Imagine meeting Miguel Angel Felix Gallardo as part of the Medellin cartel.
requested by: anon. thank you sO MUCH, anon, i’ve been dying to write for narcos: mexico. if you have anymore ideas, please please shoot them in. i’d love to write for kiki too, and i think rafa could be an interesting lad to write. send more narcos meixco !! <3 warnings: implied prostitution, alcohol, mentioned drugs (of course).
He was so uncomfortable. Back straight against the couch, a glass of tequila in hand and the bottle sat by his ankles. Poison had insisted it was all they had left along with a sombrero - it wasn’t true. But a Mexican narco in the heart of the Medellin cartel would never be anything but the butt of the joke, even if he was as calculated as Felix Gallardo.
Between the attentive minutes you had to give to certain men, you’d watched him for almost an hour, playing his role, pretending like he fit in, like he could talk to these animals. Honestly, he did a good job of it, to the point that you almost questioned if he knew they were laughing at him. But the tightness of his shoulders and the set of his brow told you otherwise.
This was a smart man. Perhaps he could help you.
The woman he brought with him, who hadn’t left his side all evening, finally whispered something low in his ear and headed towards the bathroom. You seized your chance.
You unfolded your legs and approached him, bending low until your fingers grasped the bottle of tequila at his ankle, returning to upright slowly, his gaze like a weight on you. You raised a delicate brow and tipped your head, gesturing outside. “Come outside, unless you want to spend your evening with these assholes.”
You didn’t wait for a reply before heading outside, only glancing over your shoulder when you were out of sight of the majority of the party, and sure enough, he was following behind you.
The gazebo was quiet once you’d dismissed a smoking sicario or two. You placed the bottle on a chair and leant against the ledge. The air was tropical, almost sweet to the taste, and the sound of the hippopotamus wallowing was gentle, peaceful in the distance.
Footsteps approached. Gallardo’s. You could tell from only hearing that he walked well, confidently. A strong man in the face of pressure. That must be what got him here today, under the radar of such a dangerous man as your boss.
He settled beside you, joining you in leaning against the ledge, looking out to the lake. He didn’t speak for a while, but when he did, he didn’t sound as dangerous as you imagined. His voice was casual, gentle even, a hint of a laugh in his tone. “Do hippos like Mexicans?”
You couldn’t help the snort that escaped. You turned to look at him, a brow arched, “I don’t know. But I imagine they like you more than the guys in there do.”
“I didn’t come here for them to like me.”
Bullshit. “You never meant to come here, did you?” His confused, somewhat hostile expression hardened as he looked at you. You raised your fingers to his eyebrow, which was only beginning to come up in a light bruise. “Well, you were shoved in the car, none too gently. Am I right?” He leant away from your touch, brows furrowed and he stared back out at the hippos without answering. “Then you never meant to see Escobar. You were banking on the Cali cartel.”
“I got the Cali cartel’s cocaine,” he snapped. “I also got Escobar’s.”
You couldn’t keep the smirk out of your voice, so you didn’t try to hide it. “Unintentionally.”
His glare was sharp as he turned away from you, heading back inside. “They like me in there more than you do.”
“No no no,” you laughed, reaching for his wrist gently. You didn’t pull it, only held it, and although he jerked as if to pull away, he didn’t. He turned towards you slowly, a warning glint to his eye, but you remained unintimidated. “Ilike you, Felix. You’re the only one in this entire place who’s worth his word - that’s why you don’t belong here.”
He scoffed, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and placing one between his lips. “And I suppose you don’t either.”
“Correct. I don’t.”
He laughed, hand rummaging in his pocket for a lighter that clearly wasn’t there. You clicked your tongue at his attitude, pulling your own lighter from the front of your dress. You met his eye as you raised the lighter to the tip of his cigarette, the flame catching in the deep, gentle brown of his eyes. He wasn’t the type of man you were used to.
You held the flame to ignite the tobacco, and his hands raised to steady your wrists until it caught. But you kept the closeness, your voice a whisper. “Take me to Mexico with you.”
