latino_menace | OOM: Christmas

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OOM: Christmas

It had taken three attempts to get Bar to open the door to where he wanted to go. Three times he looked out on a truly scummy bar filled with sweaty, running men and the sounds of choppers bearing down in the distance; Hell on the edge of a jungle.

Not where he wants to be right now.

On the fourth attempt - it's warm. Not hot, but pleasantly mild and the view is of a comfortably lived-in sitting room, with child's toys in a corner and overstuffed sofas and armchairs dotted around. The first thing his eyes rest upon is a glass still half full of Scotch; the second a stone block on the table, a sculpture with a woman's face looking out of one side. He pauses for a moment (so long since all that), then wanders in and puts his bag down, goes to the French windows to look over the garden that ends in beach and then, nothing but sea. Three thousand miles of sea standing between him and home.

But it's alright. It's nice to see the place again. He'd had mixed feelings the night before, wondering if it would be unpleasantly strange to have Fiona here. But it's not. He wants her to see it. For some reason, letting her see the places he lives is like letting her see himself. It's not even about showing off, this time. The house is not small but still modest by his standards. And it was a real home, for a while. Maybe he wants her to know that he can live normally, sometimes.

'Want a tour or do you want to head straight off? I just need to make a couple of calls before we go.'

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She hums, a pleased little purr in the back of her throat.

"I like jacuzzis."

She wouldn't care if they were staying in a little stone cottage on the top of a cold Irish cliff over looking the sea. But it's nice that he thinks of these things.

'I know.'

He tugs his thumb a little - not enough to actually dislodge it from her grip - and adds;

'Unless you want me to walk into the lobby with a hard-on, you'd better give me that back.'

He's turning into the parking lot and pulls up behind four or five other cars that are waiting for the valets to come park their cars.

She gives up his hand, letting his fingers slip through hers, smirking at him. She thinks there are worse fates, and gives him a cheeky little wink.

"What name are you using here?"

He would agree there are worse fates but still, is willing to wait until the elevator at least before letting her get to him properly.

'Tomas Alvirez. I'm not anticipating any trouble - as far as Interpol are concerned, I'm in Panama right now.'

Which doesn't mean he wants to be pulled in as a convincing double, obviously. His DNA matching their file would be pretty awkward.

The engine is killed as he's at the front of the line now. When the valet comes to the door, he gives him a hundred Euros and tells him to get their bags taken up; then pulls a fake passport and a wad of cash from the glove box.

'Let's go.'

"Mmm, sí Señor Alvirez. Right away," she drawls, bouncing out of the door, grinning like a mad woman.

She joins him, looping her hand through his arm.

"Shall I be Señora Alvirez then?" There's nothing but a light tease in her voice. It's the way these things are done, usually.

He shrugs, unconcerned.

'Sure.'

Then he turns to her with a wicked look in his eye.

'Unless you just want me to introduce you as my mistress. It's always fun to see them carefully show no expression whatsoever.'

The lobby of this place is nice. He's more concerned with getting the formalites over with though.

"Ooh, I like that too." She waggles her eyebrows, leaning against him.

He handled the paperwork at the border into Spain. She trusts he knows what he's about. She does 'oo' a little under her breath, taking in the scenery. This is a step up for herafter all.

"The last time I was in Madrid, we were sleeping in the backs of the trucks."

He snorts a laugh, then nods at the concierge and hands his documents over.

'Almirez. We have a suite booked.'

Then turns to Fiona and says;

'I think we can do a bit better this time around.'

The service is impeccable, of course. It always is, even if you're not staying in the Presidential suite. Ramon nods his thanks at being handed the keys, signs the relevant paperwork and before heading to the elevator, tells the man;

'If my wife calls, tell her I'm out.' There is a speculative look at Fiona. 'Or busy.'

'...of course, sir.'

He laughs and heads for the lift, keeping Fi's hand in his.

"Ooo, baby," she drawls, laughing as he tugs her along with him.

The moment the elevator doors close, she's pushing him back against the back wall, hard. Her nails drag down his chest.

"You know, the mistress always gets to act like a brat, doesn't she?"

He smirks down at her, eyes narrowing in pleasure at the feel of her nails.

'The mistress gets to do whatever the hell she wants,' he takes her face in his hands, kissing her lightly, 'as long as she brings the good stuff to the bedroom.'

The elevator attendant averts his eyes as Ramon winks at him over her shoulder.

'Don't look so worried, kid. She wont tie you up and get the whips out unless you buy her diamonds.'

No reply and Ramon laughs and goes back to kissing Fi.

She laughs into his mouth, kissing him soundly, dragging her fingers through his hair.

"Hey!" She murmurs, grinning. "You didn't tell me I was supposed to pack the handcuffs."

'Didn't need to.'

A tip for the elevator kid and he's pulling her out into their private hallway and shoving his key card into the door.

'I packed them.'

He looks smug as hell as he holds the door open for her.

'After you.'

She beams at him, walking backwards into the room, spinning on her heels. The room is lavish, of course. Fresh flowers on the side board and a bottle of champagne chilling beside them.

She pulls out the bottle and grabs the glasses, turning back to him with a grin.

"Which way to the jacuzzi?"

He likes her style. Cut to the chase, that's fine with him. So he grins and goes in search of the bathroom.

'Through here.'

His jacket hits the floor and he kicks off his shoes.

'Might order a massage, I'm stiff from driving.'

But first, water in. And then champagne. And then her.

She sets the champagne down on the counter and strips out of her dress.

"I can give you a massage, if you like." She chuckles, low in her throat, bumping him with her hip as she gets the bottle open. "No, that wouldn't work would it. You should get a masseuse for us both."

She pours two glasses and hands him one.

'Oh, I don't know.'

He laughs and has a drink, sitting on the tiled platform that the jacuzzi is built in to, unbuttoning his shirt.

'I'm sure the vigourous fucking that would occur about ten minutes after your hands touched me would loosen me up.'

It probably would too, right up until the next morning when he'd be even more stiff.

'Come here.'

She doesn't need to be told twice. She drains her glass and sets it aside, moving into the circle of his arms.

Her hands weave in his hair, skim down his cheeks to his shoulders. Her chest rests against his, and she bends to touch her nose to his.

"Thank you for this."

'Don't need to thank me.'

His arms tighten around her and he marvels once more at how small she is.

'It's not exactly a hardship for me, taking you away.'

"What if I want to thank you?" she murmurs against his lips, giving him a lingering, tender kiss.

"What if -- what if I want to -- show you my gratitude?"

She kisses down his chest, her hands trailing over his skin, slowly sinking to her knees.

'Oh, well...in that case...'

He leans forward to kiss her again but she's gone; he watches that small, sweet mouth play down his chest instead.

'...it'd be rude to stop you.'

His hand runs into her hair and the other starts pulling at his belt.

She loves this, loves the taste of his skin, loves how hard he gets and the sounds that he makes. She grins up at him, smacking his hands away so she can undo his belt.

She closes her eyes, sighing softly as she presses her face against the hollow of his hip, her hands working him free of his trousers.

He lets out a long, soft breath, almost a sigh, and drops his free hand loosely to his side. There are few things he enjoys more than watching this.

'Gonna suck it for me, Fi? Gonna get it real hard so I can take you with it?'

God, he wants to have her. Been wanting it since Portugal.

She laughs, shakes her head, grinning against his skin. Her hands smooth over his shaft, down to his bollocks, gently fondling. Her laughter feathers over the crown and her tongue darts out to taste him.

"I dunno, I thought maybe I'd paint your toenails, while I was down here."

'Funny.'

He reaches over to turn the taps off and sits down on the edge, never taking his eyes off her.

His body feels tense from sitting behind a wheel all day. He wants her to make him desperate, burn that tension off by making him work for his climax, he wants that feeling when it all lifts away afterwards.

She blinks up at him, sloe eyed, hungry, waiting for him to settle before she goes back to teasing him.

"Gonna turn you inside out," she whispers, fingers wrapping around the base of him. Her lips trail along his length, and her tongue flickers against that one spot, light as a feather.

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