|Tattoo in the Blood
Author: Guede Mazaka
Sighing, Seth let his head fall back against the wall. "Sands, I'm beginning to think this bondage deal goes a little beyond a simple kink." He tugged listlessly at the chains and leather that lashed his wrists together to the bench leg. "I didn't even know you could lock confessionals."
"Okay. Maybe I flipped out a few times, did a few massacres," the other man grudgingly admitted, fidgeting with his own bound hands. "But that was definitely after El started up with this whole leash-the-dogs routine. And the sacrilegious thing." Blinking in the half-dark, Sands flop-curled onto Seth's hip, expression musing as he stuck out a foot and tested the confessional door. Which rattled and creaked, but didn't. Fucking. Give. "Can't be positive, since we can't die and don't pay taxes, which thus leaves me with no standards for judging certainty, but I think it might be related to Carolina dying outside a monastery."
"Who?" Temporarily distracted from his cramping legs, Seth looked down at the other man, who stretched out his wrist tether till he could prop head on hands.
"His wife," Sands clarified. Little bastard smirked. "Just blew your head out, didn't I?"
"You might say that," Seth muttered, still shell-shocked. He waited, but all Sands did was smile, smile, smile. Too bad that shit-eating grin always healed. "Well?"
"The story, goddamn it," Seth snapped, yanking uselessly at his own wrist tether. "We're stuck in the confessional of some stupid church, and we're not getting out till El comes back with supplies. Either you talk, or I decide that breaking you in half is worth El reaming the shit out of me."
"El and me," Sands retorted, hands darting out to take a very firm, very close-to-painful grip on Seth's balls. "I still heal faster than you, and just 'cause I lick his boots doesn't mean I couldn't rip this land to shreds if I wanted to."
Legs twitching with the effort of not smashing together, Seth clenched his fists and nodded. Then he remembered the other man's blindness, and gasped, "All right, all right. I'm…I take that back. It's just so fucking hot in here."
"Yeah," Sands agreed, salaciousness creeping into his tone. On Seth's crotch, the fingers loosened and spread, kindly massaging the sore area. "Stupid dickhead MexiCAN is furnace-proof, so of course he assumes every single guy's like that. He'd probably-" nuzzling up the tails of Seth's shirt to nibble at the rippling muscles beneath it "-short-circuit if he ever saw snow."
"Maybe," Seth groaned, head lolling back as he lifted his hands out of the way. A growing bulge pressed against his knee, which he reflexively bent so Sands could grind against it. "So will you please explain…about the wife?"
Snorting, Sands bit into Seth's stomach one more time before he slumped sideways, fingers gliding away from Seth's cock. "What is it with you and El always turning down sex?"
"I'm not turning down anything," Seth replied irritably, clamping down on his protesting libido. "There isn't any room in here for 'anything,' so all we're doing is getting ourselves more frustrated. And you know El thinks that's fucking hilarious."
"Fucking bastard," Sands nodded. "Fine. I'll tell you about Carolina and the kid-"
"-yeah, the daughter, and stop interrupting." Pinching a bit of Seth's sweat-sodden vest, Sands lifted it up, then let it fall back. And then he did it again, like a kitten batting at shoelaces. "I'll tell you, if you tell me something. Why are you doing this? And I don't mean the sex, 'cause yeah, more obvious than a shovel to the face. I mean the whole cartel-revenge part, considering you aren't that big on the whole mine-vengeance-smites-thee habit."
"Sure. Why not?" Seth mumbled, trying to will his cock to wilt. Unfortunately, Sands was still lying on top of him, and for a stick-thin psycho-freak, the man felt surprisingly soft. And scorching, like the best whiskey. Seth was starting to see why El always kept the crazy fuck tucked into one side, or hanging off one hip like a pistol. Not that he personally wanted Sands like that, pretty as the maniac was when he wasn't killing something. He had enough problems trying to walk straight whenever El did that goddamn glower. "You first."
Sands snickered again, wriggling to get comfortable. Which made Seth wonder yet again just how El managed not to kill the annoying bastard at least once a day. "Figures," the other man said. "Okay. Once upon a time, there was a mariachi who tangled with the cartels and got both his hand and his girl shot. Being the upstanding citizen he was, he buried her and replaced his guitar with enough guns to level an L. A. riot."
"There was another girl?" Seth asked, confused.
"Yeah, but we don't talk about her," Sands replied, idly flicking his fingers. "Mostly 'cause by all accounts, she was a bit of a dip. Anyway, the mariachi started killing up the cartel food chain and stopped introducing himself. Too many other people shooting at him, or something. At any rate, he got to Bucho, who was one bad local motherfucker. Then El, which is what everyone called him by then, took a bullet in the arm and had to get nursed in this bookstore by the beauteous Carolina."
"Didn't do a very good job," Seth commented, leaning one elbow against the bench seat. "That's one of the nastiest scars I've ever seen."
"Well, I don't think she was exactly professional." Shifting to lie on his back, Sands swiped his hands over his forehead. "God, I'm thirsty. So they got it on, then went for Bucho as an after-glow snack. Consequently, El discovered that one, Carolina and Bucho had had a thing, and two, Bucho was his older brother."
"Huh?" Seth said intelligently. Him, blindsided? Of course not. Just distracted by a half-hard cock. And maybe worrying a little about being trapped in a small space with a sharp-clawed psycho whose attention span varied directly with the number of bodies on the floor.
"Hello, Gecko. This is your captain speaking. We are currently descending on a parallel course with Coincidence, and will be crashing your mind in a matter of minutes. Please return all seats to their upright position," Sands snarked, poking at some teeth marks on his neck.
Where the fuck was El? Just how long could it take to buy tequila and enchiladas, anyway? Wishing desperately his new state of being had included the freak-ass connection the mariachi and Sands seemed to have, Seth did his damnedest not to just slide his fingers into Sands' hair and bang that fucker's head against the wall till Sands passed out.
"Might wanna brace yourself," Sands continued, tone taking a hairpin turn to somber. "El killed his brother over Carolina."
Blinking, Seth stared. And if Sands had had eyes, it might have helped. As is, Seth had to settle for looking at pink-tinged blankness that did absolutely nothing to explain or hint or even fucking mock him. "That's…weird," he mumbled, mouth not really under his control at the moment. "Him too?"
"Mexico seems to have a thing against the traditional family structure," Sands shrugged. "Later Carolina caught the eye of this uniformed monkey. General Marquez. She and El ran, got married, had their little whelp, and then one day the army rolled into town. And yeah, Marquez didn't take being turned down very well. About half a year later, El stormed into Culiacan and razed the place to the ground. Well, sort of: shotgun blast smacked him into me and we both died. Then we woke up, he dragged me out afterward, and after that he finished laying waste."
"Oh." Shaking his head, Seth craned down so he could rake sweat out of his eyes. "Well, so much for fucking bloodkin."
Seth sounded…hurt, of all things. Odd. From what Sands could recall, Richard Gecko had been one shitty piece of work. No pizzazz, no style, just brainless violence. Nothing to distinguish him from the rest of the maddened crowd.
Could prod that sore spot. A little. El hadn't banned psychological damage. Then again, Sands did have to sleep with Lizard Boy, and there weren't many beds big enough for three fucked-up minds. And, though he hated to admit it, he and El could use some kind of balancing influence. Somebody to watch for when they were about to run out of ammunition, because God and the Devil knew they were too damn busy shooting to do that themselves. Caution wasn't really Sands' preference, anyway. He'd tried that shit before, and it always went to hell in the end. Shooting the lock or picking it: either way got the door open, and if there was going to be some fuckmook with a bazooka on the other side, Sands figured he might as well go with the spectacular route.
In addition, this definitely wasn't the first nor would be the last time El got pissed off enough to lock them up. In all those future closets, Sands was going to need something with which to entertain himself. Though really, he would've preferred being bored and alone to giving up some of El's attention to anyone else. Especially to a guy whose weapon of choice had been a revolver. Jesus Christ. But Seth was here, and apparently not leaving, so Sands had to make the best of it.
"Richie why, then?" he queried, carefully keeping his voice level and obliviously curious.
Beneath him, Seth jerked in surprise. "Richie's why what?"
And it was times like these that Sands really missed being able to roll his eyes in disbelief. Christ on a popsicle stick, but did the man never fucking keep up? Even when El was being all cryptic and broody, he followed Sands better than Seth did. "Why you tag along on the killing sprees," Sands elaborated, tone heavy with derision. "Even though you hang in the back and generally act like you couldn't give a damn."
"Oh, for-look, I was a professional thief," Seth snapped. "I robbed banks. I shot people when I had to, not when I was jacked-off at my boyfriend for not screwing me on the altar."
Honestly. Sitting up long enough to elbow the cow-brained fuckwit in the stomach, Sands deliberately smacked himself down on Seth's coughing chest. Grabbed the other man's chained wrists before they could retaliate, and put about three oozing bite marks along the side of each palm.
"Ow! You-" Heaving a sigh, Sands took a couple licks at the new wounds. Then dug his heels into the plank floor and shoved back so Seth was crushed against the wall.
"This ain't no beauty contest," Sands remarked dryly, slowly cleaning off the bites. "And you ain't better than me, or El, for all your restraint. We fucking annihilate those bastards because they made damn sure neither of us could do anything else. El lost his hand, in a manner of speaking. I lost my eyes. Can you even get that?"
Silent, Seth took a deep, slow breath. Relaxed a bit, which put Sands slightly off-balance, then yanked his hands away and pushed back, whacking Sands sideways and into the edge of the bench. A rather impressive showing, actually, considering how incredibly easy it was to get under the other man's skin.
"I never said I was better than you."
"You didn't have to," Sands retorted contemptuously, sliding completely off Seth's lap. Twitching the rumples out of his clothes, he brushed himself off as best he could before going on. "I listen, you dorky shitwit. I hear all the crap you don't say, clear as those goddamn bells every hour, on the hour. You think I'm insane. Well, yeah. You think I enjoy taking lives. Of course. And you think I'm an idiot. Which makes you the fool."
"Sands, you're clearly an intelligent man," Seth started, placating tone already peeling like cheap gold-plate to reveal the dull grey insincerity beneath it.
"Not like your brother," Sands growled. All right, fuck what he'd decided earlier. He was not taking this shit. Two fistfuls of knuckles slammed into his cheek, sending him flying back till his wrist-chain jerked him to a stop. Spitting out the blood, Sands laughed. "Sorry, did I hurt your feelings? Wait a moment and I'll cauterize them for you."
"Shut the fuck up about my brother," Seth hissed, seizing the front of Sands' t-shirt. Cloth ripped, forcing Gecko to re-grip. But instead of taking advantage of that moment to tear loose, Sands instead lunged forward and smacked Seth down the wall, wrapping hands around the bullheaded jackass as soon as Seth's throat slipped into his fingers.
"There is a point to all this," Sands said, raising his voice in order to be heard over the choking and cursing. Nails ripped at his hands, and underneath him, the other man writhed wildly, banging them around in the limited space. Already heavy-hot and stifling, the air grew even harsher to breathe. "It's not making a reputation, you skullfucking dickwad. It's not getting our rocks off-that's just a lovely side-benefit. It's having a life. It's taking the shit they threw at us and turning it to gold and marble, and building ourselves our own goddamn palace."
Sudden as a knife cut, Seth quieted and ceased moving, except for the slow strained rise and fall of his ribcage.
"It's more than just revenge," Sands murmured, leaning down till he could smell the steaming whiskey-dirt-copper scent rising off Seth's skin. "It's what we are. To paraphrase Socrates, we like it because we do it; we don't do it because we like it. Now. For the rest of our lives, if that word even applies anymore."
"Right," Seth acknowledged in a strangled voice. Reluctant understanding colored his voice dark tarnished bronze. "I didn't…I…can you let go?"
So the man could be taught. Feeling slightly more reconciled to the thought of having to share El, Sands unclenched his hands from Seth's neck. "You going to answer my question?" he inquired, not expecting a reply.
"I kill them because otherwise they'd come after E-us," Seth muttered. "I kill them because I like staying in one piece, because I like getting fucked through the bedsprings by a homicidal musician with power issues. And because I'm really, really fucking tired of having people die on me when my back is turned."
Eyebrow rising, Sands mulled over that amazing little speech. So Reptile-Ass did have a few commonalities with him, after all. And apparently, Seth could talk quite a bit once he got started.
"Richie…fine, he was fucking nuts. But he was my little brother," the other man was saying, defensive and raw and just asking for Sands to make one snide comment so Seth could smack him around some more. Yeah, right. Gecko wasn't El by a long shot, and if Sands ever felt that desperate for a substitute, he'd just swallow one of El's pistols, thank you. That should clear his mind nicely, though head wounds were a right bitch to heal. "I didn't like what he did," Seth admitted, rasping a little from the choking, "But I dealt with it."
Sands' back and left leg were aching from the awkward twists in which the confessional's size was forcing them. Lifting up, he tried to get more comfortable, but only managed to wrench something in his lower spine. "Fuck!" Collapsing back onto Seth, he grumbled, "And let me guess. Now you'd rather go off and find another El Rey to loft in, but El does otherwise, and you'll go along with it."
"Shithead," Seth snorted, resigned and sour as vomit clogging in the throat. "You have no idea how appealing you two make hell look, do you. Yeah, you're fucking right. It's not like with Richie. It's…shit, I don't know. But I can't fucking walk off, and I can't tell what I'd be like if I keep on going to the other side." A nasty poison-laced pause. "You happy now?"
"Just peachy," Sands replied disconsolately, cautiously flexing his back around the strained spot. Which put his erection stroking along Seth's own. "I'm locked in with a wishy-washy twit who still thinks he can ride with the devil and not grow horns and a tail."
Squirming from side to side, Seth tried to sit up, failed, and in high aggravation, banged his feet against the door. "I do not," he gritted out, pressing up nicely into Sands. "I-oh, Christ-why are you being so pissy about this? Can't be because you want me to be more-fuuuuck-appealing. You'd rather it was back to pairs."
"Except it's not going back," Sands contradicted, wriggling again. "Since you're sticking around, you might as well be useful. Besides that dowsing-for-money trick. Anyway, who knows now? Maybe I'll start liking you. At least in bed."
"But yeah, I know. El's yours and always will be," Seth finished, slumping on the floor. "Hell. I think I'm going to die of suffocation in a few minutes."
Which only went to show how much farther scaly-butt had to go. Stupid…Sands stopped, pricking up his head. "Finally."
"He's coming back?" the other man panted, jangling the chains.
"Yeah." Lazy and slow, Sands let his head drop into the crook of Seth's neck, scenting past the sweat and fury to the low notes of sharp anise and charcoal. "You know why you can't get away, right? You're his. His to burn, his to comfort, his to have and hold and fuck till the world ends."
"I noticed," Seth drawled sardonically, bringing his arms down to rest his hands on Sands' back. A tongue flickered around the curl of Sands' ear. "Fuck," Gecko mumbled, tone resigned. "I made it all through prison without ending up somebody's bitch, and then Mexico…how can you be so damn gleeful about it?"
Madonna blowing Pontius Pilate. He needed an explanation? "Because it's El," Sands said impatiently, raking teeth over a tender swollen spot on the other man's neck. When Seth hissed and jerked, Sands did it again, twice as roughly. "He was there when the world turned inside out. And-" almost melancholy hesitation "-and…he came back. To take me with him."
"To hell and back. And he makes you love it," Seth laughed, lifting his knees up to skim them lightly along Sands' sides. Two quiet thuds sounded as the other man rested his feet flat against the wall. "Hey. You never got around to explaining this chain-and-ball shit."
"Oh, that." Licking and grazing around till he found the bruised spots, Sands felt fingers reluctantly start to circle the bumps of his vertebrae. Smirking, he rubbed up against those little strokes, rasping his teeth just that much harder over the unseen strangling marks he'd left on Seth. They'd be gone by morning, so had to have as much fun as he could now. "El's got insecurity issues. He likes protecting things, but his track record on that post-resurrection wasn't all that great. Actually, was total shit."
"He's seen us fight," Seth pointed out, throat muscles jumping under Sands' mouth. The fingers petting Sands started to add a bit of nail.
"Yeah, well, bastard likes to know where we are." Frowning in puzzlement, Sands took another lick. Yes, that was an outline emerging from Seth's skin. Of something curvy and…he danced his tongue along its border…tapering. Well, now. "It's one fucked-up way of asking us to stay with him, but he also doesn't want us going off and unleashing hell when he's not around to pick up the pieces. You have tattoos?"
"Yeah," Seth nodded. "Black flames. So you got him tossed out of a couple towns?"
"Not really," Sands disavowed. "I just went after the cartels before he was ready. Man's very systematic, in his own way. Not to mention tired of having people get him into their shit. Like his two girlfriends-his first two killing streaks started because they had shitty-tempered exes. Fate's pulled him off the road so many times that now he refuses let go of the steering wheel."
"Sounds reasonable." Seth's voice had gotten both softer and harsher, like the quiet patter of rain on a tin roof. Very interesting. Sometimes being the only one with a purring reflex annoyed the hell out of Sands, and he wouldn't mind some company there.
"Not that either of us actually would mind if it wasn't," Sands snickered, continuing to trace his tongue around the edges of Seth's tattoos as they rose.
Cracking open the penitent's door, El automatically held his breath. To his astonishment, however, no stench of blood and death wafted out. Very curious now, he slid the confessional door all the way open and ducked his head in to take a look.
They were a mess. But they had managed not to kill each other.
Seth was on his back, legs spread wide to brace feet on either side of the door frame. Had his hands folded on Sands' back, occasionally skimming over the soggy t-shirt to make the chains ring, and his head tilted as far back as possible in order to allow Sands access to the greatest surface area that the other American could reach. Sands, on the other hand, was neatly tucked between Seth's knees, ass waving temptingly in the air as he slurped around on Seth's neck. Which, El was fascinated to notice, was apparently causing Gecko to whimper, not quite like how El ever had heard him before.
Softly coming up behind Sands, the mariachi braced himself against the bench and wove his hand down past the writhing bodies to unfasten the chains from the confessional. He tugged on Sands' tether, which instantly brought the other man slithering up against El. Bumping knees and swearing ferociously all the way as limbs unfolded and muscles stretched. Messily licking at El's neck, Sands moaned and twined fingers in El's shirt, wet hands leaving sweaty imprints all over the white cloth. Salty hair nudged against El's mouth, dust streaks adding muddy highlights, and thin hard hips desperately rocked to press a hard erection into his belly. Running hands down the soaked cotton clinging to Sands' back, El hummed as he awkwardly levered the two of them out of the small booth.
As soon as they emerged, Sands' knees buckled. "Shit!" Swinging wrist chain smacking El in the face, Sands clawed a grip into El's shoulder, leaning hard against the mariachi, who ducked and in turn fell back against a pew. "Y'see?" he gasped, rubbing the scent of pine and molten vanilla sweat across El's chest, "Was a bad idea. Christ, fucking legs can't decide whether they're spaghetti or needles."
"If he'd tossed you in the other side with the guitars," Seth remarked, clumsily dragging himself out after them, "You wouldn't have given a da-fuck!"
Swallowing his amusement and irritation, El let Sands fall into the crook of one arm, thus freeing up his other to snag Seth's tether as it whiplashed through the air. Hauling on it, he just managed to get Seth to fall against his leg instead of the floor. Scrabbling and cursing, Seth grabbed for El's hand, using it to pull himself up till he could collapse on a nearby pew.
"Cramps, El," Sands muttered, angling himself so he could nuzzle into the mariachi's shoulder. "If you brought anyone back with you, better say goodbye now, because I'm in no mood to be polite. Or even non-maiming, goddamn…oh." Back in a smooth arc, he went with the mariachi's hands, letting them pull him to straddle one smooth-shifting muscled thigh, letting them fit him back against that familiar bulk. Lolling his head back into the lips kneading his throat, just above the collarbone, Sands mewled.
"No, I'm alone," the mariachi remarked casually, sucking at the old bruises that spotted Sands' neck. Two hot hands scraped the shirt off Sands' back, fingers slow-counting ribs as they peeled the garment up and over Sands' head, puddling the dripping cotton around his wrists. El moved down, swirling tongue and teeth over the backs of Sands' shoulders, hands laying flat palms on his flanks to skate around to his stomach, briefly pausing there to tickle fire to life before easing his jeans off his hips. Then they left, their absence blasting Sands with iciness. "There's food, if you're hun-"
"You goddamn tease," Sands hissed, immediately dropping to his knees and spinning around as best he could, given that both his wrists and legs were hampered. Going mostly by instinct and sense-memory, he clawed El's trousers open and had the other man's cock down his throat before the fucking bastard could even remember there was such a thing as leaving. Food? Fuck that. El was a four-course banquet in and of himself. Swallowing and squeezing till the mariachi finally, damn his ass, began to groan, Sands triumphantly backed off and asked, "Well?"
"All right," El replied, much too composed for this kind of situation.
And then Sands was belly-up on the worn aisle carpeting, a fierce mouth biting into his nipple. Arching into a yowl, he suddenly found leather blocking his air, El's gauntleted hand curling to hook fingers in Sands' jaw. The teeth licked up the blood from Sands' chest, moved over to the next nipple. Snarling, he savaged the fingers in his mouth, trying to swing his bound hands around to whack El. But another hand caught the chain. Laughing, El used his grip around Sands' jaw to pull the American forward, yanking the fingers out just before he kissed the devil out of Sands. //I'll keep you//, the mariachi growled, drawing back to nip at the tip of Sands' nose. //Till you fall apart in my hands.//
Going limp on the other man's shoulder, Sands could only keen wordlessly as a sandpaper-satin hand wrapped around his cock, massaged his balls with nails and soothing fingertips. Squeezed nearly past the point of pain, then rubbed and worked his straining flesh till his breath seemed too searing to force out of his lungs, and his world was a drowning ocean of boiling tempests.
Jesus Christ, but sometimes Seth thought he could just watch and end up exploding. Digging his nails into the wood backrest over which he was folded, he did his very damnedest to at least stay on his knees. Didn't work. El flicked a thumb across the tip of Sands' cock, provoking a shudder and a high soft cry, and Seth's palms just lost all their strength, sending him crashing to the floor. The edge of the pew bench slammed into his back, tilting him onto his side. Spitting out curses as best he could, considering his erection was making it fucking difficult to crawl, and his mouth refused to shut, he squirmed over the carpet. Yanked at his vest, his shirt, finally getting them to tear open and give him some fucking air. It felt like he was wearing a goddamn corset.
In El's lap, Sands cried out and went rigid, then melted quicker than ice cream in Death Valley. Lifting up his head, the other American met El's white-splattered hand rising up from between them. Sands sniffed, long and low like a beast greeting its mate, then flicked out a candy-pink tongue to clean off El's fingers. Sucking the leather brace spotless, working at the buckles till it fell from the forearm.
Nearly flopping the last foot, Seth pressed up against El's side, craning his head so he could run a tongue over the palm scar while Sands did the same to the corresponding twisted ridge on the back of the hand. "Fucker," Gecko growled, clamping fingers around El's arm. The chain dangling from his still-bound wrists clinked. "Was it there?"
"Fifty thousand dollars. Where you said it'd be," El replied, leaning down to score his teeth over the soft flesh behind Seth's ear. And suddenly Seth remembered why he couldn't just watch. Fucking God, but it was like flooding his veins with liquid sun. Groaning, he turned his head to offer up more of his neck, and El accepted. Carved bites all down the length of the throat. "Should be enough to start on the Escobar cartel."
"Could we not talk business right now?" Sands complained, skidding down El to crumple himself up by the other man's hip. "'sides, there's something you should try with him."
And Seth's current position gave him a very clear view of the smirk on Sands' face. Not that he could really do anything about it, given that El had let go of Sands and now was busily wrapping Seth's wrist-chain around his hand. Using that to tug Gecko into a sprawl over his lap, El pushed them both over the top of Sands, so Seth landed on his back with El crouched atop him.
"Ow! Fuckmook," Sands snapped, wriggling out from underneath the other two men. Reaching out an arm, El draped it over the spastic lunatic's waist and drew him up against one side. With his other hand, the mariachi hooked the chain to the confessional's slats. "You know, now I'm not so sure I want to tell you."
"Who cares?" Seth hissed. "Screw me already."
Ignoring them both, El extended one long finger to cut a nail along the outline of Seth's tattoo, just where it curved over the clavicle.
Eyes flying wider than .50 bullet holes, Seth abruptly stiffened, breath hitching.
"I don't think you need to tell me," El commented off-handedly to Sands, continuing to sketch out the flames blazing over Seth's throat and left arm. He finished tracing one black flicker, then twined fingers in Sands' hair and pushed down. "What's it taste like?"
Helpfully trying it out, Sands licked along the tattoo, its borders temporarily raised by bruising and irritation, and then came back up to mouth El's jaw. "Nice. Well, after you take into account that we've been locked in a fucking airless prayer closet for half the day."
Snorting at that, El sliced another outline with his fingernail, watching Seth's pupils dilate and listening to the other man's breath stagger, tear and lose half-spoken words. "I left two guns in the corner," the mariachi murmured, brushing lips over Sands' temple as his fingers redrew the tattoos on Seth's shoulder, ripping clothing out of the way. "You could have gotten out if you'd really wanted to. Or needed to."
"Yeah, but you didn't want us to," Seth managed to gasp faintly, levering himself up to grind his cloth-encased cock against El's bare one. "So what was the-the point of pissing…you…off?"
"Not that you torture us, or anything," Sands grinned, bending over and following El's arm down to Seth's neck, where he started to drag his tongue along the tiny cuts El was opening up. Writhing slightly, Seth allowed a whimper to leak out. "Come on, try him. Gonna keep the long-tailed twit around, might as well take advantage of it. Him."
Glancing over at Sands' bobbing head, El stroked a smooth palm down Seth's front, fingers bending a little to tickle at the stomach. Seth whine-panted something that could have been words, yanking at his wrists. Behind El, the other man's legs slumped open, bracing themselves to raise up trembling hips and allow El to jerk off Seth's pants. "You're jealous again," the mariachi noted to Sands, sliding his other hand about to cup one richly curving white buttock.
"How the fuck-El, I'm telling you to eat the shitwit up, and you-" Collapsing sideways, Sands tipped up his head to prolong the kiss as long as he could, moaning deeply into it. El drank copper and acid-lime sweetness, following Sands' descent. Moving back, he nudged his nose along the dark bluish splotches on Sands' throat.
//Sometimes you're like muddy water, and sometimes I can see all the way to the bottom//, El murmured, brushing his lips over the other man's jawline. Half-curling on his side, Sands purred and rubbed his cheek against the underside of El's chin. //If you go, then I'll find a way to kill all of us.//
"Hell of a reassurance," Sands chortled, settling down beside Seth, who was mindlessly rocking up against El, grinding their stiff cocks together.
"So now that that's taken care of," Gecko hissed, lunging to snap at El's ribs, "Can I get a fucking, please?"
Shifting back, the mariachi rippled his fingers along Seth's cock, then encircled it and started working the reddened flesh. Seth suddenly drooped into the floor, the edges of his gaping mouth twitching soundlessly. One-handed, El wrestled off his jacket, shirt and pants, then yanked down Seth's trousers so they rumpled around the other man's ankles. Shuffling closer, El stooped down to resume licking at Seth's tattoos. "Somehow," he whispered into the quivering shoulder, "I don't think you're that generous, either."
"Fuck it, Sands, he does talk too mu---Goooood," Seth groaned, arching into the grip El had on his erection. He whipped and yelled, splashing thick white wetness all over El's hand, then subsided. "Please…" Seth whispered, voice wavering and slurring, as he shuddered against El's teeth.
"I thought about putting Sands in with the guitars-" nodding toward the priest's side of the confessional, El rubbed his coated fingers together, then started slipping them into Seth-- "But I wanted to know. If you'd kill each other, or not."
"Well, of fucking course not," Seth gasped, twitching. El bent one knuckle inside, scraped it and the nail along the tight flesh encasing them, then rose up with Seth's buck. "Like I give a damn in the end, as long-as long-oh, Christ, please fuck me."
"Shitwitted lizard dick," Sands muttered, leaning over to rake teeth over Seth's arm tattoos. "Takes me hours to get him speaking sensibly. Then Bojangles just shoves a couple fingers in, and suddenly he's all practical."
"There's no point in asking why it works," El shrugged, taking out his fingers. On the floor, Seth sucked in a thin breath, shivering uncontrollably until El raised up hips and pushed his cock in, slowly because the other man was beginning to spasm. "I just need to know that it will."
"And now you know," Seth snarled, wrapping his fingers in his wrist-chains and shoving back to more deeply impale himself. "So for God's sake, start-"
Slamming in, El cocked his head. "God?" he repeated curiously, driving into the keening, twisting form beneath him. "God has nothing to do with this-" wringing out soft sobs from Seth "-any of this. It's only ours, no one else's-" plunging down to gash a fresh bite in Seth's throat, red spilling over vivid black and gold //--fuck, mine.//
Feeling Seth clamp down on him, El forced one last thrust through the heated vise, ripping the climax from them both. Sands darted in just as El started to fall forward, pushing his mouth up to swallow El's howl.
Kissing back fiercely, the mariachi stole all Sands' air before he finally drew back, wriggling to swipe up the crimson streaks from Seth's neck. Licked up the side to first paint Seth's lips crimson, then sucked the blood back off and shoved in his tongue, tasting scorched earth and sugar-slicked surrender. Another tongue slipped in, making Seth open up till his jaws strained from the effort. Nudging and slurping from one mouth to another, Sands and El thoroughly washed all three till the individual flavors blended and dissolved into one.
Slumping back, slinging one arm about Sands to pull him away as well, El barely remembered to undo the tether holding Seth's wrists to the confessional. Before he could completely untie Seth and Sands, however, the other two men rolled and flopped till they were all tangled into one sticky, mussed pile of limbs and half-torn clothing.
"Damn it," Seth mumbled, nuzzling at Sands' shoulder and El's arm. "I'm fucking starving now."
"Yeah, but can't move," Sands answered, languid and exhausted. Snuggling up to El's collarbone, he nibbled delicately at it. "Feed me?"
"In a minute," El sighed, skimming his free hand-the other being trapped beneath Seth's head-over Sands' damp skin to curl it around one thigh, fingers splaying to stroke softly on the tender flesh. Taking a deep breath, he felt burnt cordite, alcohol sweat and citric-bright spice tingle his nose. "Give me a minute."
"Gave you a life," Seth mumbled, wriggling farther under the leg El had thrown over him.
"Yeah," Sands murmured. "We'll wait." A beat of satiated silence. "Even if you are a cock-teasing musical fuckass."