Discombobulated

Discombobulated

Disclaimer: I own squat. Zip.
Summary: Sands is being a first class Ass. Sands/You fic. Much fun and together-y-ness

The face of Adrejez was fuzzy but he could hear the drill as it whizzed with perfect clarity. The sound reminded him of a dream he once had as a child, when he was being chased by a madman with a drill. Perhaps it was prophetical. He tried to struggle as it got closer and closer to his face, but the drugs they had given him had immobilised him. The drill was so close now, that he couldn’t even focus on it. There was nothing he could do to stop it.

He screamed.

You were stirring the saucepan of spaghetti sauce when you heard a scream from the bedroom. Dropping the spoon, you ran through the apartment, throwing the bedroom door open and rushing to the side of the bed as he continued to scream. You shake his shoulders, gently to wake him up but when he doesn’t respond, you shake a bit rougher, jumping back and gasping when he sits upright suddenly awake.
“Sands? Sands, are you okay?” You watch as his lips move slightly, trying to answer. You place a comforting hand on his shoulder but he shrugs it off and climbs off the bed with some difficulty.
“Fuck off.” He ground out
“Was it a dream?” You ask, by now used to his language and the way he talks to you.
He ignores you, now feeling out to the wall, trying to find the doorway. Finally succeeding, he slides out into the apartment, heading for the kitchen. You follow, supposing you should probably check that he doesn’t accidentally spill boiling sauce all over himself, or set the apartment alight.

You sigh quietly as you watch him feel his way, sick of the way he treats you. You’ve been here for one and a half weeks now and you have another week and a half to go then you can paw him off to another poor therapist. No, not psychological therapist-Sands would rather jump out of a window that admit he needed that sort of help. No, you are a physical therapist.
After having his eyes gouged out, Sands was taken to a private hospital, funded by the CIA, where he was bed bound for two weeks, nine days of which, he was unconscious. The surgeons waited until then before carrying out their second operation, in hopes of perhaps restoring his eyes, but failed. When Sands was finally released, you were assigned to help him get his muscles back in working order again. Two weeks in bed may sound good, but it makes your muscles weaker and even start to decay, eventually. So you, the physical therapist thinks ‘Fine, I can handle him, even if he is a total nut job like I was told, I can put up with him for a couple of hours a day’ Right?

Well no. The CIA decided that Sands needed someone to be in the apartment all the time because he would probably end up falling off the balcony. The CIA really trust their agents, huh? Anyway, they couldn’t find anyone willing to take on the job so they asked you. You accepted of course, due to the obscene amount of money they would be paying you, on top of your normal fee, of course. You could handle one asshole for a few weeks, right?


You enter the kitchen to find Sands sitting down at the kitchen table, making little swirly patterns on the kitchen top with his finger. “I know your there.” He says, tilting his head towards you, standing in the doorway. “I may have lost my eyesight, but my ears work just fine.”
You sigh and walk into the kitchen fully, over to the stove, and mix the sauce again. “What are you making?” He asks.
“Spaghetti. If you don’t like it, make something yourself.”
“It’s fine.” There was a pause, “Do you think you could massage me again after dinner, I’m feeling really stiff, and my leg feels painful.”
“Yeah. Maybe if you decide to behave yourself, I’ll give you a full body massage.”
“That the only excuse you got to want to see me naked, hmm?”

You blush furiously, “Fine, if you don’t want-”
“Are you blushing?”
“What!? No!”
“You are!”
“And how would you know, Sheldon?”
Sands smirked, “I’ve spent almost two weeks with you, Sugarbutt. I know what pushes your buttons...” He grinned salaciously. You try to stop the blush creeping up your neck even though you know he can’t see. You don’t reply to the remark, pretending to ignore him and stir the spaghetti again.

Sands jumps as the buzzer beeps, signalling that the spaghetti is cooked. You go about dishing up, wondering about what Sands was dreaming about to make him scream like that.

But you know better than to ask.

Dinner was eaten in silence and you left the dishes to clean up in the morning.
When you walked into the bedroom, Sands was sitting on the end of the bed, a tiny towel wrapped around his hips, his sunglasses still firmly planted on his nose. If anyone else had seen him like that, they would have laughed, but you knew what it meant to him to keep the glasses on.

You rummage around in the draw next to the bed, pulling out the bottle of oil, scented slightly with cinnamon. “Okay, lay down, then.”
“Where do you want me?” Oh the possibilities... sure Sands was an asshole at times, but your only human. And female, so one look at his body has you trying to keep from drooling. You’ve had lots of practise this past fortnight.
“Just lay down on your front on the bed. We’ll do the front second.”
Sands moved back on the bed, careful not to hit is head against the headboard.

You straddle his butt, covered by the towel and pour some oil onto your hands, rubbing them together to warm them up before starting to rub small circles at the base of Sands’ neck. He moans in pleasure as you feel the tension leak from his body. You gradually reach the base of his back, tugging at the towel slightly to massage a tad lower. When you finish his back, you move lower to his legs, taking care to cover all of his thighs but careful not to touch too high. You help Sands roll over when you finished massaging his feet. You add some more oil as you rub patterns into his legs, careful to avoid the holes of the wound, taking extra care when your hands move closer to them.

He groans as you nick one of the bullet wounds on his thigh with your leg as you straddle him again. You murmur an apology. Then realise that you are sitting on something that is harder than it should be. How did you not notice that!? He moaned as you shifted over his lap, obviously not shy about it.

Tying not to blush or comment, you watch his face intently as you work, taking note of how he presses his lips tightly together when something feels particularly good to stop from moaning, and how he bites his lips as you massage his stomach. You have to lean over him to reach his shoulders and as you do, his hands suddenly reach up and pull your face down to him.

Your eyes widen in shock as you find your lips pressed against his soft, persistent ones. You allow your tongues to dual as you realise that this is what you want. He is what you want.

You close your eyes, and nibble at his lower lip. Sands tangles one of his hands in your hair, the other cupping your breast through your top, pinching the nipple. You moan quietly and Sands hears you. He pinches again and rolls it between his fingers.

You pull away from his lips and attack his neck, biting, licking and sucking furiously. You hear as his breath quickens slightly and feel that he has unbuttoned you shirt. You sit up briefly, allowing him to slide it from your shoulders and throw it across the room, to land over the lamp.

A thought flits through your mind that it might catch fire but it is quickly dispersed as Sands leans forward, biting your nipple through your bra. You gasp and reach behind you to undo the clasp, tugging it off. Sands carries on attacking your breasts with his mouth as he reaches to undo your pants with his hands. He succeeds in tugging them down to your knees and he pushes your panties aside, plunging two fingers into your wetness.

You gasp and rock against him until you almost reach your peak, then he removes his fingers and helps you to get rid of the pants, your panties following. You undo his towel from his waist and your eyes widen at the size of him. The phrase ‘Bigger than your average’ comes to mind. Face it. You’re impressed.

You take care to avoid the wounds in his thighs as you move onto him, both of you sighing as you move against each other. You wish that you could see his eyes, to see the lust in what you would imagine were deep brown pools. The only sounds coming from the room are moans and pants as you bring each other to a staggering climax.

You both lay panting as you recover from your exertions. You move, laying down beside him, your legs still entwined. It is now that you realise that you are covered in cinnamon oil. And so are your clothes that were strewn across the room. It’s impossible to get out.

Yup. Like I said before. He’s an asshole.

The End.