gave in to your game. “Apologies.” Bringing his pen to paper, he said, “I can take your complaint.”
“My husband is missing.”
He raised an eyebrow, an amused smile peeking out in the dark before hiding away in the shadows of his act. “Señora… This is not a regular police station. We’re a specialized anti narcotics unit. I can only take the complaint if you believe your husband is somehow involved.”
“Oh he’s involved alright,” you said, crossing the line to the back of the desk where he sat. His gaze trailed up your body, caressed your neck and slipped behind you, no doubt checking if the door was shut. Cautious. Despite knowing you always shut the door if you came to him so late at night.
He placed a hand on the back of your leg and stroked up and down before settling under your skirt, behind your knee. You stumbled slightly as he pulled you close but he reached out with his other hand and stabilized you by your hip. The hand behind your knee stayed, tracing shapes with his thumb.
“When did you last see him?”
“In the morning.”
“This morning? Have you called his office? It could be a busy day. It’s too early to report him as missing.” He said, pulling you closer until you had no space.
“Well, I miss him,” you said as you climbed into his lap, making his lips curve up and his dimples make an appearance in a full smile rare to the four walls around him.
He held you in place with a hand on your ass and you leaned close, taking his collar between your fingers. The silver pistols crossed at the barrels shone under his desklight. One of the few shiny things about his job. “There’s no point calling him anyway. His job keeps him on the move. He’s never in one place. Doesn’t come home for dinner. Doesn’t take me out dancing. Skirts his marital duties.”
“He performed his duties within the last twenty four hours, I’m sure,” he said, recalling how he fingered you at the breakfast table.
“It wasn’t sufficient.”
“That wasn’t your complaint. You said he skirts his marital duties. Now you admit that he performed them and you simply found it insufficient. Can you expect me to believe a word you say?”
“Major…Carrillo,” you said, running a finger over the golden yellow embroidery on his name on his chest. Used it as an excuse to grope his chest, broad and strong beneath you. “Will you accept if your men had hair a millimeter longer than permissible? If they clocked in a minute late? I expect perfection.”
“Perfect woman like you…you have every reason to expect perfection.”
“Help me then.”
“Your grievances don’t fall under our jurisdiction. There is no law against a man insufficiently performing his martial duties. Barely any way to prove it. As you very well know.”
“So I took this trip to the base for nothing?”
“You know the law, Señora…”
“Do you need the law to tell you you should help a woman in need?”
“A woman in need,” he said, slipping a hand between your legs and separating them. “How could I say no?” His hand crept up, free to explore your bare skin as you’d ditched your pantyhose in the hopes that he was in his office.
“What does your husband look like?”
“Quite handsome.”
He pinches your thigh, making you yelp. “Am I supposed to grab every handsome man on the street for you? Be serious.”
“Reasonably tall. About 5 foot 9. Muscular. Hairy arms,” you said, giving his arm a squeeze before caressing it. It’d been so long since he held you in one of those arms as he fucked into you. The situation was so dire you got jealous seeing him put some thug on chokehold when you drove by a scene.
“Can’t even wrap both my hands around his biceps,” you said, giving it a squeeze. You traveled from his arm up his neck, stopping right under his hairline, mapping with your thumb the mole you knew was there. “He has a mole right there. I always kissed it. When he was home at least. Short cropped hair, but when he’s too busy to get it cut, it curls here in the front.”
As it did now. You curled his hair between your fingers and he tugged it away, entwined them with his. Eyes that’d seen things too horrific to bring home gazed at you with such tenderness, you couldn’t believe any of the stories he’d told you about himself. How many men took their last breaths under his gaze? How many yet would know when his eyes found them that they'd already kissed their families goodbye for the final time.
Horacio brought your fingers to his lips. Each kiss he pressed to your fingers unlaced the heartstrings taut from the ache of missing him.
Lowering yourself, you kissed him behind his ear. When you returned, the tip of your nose tracing your journey back to facing him, he was stiff as the steel nerved man everyone knew him to be. Only you could detect a softness about it, in the relaxation of his facial muscles, in the warmth in his eyes that betrayed his heart.
Thick fingers carded through your hair, his thumb resting on your cheek as he held your face. When his lips met yours, it wasn’t the quick kiss goodbye before the two of you rushed off to work accompanied by a love you so routine there was never time to feel it seep into your bones. None of the searing hot passion of kisses that splayed your soul apart as he consumed you whole. It was light, every soft press of his lips a whispered apology for the late nights and broken promises. A reminder both to himself and to you that this would always be there to fall back on when either of you stumbled in the darkness of the world. Chaste as the very first but alluding to more as he traveled down your neck.
The hand on your thigh moved, pushing your skirt up to your waist and moving your leg to rest on the table. You kicked your shoe off and it clattered onto the floor, announcing the beginning of a satisfying night. When he returned, it was to your cunt, wet and yearning with the memory of his last touch.
He twitches under you, the evidence of his desire soothing a body afflicted by neglect.
You palmed him in your hand, thick and ready for you, eliciting a shuddered breath. “Horacio… I need you.”
“Patience, my love…”
He unbuttoned your jacket and you complied as he took it off. Hoisting you up the table, he draped your jacket carefully on the back of his chair, something stirring deep in your belly at the sight of your clothing in his space. Soft, bright, and out of place in the dark, impersonal space. He took your ankle in hand, circling his thumb around it before taking your other shoe off. Bending to pick its partner, he set it aside on the floor together.
A disappointed sigh left you as he walked away, across the bullpen and to a corner with a sink. How considerate of your health… He washed his hands under the water, thorough as a priest purifying his hands before undertaking anything holy. He wouldn’t touch you with hands that maimed and tortured, held guns that created widows and orphans who would have to go on without the embrace of the evil men he took off the streets. A futile act, you once reminded him. No cleaning would separate his sins from yours and if he was condemned to hell, so was the body that loved him despite it. For it. In the early days, he wouldn’t even visit you in uniform. But as he climbed the ranks and work came home, he relented, allowing home to come to work.
Your purse which you’d discarded by his desk went up on the visitor’s chair. He unzipped it, retrieved a condom and placed it on his desk, the right angle of the packet aligning with the corner of his.
“I’m back on the pill,” you informed him, laughing at his boyish grin. He took the, between this fingers and tossed it expertly at the bin, his aim perfect. You rolled your eyes. Show off. But you wouldn’t call him out on it. It was a lot like the little things he did when courting you, a newly minted Sub-Lieutenant, all smiles and wearing his righteous heart on his uniform sleeve for you.
Then came his fatigues, holding his rank, identity, blood clinging on to the olive green fibers perfect to conceal acts that would never wash off. Many days, you smelled it on him. That night it was absent, only the earthiness of tobacco and boozy allure of alcohol blending with the intoxicating smell of Horacio Carrillo. He hadn’t seen violence that day, but it was no indication that it was a good day. Stuck behind a desk listening to wiretaps of betrayals from his own men was often worse.
It should’ve annoyed you— watching him hang his shirt and fold his undershirt, place his watch and service weapon in his drawer and move the cassette player and papers from his desk to someone else’s. All when you were waiting for him with legs wide open. But you found yourself pressing your thighs together, the sight of your man setting things straight with military precision arousing anticipation in you for how he would take you apart.
Stood in front of you, naked from the waist up, he unbuttoned your shirt. He picked you up off his desk with an arm around your back. You cooperated and he slid your skirt and panties off, leaving you spread on his desk, waiting as he gave your clothing the same treatment. While he folded them, you hurled your bra at him, mixing a pinch of chaos in his order. With a smile, he folded it too.
“I wasn’t enough this morning?” He asked, gripping your jaw, firm yet caring. Your lips parted as he sought entrance, cunt gushing anew as your imagination replaced his thick probing fingers with the metal of his double barreled pistol.
You shook your head in denial, gagging as the tips of his fingers reached the back of your throat. Core burning with need for him, you would’ve taken him anywhere. On your knees on the cold, hard floor for him to sink down to the hilt in your throat. Bent over the desk for him to ram himself into you from behind, making you scream his name loud enough for his officers to hear.
“What do you need then?” He asked, releasing you. A string of your saliva snapped as he pulled back, draping itself from your lips to chin. Wet fingers parted your folds, entering with none of the hurry of that morning. Your hand squeezed around his shoulder, feeling the muscles move under you as he teased your pussy.
Words insufficient and too cowardly to face him, you grabbed his cock through his pants. His fingers wouldn’t suffice, as adept as they were at curling into the most sensitive parts of you. You needed his cock to stretch you open and fill you up, claim all of you without the threat of the clock or a phone call.
“It’s been a busy week.” Lips soft and trembling, he kissed you, every breath an apology, afraid to leave your lips lest you reject his argument. Reject him.
He brought a hand to your lower back and hauled you to the edge of the table. A sob escaped you as he entered, his sharp nose and dark hair blurring as tears pooled in your eyes. A dull burn as stretched around him served as penance for going as long as you did without him. No penalties whatsoever for the man who left you wanting, it accepted him readily, walls wrapping around him, clinging on to every inch he gave.
He rubbed your clit in gentle circles of his thumb, kisses traveling down your neck with the end of each sentence. “You should know. I want to be home more. Make love to you everyday. I think of you every night. So blissfully asleep without me by the time I come home.”
“You should’ve woken me up,” you said, your hand combing through his hair, nails teasing his scalp how he liked it when he found himself pressed between your thighs.
“You always look so peaceful without me.”
You shook your head no, voice catching in your throat at the hurtful words. How could you be peaceful when every morning began with him lacing his boots up for battle and every night ended in a perfectly made bed void of any evidence he’d lied there before.
“I miss you,” you managed to say through the anguish tightening around your throat.
He echoed the words, slow and deliberate, heavy with the guilt of a man who valued actions over words. You knew with the desperation in his eyes that it wasn’t enough for him. But you would take it, if words were all you could have for then. The war had barely begun. There would be more such weeks, worse weeks of missing him, wondering if he would return. The knowledge didn’t make the hurt any duller or the reunion less sweet.
Locking your legs behind him, you pulled him flush against you, gasping as you forced the rest of his length in. It was the closest you’d been in ages and you weren’t going to let go of him.
“I’m not peaceful without you, mi amor.”
Eyes softened, his lips parted and he nodded as he took your words in. Keeping your worries trapped in your heart was for his benefit, so he’d have one less thing to worry about. Not so he’d think his absence was desirable in any way.
You held him in your hands and pressed your forehead to his. Eyes closed, he rocked into you slowly, savoring every second he had you wrapped around him. It was almost painful, craving the fullness of having him buried in you while resenting the growing emptiness of his withdrawal, your walls clenching tight to keep him all in yet desperate for the maddening friction of his cock in your wet heat.
You wanted to see his eyes, but it felt wrong to disturb his peace. Horacio wasn’t too vocal, as quiet in bed as he was anywhere else. But he always matched what you gave. This time you matched him in his silence.
The skin by his eyes crinkled, his breath heavy as he savored you, he was a vision of how much he loved you. You combed your fingers through his hair and he let out a shaky breath, warming your skin.
“I miss you. Everyday. Every night,” you said, pressing sweet kisses to his face. “I miss this. Miss having dinner together. Waking up in your arms.”
His next kiss was more desperate and he drank in your moans. Sustained himself with your confessions to power himself through another tough week. Every swipe of his tongue is a plea for forgiveness, understanding. He wouldn’t vow to do better, you knew that. It wasn’t like him to make promises he couldn’t keep. Not to you, not to the mothers who sent their boys to serve under his command. A broken promise was a sin worse than neglect in his books.
Hands grabbed you all over, reclaiming every inch of skin that languished in their cold bed, desperate for the burn of his skin against it. Ass, thighs, breasts, hips— like he needed everything but was undecided on where he’d rather be. He finally landed on your hip and your breast, his grip so strong that it shouldn’t be considered gentle. In the unhurried thrusts, in brown eyes gazing with an intensity that could burn, you found a longing that made the objective sin of taking you at his desk something more pure.
He angled your hip downward, his fingers digging deep and painfully into your hip and making his cock hit a magical place in you that you couldn’t make sense if the guttural cry that left you was from pain or pleasure. You fell back on his desk, your head hanging off the edge, grateful that he cleared it off for this.
His tip grazed against the soft spot over and over, reliably extracting a broken cry with each thrust. Your eyes bored into the flag behind his desk, the bright colors blending together in the tears he drew from his passion. Legs shaking around his wide frame, arms sprawled out and head dangling off his desk, you surrender yourself completely to his care.
Yielding yourself comes with a reward, the colors of the flag turning black as you became nothing but the waves of pleasure he drove into you. You lay limp, the only sign of life your fluttering walls and shaking thighs and the choked whimpers he forced out of you each time he bottomed out.
Walls fluttering around his cock, he pulls you up and secured you to the solid mass of his chest. So close to him is when you heard him, his grunts and praises, sweet words whispered into your ears. He pressed his lips to the side of your neck, his breath, hot and labored, licking your skin. A few more pumps of his cock and he filled you up, his warm release leaking out of you as he stayed buried in you.
“Shit… Might not need my husband after all. The local police are sooo helpful.”
He laughs a real laugh, free and unburdened, before pressing a kiss to your temple. “Mmm… We may never find him,” he said, letting you slink down his desk. Spinning you around, he grabbed a handful of your ass before giving it a playful smack that made you giggle. As he collected your neatly folded clothes from the shelf nearby, an idea brightened your face in a grin. When he turned back around, you were in nothing but your shoes, the height letting you bend over his desk tantalizingly. You knew he’d seen you when you heard a soft gasp.
“I’m not in my twenties anymore, darling,” he said, fingers plunging deep, pushing his cum back inside you.
“Am I still not sufficient?” He asked, pumping his fingers inside you and you shook your head.
“Greedy woman,” he said sweetly, bringing his fingers up between your lips to feed you his cum. You moaned around his fingers, shuddering at the desecration of his workplace. The guards who were stationed outside, who patrolled the base in the dark of the night…they might have heard you. The boys who came by to get orders and signatures for whom you made coffee because their leader was kind and you were nothing if not a supportive wife…they might’ve heard their boss fuck dirty little noises out of you they never knew a man could draw from a woman.
“It’s been long, Horacio… You can’t just have me on your desk and think you’ve repaid your debts.”
“Oh, there’s debt now?” He asked, slipping his fingers back in and curling them in the right spot. You gripped the edge of his desk, too sensitive from your session to handle his penetrating fingers. You leaned back against him, his solid chest holding you steady as he repaid his debts.
“Mmm…”
He brought you closer and closer, his expert fingers coaxing little pleasures out of you. You tensed, sensing a weak conclusion to the short build up and right as you did, he condemned you to emptiness, withdrawing his fingers and wiping them on your ass before delivering a slap.
“Horacio!” You complained, turning around to see a smug smile.
“What? I didn’t want to be insufficient.”
He grabbed your panties and helped you put them on before following up with your bra. “Is your ego bruised, Major?”
He scoffed as he dressed you the rest of the way, the act more intimate than his disrobing you. “You called me insufficient.”
“I need more than 5 minutes of your fingers at the breakfast table.”
You watched him get dressed, enjoying the sight you often didn’t get to see in the early morning hurry preparing for your workday. “I mean, if you’re complaining I can go find someone else.”
“Like hell you will,” he said, pressing a kiss to your lips when he returned to your side. You straightened out his badge and pins though there was no one to see their neatness. They weren’t even askew but you liked touching the pieces of metal he wore proudly, liked that this uniformed man was yours even in uniform, toiling away at hours stolen from what was meant to be your time together.
“Home?” You asked, hoping the tilt of your head and the sweetness of your voice would be enough to get you a night nuzzled into his warmth.
“Home.”
