Dark Encounter

Assorted disclaimers: This is the first honest-to-god slash thing I've ever written. I
never intended for anybody else to see it. I'm only posting it because someone
whose opinion I highly respect said I should. The guys made me write this, so I
refuse to take the blame for it. It's not my fault!

These characters do not belong to me. (Actually, even Robert Rodriguez and
company might disclaim *these* guys.) Plot? Did I even hint that there was a
plot? Rated NC-17 for El/Sands, language, and...other things.

Dark Encounter
~Melody Wilde


"//It is time for you to pay for the things you have done.//"

He had no warning hadn't heard the man's approach. He stood, giving one of his
tight half-smiles. "El. What a nice surprise. I thought "

"//No words.//"

A leather-covered palm closed over his mouth, silencing him, and he felt the barrel
of a gun pressed against his temple. He gave a very brief nod to show that he
understood.

"//Put your hands together in front of you. And do not move.//"

He obliged. The hand left his face and trailed slowly, deliberately, down the front
of his shirt. He felt metal circle his wrists and heard the click of a lock.
Handcuffs.

"Can I talk now? What ?"

"//I said no words.//"

He went slightly off-balance as he was moved, sideways, then backwards until he
felt the wall against his spine, but at least the gun was lowered.

"Okay," he whispered, barely letting the sound escape.

The other man moved closer, invading his personal space in a big way, pressing
chest to chest, hip to hip. Although they were almost the same height, El Mariachi
was less lean, more muscular. In a struggle, especially with his hands bound as
they were, he suspected he didn't have a chance.

He opened his mouth to speak again, and his lips were taken in a harsh, urgent
kiss. He made an inarticulate noise and squirmed against the body trapphim him in
place. Hands were on his shoulders. A tongue was forcing its way into his mouth.
A leg was pressing between his thighs. He tried to lift his arms, but the mariachi
moved even closer, holding him still.

The mouth broke away, moved to his ear. "//Do not fight me.//"

"Oh, I think I have to. It's my job."

"//Then fight.//"

And then he was being kissed again and hips were grinding against his. Even
though the layers of constricting denim, he could feel the mariachi's arousal. He
jerked his head free.

"Why, El, I didn't know you cared."

Calloused fingers stroked his cheek, then seized his arms, pulling him forward, and
spinning him. He found himself pressed against the wall again, his hands caught
against his chest now.

"//You are a beautiful man. You make this easy for me to do.//"

The words were a breath in his ear. Lips gently brushed his hair back and then
began to tease at his earlobe, nibbling, moving up the curve of his ear, a tonguetip
brushing. He shivered involuntarily as the mouth moved down his neck, then back
up to his jaw.

"//Beautiful.//" El's tongue began to thrust at him in chorus with the movements of
his lower body against Sands' buttocks.

"Fuck."

"//Oh yes. That is what I intend to do.//"

Hands slipped around his waist as teeth sank lightly into his shoulder. Before he
knew what was happening, his pants were undone and sliding downward, and a
hand had taken hold of him, lifting, grasping, fondling. He moaned.

"I can't see..."

"//You do not need to see. You only need to feel.//"

The stroking ceased. There was movement behind him and then he felt El's fingers
again, slick now with some sort of oil, sliding into his body. He bit down on his
lower lip as first one finger, then two, entered him, stretching, stroking the spot
that made him stiffen and arch against his captor.

"//Ah. Yes. Yes.//"

The fingers left him and he heard the sound of a zipper. "//Spread your legs.//"

He leaned his head against the wall to brace himself and moved his legs as far apart
as the lowered jeans would allow.

"//Yes. That is enough.//"

The teeth were back at his neck, grazing harmlessly, distracting him. "//Now.//"

He caught back a whimper as he was impaled, bodies merging in a single slow
thrust. El's breathing became ragged as he pushed himself deeper, deeper, until
there was no space between them.

"//Oh yes//." The voice behind him was breathless with desire, with need.
"//Good.//"

El's fingers walked around his flank and downward to grasp him. His hand and his
body began to move together, stroke for stroke. Sands groaned and let his head
fall back onto the mariachi's shoulder as the pain and pleasure merged.

"God damn you," he managed.

The sensations rose, and sent him into a spiral that made his knees buckle. El's
other arm went around his waist to hold him upright as El continued to thrust,
grunting out his own pleasure until, with one final burst, he too was finished.

They stood gasping for breath, trembling, until at last El's body slipped away.
Sands shook his head, straightened his legs, then turned and held out his hands.

"Get these fucking things off me."

"First, you must promise that you won't hit me."

He forced back a smile. "Okay. I promise."

El unlocked one of the cuffs, lifting the hand to kiss the inside of the wrist, then
repeated the motion with the other cuff.

"You are so beautiful, my love."

El always said that, not just when they were fucking. Sands still didn't believe it,
but he'd quit laughing, because it seemed to upset El.

"And you are full of shit, my mariachi." He leaned down to grab his pants and pull
them up. "Don't expect me to clean up the mess on the carpet. Or the wall."

"I never do." Gentle hands tucked him inside his jeans zip zipped them. "I love
you."

Sands still didn't believe that one either, but he had never laughed when El spoke
of love. He was grateful for this particular lie. He could almost pretend it was
true, and it made his own deeply hidden feeling for the mariachi easier to deal with.
He leaned forward to brush his lips against El's.

"Just remember the next time we play this game, it's my turn to be El Mariachi."

El caught him in a fierce, possessive embrace. And then they both laughed.