|Cookie: Pecan and Walnut
Author: Guede Mazaka
Trust your intuition. The universe is guiding your life.
Growling, Fideo shoved his head under his pillow, wondering why the hell he would've begun to get hang-overs again, after he'd managed to drink himself immune. The pounding continued, and he realized it was someone at his door. One hand slapping around the side table for his guns, he yelled, //Go away or die!//
//Fuck you//, snapped Lorenzo's voice. Except it wasn't Lorenzo's voice. Well, it was, but it had changed. Fideo wondered irritably when the other man's voice had sunk back down to Lorenzo's mental age. //Open the door! We need to talk.//
And Lorenzo suddenly sounded masculine again. But much deeper than he should've been. Grumbling to himself, Fideo began to push himself up, and then-
--the door abruptly flew open, and his friend fell into the tiny room and onto the cot. Jerking off the other side of the bed, Fideo stared, disgustingly sober now, at the closed door and the empty mattress.
And then the door burst open, and Lorenzo tumbled onto Fideo's bed. But not quite in the same position; the feet were too far left, and the curses were definitely different. The older mariachi blinked, and his vision doubled again.
"Hey. Hey!" Fideo came back to reality to find Lorenzo snapping fingers in his face. //Christ Jesus//, the other man glowered. //You're out for a day and a half, and you still haven't slept it off.//
//I think the world is different//, Fideo answered diffidently, pushing the younger man away so he could climb to his feet.
"Well, no shit." Lorenzo stopped, closed his eyes in brief but intense concentration, and then went on, in the voice that Fideo remembered, //I woke up this morning with a bunch of kids in my head. And now I sound like I have no balls.//
Starting a reply, the older man cut himself off, staring at some point just over Lorenzo's shoulder. The other mariachi waited impatiently, fidgeting, and finally smacked his friend on the side of the head. //Stop spacing out on me and tell me what the fuck is going on.//
//I'm trying, honey//, Fideo soothed, before whipping his head around. He turned mildly-puzzled eyes on the other man and spoke again. This time without the Southern drawl. //I've got an old black woman in my eyes.//
//That's nice//, Lorenzo retorted sarcastically. //The kiddies would like some cookies and a lot of extra spoons. Would you happen to know why?//
//There aren't any spoons//, the older man pointed out, gazing around the room at his meager belongings. He slapped a hand over Lorenzo's mouth. //Give me a minute. I have to do a few things.//
Sighing, the younger mariachi flopped backward onto the bed and kicked his feet aimlessly until Fideo finally moved. Sitting down beside Lorenzo, Fideo pinched one skinny leg.
"Ow. You fucker!" Lorenzo yelped, jolting upright into a slap upside the head.
//Stop that. There are children here//, Fideo scolded.
//You goddamn--// the other man caught the winking gleam in his friend's eyes, and pouted. //Fine. But I'm not doing this forever.//
//You don't have to//, Fideo said. //Just accept them, and they'll go into you. Mostly.//
Cocking his head, Lorenzo repeated dubiously, "Mostly? Man, you expect me to go along with that?"
"Unless you never want to have sex again," Fideo shrugged. His friend began to snarl, and then it hit Lorenzo. "Oh my God," the other man gasped, eyes widening comically. //Sh-fu-what do I do?//
//Relax.// Fideo frowned. //And…hug them till they disappear.//
//Wha-oh, to hell--heck with it//, the younger mariachi mumbled, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He suddenly stiffened, and then went limp again. Watching him carefully, Fideo bent down and gave Lorenzo a deep, dripping kiss, and afterwards, he leant back and asked, "So?"
"Nothing. Except I still want a cookie," Lorenzo said, pulling the other man down again. "You?"
"Nada. But in two hours there might be a loud argument next door," Fideo murmured, savaging Lorenzo's lips. He shifted about till one of the younger man's legs ground nicely against his cock, and then resumed his tasting of Lorenzo, who threw back his head with a groan. "S'okay. We gotta go see El anyway. And that other guy…"
"Sands," Fideo filled in.
"Yeah," Lorenzo whimpered. And then a stray thought temporarily replaced the lust. //Hey, does that mean El and the gringo--//
//Do you want to talk, or do you want to--// Fideo interrupted, snaking a hand down the front of the other man's pant. Lorenzo shut up.
The argument, a married couple bickering over suspicious perfume on the husband's coat, actually happened three hours later. But by then Fideo and Lorenzo had already finished, gotten dressed and packed, and had left. Just after trying out the car hood-for the road.