Author: Guede Mazaka
"So let me get this straight, Bojangles," Sands said while he settled himself across El's thighs. That way the bastard couldn't ignore him. "You see stuff. Occasionally, it's not even in this century. Occasionally, you see people, too. And some of them look like me."
"Yes." More strumming. And fucking humming-where did the ratass shit think they were? A recording studio?
"I don't believe you." Prickle as El's gaze filtered through Sands' skin. "I. Say. You. Lie."
The music stopped, then wrapped itself around his neck and squeezed-
Black hair white face hishis wait it's scared. scared.
you're not possible. science prohibits your existence-science doesn't believe in incubi-
ghosting in and through and wild lightning within this terrified boy, this spineless man has fire for bones and it burnsburnsBurns
--burns. El was stroking, slow and light, from Sands' neck to the small of his back. While he trembled and tightened fists around invisible bars. Heard them snap, like rabbits in the poacher's hands. "You're going to show me that again."
"You like it." El sounded amused and knowing and too, too brutal in the softness of his tone. He crackled, Sands suddenly noticed. Little sparks jolted into Sands wherever they touched.
"Yeah." Uncurled fingers so they pressed deep into the mariachi's sides. "I want it. I want you. I want what's in your head. I want you to show me, and keep showing me until-until I'm six feet under the shit. You get me?"
Drifting caress of knuckles down his cheek. "Stay long enough, and I might show you the ones that look like me."