#yes i did cut it off right before the tragedy happens

Summary:Basically, Javi has a lot of thoughts & feelings about Horacio the Family Man vs. Colonel Carrillo.

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Horacio belongs to Juliana. He’s a loving husband and doting father. He’s flowers on all the major holidays and presents just because. He’s sleepy kisses and breakfast in bed and predawn lovemaking.

Carrillo belongs to Javi. Carrillo is a fearless leader and ruthless warrior. He’s an extra mag on a duty belt and an extra tourniquet in a knee pocket just in case shit goes sideways. He’s quick handjobs and midnight whiskey and desperate fucking in the back of a Jeep.

Javi has long since made his peace with this. The two men may reside in one body, but they are entirely separate entities. Horacio is reserved for home, for Juliana’s warm embrace and flirtatious smiles. Javi has always known and accepted this. Because Horacio belongs to Juliana, yes. But Carrillo? Carrillo is his.

On the nights when there’s too much pent up adrenaline in their systems for sleep, Carrillo comes back to whatever shitty hotel room Javi is staying in and fucks him, hard and deep. Javi lives for these nights, for the bruises on his hips and the scratches he isn’t bold enough to carve into Carrillo’s back. He lives for the way that Carrillo will gasp out “Javier.” On these nights, Javi chants “Carrillo, Carrillo, Carrillo” like an incantation, and Carrillo never invites Javi to use his Christian name. 

“Horacio” belongs to Juliana, after all.
Of course, no matter how definitive the line between Horacio and Carrillo, they really are only one man. So when one is shipped off to Madrid, they both go. Javi doesn’t miss Horacio, but he yearns for Carrillo like a sailor yearns for the sea. 

Javi never hears from either of them. Carrillo is not the type of man to call an old friend to catch up. Horacio is, but Horacio belongs to Juliana.

When Escobar escapes and Colombia once again has need of Colonel Horacio Carrillo, only Carrillo returns. Horacio stays in Madrid with Juliana, and doesn’t even appear in Medellin long enough to call her and let her hear his voice.

Javi fucking revels in it. Carrillo is here, with him and only him. There’s no need for his softer side, his kinder side. Not here in Colombia with only Javi for company. And for once Javi can leave those scratch marks he’s always dreamed of making on Carrillo’s back. He can take what he’s always wanted from Carrillo without worrying about what Horacio will say to Juliana. Juliana isn’t here.

It takes Carrillo killing a teenager in cold blood for Javi to realize that maybe he was wrong. Maybe there was always a little bit of Horacio in the man that Javi loved. Maybe there was always a little Carrillo in the one who loved Juliana. It’s too late to turn back now, though. Carrillo is here, and Horacio is not, and Javi will be damned if he gives up on either of them. He’s going to enjoy what he has while he has it, and when the time comes, he will watch Carrillo fade as Horacio returns. And if Javi is very, very lucky, Juliana will let them be friends.
He can’t be sure, of course. Horacio belongs to Juliana.

The night after the raid on Moncada’s lab, Carrillo brings Javi back to his place in Medellin. It’s sumptuously furnished and unbelievably comfortable compared to what they’re used to. Carrillo tells Javi “I’ve always wanted to be able to take my time with you” and then he does. It’s the closest Javi has ever been to feeling like they were making love, but there will still be bruises in the morning. For the first time since they started fucking, Javi gasps out a desperate “Horacio”.
He expects Carrillo to freeze and throw him out. He expects that to be the end of everything. Instead, Carrillo groans and thrusts harder and begs him to “Say it again, Javi. You never say my name.”

So Javi says it. “Horacio, you’re amazing.” “God, Horacio more.” “Horocio, oh, Horacio.” And Carrillo practically sobs when he comes.

As they lay together in the afterglow, Javi feels guilty for the first time since this began. The man next to him, smiling down at him and running a finger up and down the length of Javi’s spine isn’t Carrillo. He’s Horacio. And Horacio belongs to Juliana.

They will most likely never get a chance to have another night like that, and Javi isn’t sure whether or not he regrets it. He had enjoyed it, of course, but he’s perfectly happy to return to their usual routine of quick, desperate fucks in the brief respites they manage to find in the war they’re waging. He finds it easier to think of what they’re doing as being something that’s just between him and Carrillo, no Horacio or Juliana butting in. Javi wants to have one thing, just one, that belongs to him. And if that one thing is this vicious, feral man who will stop at nothing, then Javi will take it.

It takes Carrillo leaving him behind with nothing more than a shrug and the words “We’ll be in radio contact” for Javi to realize he has never owned an inch of this man. Horacio belongs to Juliana, yes. But Carrillo? Carrillo belongs to Escobar.