Thinking of spending summers in Frankie or Javi’s bed. Him finding you mostly nude and dozing under the sheets, blankets tossed half off since it’s the perfect temp with the window open and the fan going, wondering how he got so lucky. His calloused hand running gently up and over your hip, your ribs, admiring every dip and curve as he debates pulling the sheets up before stooping to kiss your bare shoulder, unable to resist.
hi nonnie. i have no idea when you sent this (forgive me my sins 🙏) but i just felt very inspired by this soft moment. so please have a small, roughly 1k drabble with javi 🥰
Javier doesn’t have women over in the afternoons, nor the mornings. Never has. Even with his few days off it’s just not a thing he’s ever done - to see someone anytime other than in the evenings has always felt too intimate, like he knows them. And they never stay - Javi’s gotten close before and it didn’t end well for either of them so it doesn’t happen now.
So the moment catches him off guard.
It’s not that Javi had forgotten you were there in his bedroom - far from it - but it’s a sight he hasn’t seen in a god-long time. A woman in his bed? At this time of day? The last time this happened must have been Loraine. That’s a thought that single-handedly hits him - the comparison of situations, the realisation that this is significant. But it’s unexpectedly soothed because it’s you.
On your side, curved into and holding his pillow as you doze, the view before him is a picture perfect scene of something gentle and soft and neither of those words are ones he often associates with himself. The sun coming through at just the right angle, it kisses your bare shoulders and slides down your curves. Bare from the waist up - it’s been a hot day - the bedsheets practically draped over and pooling around you and fuck you’re gorgeous. But he’s seen beautiful women in a shared bed before and that’s not what makes him move, the draw compellingly emotional as much as it is unconscious.
Before Javi knows what he’s doing he’s slipping quietly across the room and dipping the mattress with his weight. There’s a cross breeze here, between the open window - where the sounds of life are drifting up - and the old rickety fan (he stole from work) stacked precariously on a few books on his dresser. He smiles softly at the memory of you setting that up a few days ago. At the way you’d clambered out of bed and gone back and forth until the angle of the fan was just right. At the time he’d just snorted at your efforts, already resigned to the heat of the day burning off. But obviously it’d been worth it because now it’s dropped the temperature in the room enough for you to fall asleep in the day.
There was a time when Javi would have hesitated, the nature of his relationships so transactional he would never have touched without the other person being aware. Now he does it without thinking. Allows himself to touch you. But it’s not an instance of him bypassing your permission and that’s not what would have made him hesitate before, your relationship now at the stage where he feels more than comfortable touching. He allows by not holding himself back from the quiet moment scared he might ruin it. (Before he might not have even left the doorway.) But even more so, he allows by not holding himself back from how it’s making him feel and how scared he would have been with this feeling even half a year ago - he would have left the scene too scared if he set foot in it in case he'd ruin it for someone else because Javier Peña and domesticity do not have a strong past. But now? Now all he feels is slow and gentle waves of soft warmth. No heat, no pressing urgency to do something, or even to run away. It’s like being held even without your touch. A peace.
Javi’s calloused hand settles on your bare hip first, watching your face for any sign of waking. For a moment a small frown starts to form - a gentle furrow in your brow, your lips pressing together as some part of you registers the contact and tries to work it out. It fades easily as he rubs his thumb over your hip bone, dipping in long sweeps down to the crease of your thigh and back up, firm enough not to tickle. The movement familiar and soothing you drop back deeper into sleep. Javi pulls the sheet up a little higher, to rest more securely on your hip.
Next he runs his hand open-palmed up your body. Barely touching as it dips down into your curves and back up, Javi has a quiet admiration in the action as he watches his hand go. Soft deserves gentle and your skin is butter-smooth under his touched and unmarred with scars. He almost wants to repeat the action and so he lets himself, allowing his hand to go back and forth along the dip of your waist a few times. It’s something he’s thought of doing many times before, has done absentmindedly enough as he holds you close with one arm, puffing out cigarette smoke away from you. But it’s not something he has done so purposefully before. It feels…vulnerable to do it, in a way, to allow any moment to pause for quiet reverence. But now Javi lets his hand sweep up and down, following the natural curve of your body before coming to a stop over your ribs. It’s a familiar place for his hand to be, landing in a habitual rest of his broad fingers spanning your side and his thumb settling between your breasts. That’s just where it goes, where his hand settles most nights. He presses in just a little to feel your heart beat before he carries on, grazing the side of your breast as he goes.
When Javi’s hand reaches your shoulder he can’t help but to lean forward and kiss it - finds himself inexplicably, inevitably pulled downwards until he’s left resting with his nose against the curve of it, a place he can tip his head back up and kiss you again. So he does a few times until he settles to just breath you in, gently nuzzling down a bit in a kind of gentle content he hasn’t known in years.
Javier will go back to what he was doing in a minute, but for now he just wants to sit here a while longer.
talk to me 🌙 + my masterlist
