Work Text:
needs
There’s something wrong with Santiago.
He’s been different since he came back; quieter, more reserved, absorbed deep in his thoughts and even deeper in his drink. The first night he returns to you he downs a bottle of Walker in less than a minute and when you question him, irate, he embraces you harder than he’s ever held you before or since.
He smells like smoke and blood and the distant tang of fear.
You don’t ask, though. This kind of thing has always been off-limits - his work , legal or otherwise. You don’t need to know about it, and he doesn’t need to tell you.
But he always comes home in one piece. Until now.
“Santi.” He’s buried in a leather recliner in front of a muted sports game on the flatscreen, and his coal-dark eyes are staring off into nowhere. You slide onto the arm of the chair and touch his cheek. “Santi.”
He focuses, coming back to himself with a start - draws in a breath like he’s reanimating, honing in on you. He slides his arm around your waist and leans his head against your shoulder. You stroke his hair, something inside you warm and cracking in two.
“Baby,” he sighs, and the rumble of his voice you can feel through your sternum. “I’m sorry.”
“Was it that bad?” you ask softly, a yawning, hollow pit opening inside you. You want so badly to help him that it’s eating you up inside.
“Yeah. It was bad.” His grip tightens around you, drawing you closer. You slide into his lap, and you lean back against him. He wraps his arms around your waist, splays a hand over your hip, thumb stroking the curve of the bone through the thin fabric of your leggings.
“But you came back,” you tell him. You reach up and rest your hand on his cheek. He buries his face in the cradle of your neck and you feel the scrape of stubble against your skin, and the sear of his lips beneath your jaw.
“Say it again,” he murmurs in your ear, almost plaintive. You ache for him.
“You came back, Santi. You came back.”
He squeezes you tight in a rib-crushing embrace for just a moment before he releases you to gasp breathless when his hands are suddenly everywhere . “I need you,” he growls in your ear and he barely waits for the feel of your nod before his long, clever fingers are under your shirt, kneading your breasts and stroking, pinching dangerously close to the now-throbbing points of your nipples.
His other hand, meanwhile, slips into the front of your leggings - and Santiago goans, deep in his chest sending vibrations through your back when he discovers you’re not wearing underwear. He cards his fingers through the coarse curls of your mound and pressing lower, into heat and slickness.
“I need you, too,” you admit, and his teeth skirt your ear in what feels like approval before he slides two fingers down and, with pinpoint precision, into the grasping clench of your cunt.
You gasp and buck in his grip and you’ve never before appreciated his strength so much before as he keeps you pinned to his body through the bucking of your hips. You spread your legs wide around his and clutch at the rippling muscle of his biceps, writhing.
“Hold still,” he grunts, an order into your ear. A secret thrill goes through you and you whimper your acquiescence trying desperately to still the wanting arch of your hips.
“Good girl.” Christ he’s never called you that before and you know instantly that you like it. Your body responds to the praise with a surge of moisture and Santi chuckles as he feels it. In reward, he curls his fingers deeper and hooks them up into you, hitting something so deep and devastating inside that it makes you squeak and your legs threaten to close.
His arm leaves your waist and hooks up and under your thigh instead. “C’mon, sweetheart,” Santiago purrs, “Open up for me.”
“Fu- uck ,” you groan, but you can’t get away from it - Santi holds your leg up as he finger-fucks you with the singleminded determination of a warrior. “Santi - I -”
“That’s it,” he pants, and you can feel him now - hard against your ass, straining against his track pants - you want him inside you so badly but it’s too late, you’re already so fucking close that when he says, “Come for me,” you can’t help it: you do as you’re told.
Your spine arches into the lightning that earths itself in your pelvis, searing through the rippling spasm of your pussy. Santi grins in fierce victory against your neck as he feels it, wet exploding from you in a burst of sobbing ecstasy.
“Fuck, oh no, Santi, I’m sorry-” you’re dizzy, too warm and tight around the slowing flutter of his fingers, ashamed as you try to clamber off the damp mess you’ve made of his pants. But he just laughs, and takes his fingers out of you to lick them clean.
“Don’t be, querida. You taste delicious.” He lets you up onty to turn you around - he fists a hand at the back of your head and tugs you down into a kiss that betrays his desperation.
You taste the tang of your come and it makes your tongue tingle - you moan into Santi’s mouth, holding onto his shoulders as he wrenches your leggings down. You only manage to step out of one leg before he loses patience - grabbing your hips and tugging you forward onto him.
Your hips settle atop his, your knees sinking into the cushion on either side of him. You fumble with his waistband, getting both pants and boxers down in one sweep.
You usually prefer to take a moment to admire him in all his glory - Santiago Garcia, somehow yours - but the strange desperation that’s taken hold of him does not permit it. Instead he’s pressing the head of his cock up into the weeping slit of your pussy.
He catches at your entrance just once before he pushes inside, tugging you down onto him in one wild, uncontrolled stroke. You gasp his name, the air punched from your lungs by the intrusion. He’s fucking thick and the weight of him spearing into you all at once makes you temporarily lose feeling in your legs.
“Need you,” Santi grunts, and then he’s lifting you up and grinding you back down onto him. Your cunt clutches at him with every inch withdrawn and taken back in again. “ Fuck - so tight - need this -”
“Yours, Santi, it’s all yours,” you gasp, and his teeth are at your neck again, your fingers in his hair. “I’m all yours - ah-!”
You forget how to speak Santi buries himself deep to the hilt and your body locks up in another paralytic orgasm. All you can do is hold on through the beautiful, wrenching spasms, clutching Santi to you with shaking hands as you chant his name like a prayer.
He grunts, his fingers digging into your hips deep enough to bruise as he plants his feet - lifting up into you in deep, frantic, desperate thrusts. You squeeze him so tightly for a moment he forgets how to breathe - the contractions of your cunt are what does him in, and he thrusts up one last time and holds there as his cock jerks and throbs and fills you with warm, pearly threads of his come.
Somehow, you feel it through the mind-numbing tremors still wracking you and you hold Santi tight to you, whispering him through it -
“You came back. You came back .”