Mexico

Mexico

Author: Racoona
Fandom: The Fast and the Furious
Rating: Teen
Pairing: Brian/Dom

Slow.

A burning flame danced. Slow.

Kindled candles lined the room, black wax dripping thickly, hitting the candle holders, the table; hardening as the cool air caressed it. Their warmth, the generated heat radiating from the lit wicks, hot as a furnace, but much softer, more sweetly: Almost sensual. The soft bongos from the neighbors whispered in through the night air, through the window, the hembra and macho sweetening the night sounds. Soft steady beats, perfect for the moment.

Skin against skin, semi-Latino and gringo, not contrasting at all, both sun kissed by Mexico’s warm, forgetting embrace. Sweat slick slides and rising moans, movements in tandem with the beating bongos and dancing flames, it was bittersweet. They had lost so much, they had lost everything but each other in coming here, to this, to them. The unmerciful pleasure coiled tighter, as the guilt crept in like a sneaking disease, tainting what little good they had left in life. The two: the traitors, abandoners, the unworthy ones.

“Dominic…” The sweetest whisper carried by the currents from succulent lips out in the air; caught only by a listening ear. Raspy voices, low voices, tender, loving, caressing. They were each others lifeline, if one broke, both fell. The flickering flame light reflected off the beads of sweat adorning skin, proof of their exertion, their struggle, the harsh road to pleasure. They were one, for the moment, yes, they were one.
Her eyes, her beautiful black eyes, they had flashed in anger, betrayal, sadness; she had seen them, entwined like snakes. Oh poor Mia. They could still hear her choked sobs at night, when things got to quiet. Not even a lover’s embrace could drive those plagued, horrid, broken sounds away. But they tried, everywhere they had tried, together, with new places and new people, but the voices of the past came back and hunted them, even in their bed.

In Mexico it would be alright, in Mexico they couldn’t get caught, down below the boarders life would be like the sweetest wine. And it was. Until the rush wore off, until the money had to come in instead of just going out, until truths that were never supposed to be told were spilled like blood in a war. The stains dried and were stubborn enough to never go away, like a dark spot on white linen.

Everyone had always wondered why their leader would make a rag-tag surfer dud tag along with no questions. They found out the hard way. Through jumbled words, hurt tears and screams out outrage, the sister had told her tale. The big brother, leader, one to be looked up to, betrayed them all.

Homosexual, gay, fag, boy-cunt, all words for the same: one more derogative than the other. When family says it, it’s worse. When deep brown eyes catch your gaze and the plump lips that once called you brother now calls you traitor; then you know it’s not salvageable, the relationship between siblings, crushed, destroyed.

“Brian…!” A choked gasp, their eyes met, deep brown clashed with piercing blue, wet, open mouthed kisses were exchanged, still, the eyes never closed. All the doubts came back tenfold. Was this worth it? Was this mindless, intense, pleasure inducing, unspoken love worth throwing away a lifetime of achievements, dreams, desires, year long companions and relationships for? It must have been, because when the keys were exchanged and escape cars were revved, they went together, together to their very own safe haven, below the boarders where no one could catch them.

They were in Mexico, and it was their own personal hell.