OUATIM story
Mar. 9th, 2004 07:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
czeriI've unwittingly wrote a story that I have nowhere to put - it doesn't really belong on my X Files fic page, nor in my Oz fic archive, so I'll just stick it in here ;-)
Author: Czeri
Title: Too Good
Pairing: Sands/El
Rating: NC-17
Thanks: to Beth Winter for great beta!
Feedback: Yes, please ;-)
Summary: It’s just a short smut-bunny, really.
El’s hand travels up the inside of Sands’ slightly raised thigh, before settling on the agent’s hipbone as the Mariachi enters him slowly from behind.
‘Too fucking slow,’ Sands thinks, but El soon makes up for it by starting a series of powerful thrusts that aren’t too slow at all.
Sands’ spine arches in delight and his head lolls back under the barrage of the half-forgotten sensation. It’s not easy to find a good fuck in this damned dust bowl of a country. But El’s good, oh yes, very good indeed. Almost good enough to kill.
Sands smiles grimly and then tries to match the nerve-tingling rhythm the Mariachi has set, but the hand on his hip tightens and holds him still.
‘Does our silent Mexican friend know *all* my kinks?’ Sands wonders for a moment before giving in and letting himself be restrained.
Though truth be told, El’s not all that silent any more. Sands can hear the ever more labored breathing, as well as feel it, like warm bursts of air against the back of his neck. And funnily enough, the breach of silence only makes his arousal flare up.
When the first shiver runs through his body, it’s so sweet that Sands can’t hold back a damning moan.
Christ, but how does El even *do* that, achieve *that* angle in the position they’re in?
Another couple of thrusts and he doesn’t care any more. All he cares about is the liquid heat pooling at the base of his spine before, as El’s movements grow ever more frenzied, suddenly spilling down the backs of his thighs, and up along his spinal chord, until he’s filled to the brink, until he can feel it buzzing along his skin, until his moans completely drown the ever quickening panting behind him. Helpless to stop the noise he closes his fists on the sheet while his whole body starts to fucking *glow*, every last nerve lighting up, making him feel hot and cold, numb and hyper-sensitive, all at the same time. And for a blessed moment he can almost *see*, the dark shape of himself against the white linen, speared and twisting as El fucks him, and the even darker form of the Mariachi, pressed snugly against his back.
Almost.
But the image feels real enough that he’s sure it’d have been burnt into his retinas, had he had any.
A sudden burst of liquid warmth inside tells him El has reached the end too. Still too far gone to stop himself, he moans brokenly as the slowly softening cock inside him gentles its punishing rhythm and then slips out.
Lying in the Mariachi’s arms afterwards, Sands wonders what it means that his throat feels almost as sore as his ass. Because Sheldon Jeffrey Sands doesn’t scream when he comes. Especially not when being screwed by a guy that’s too much of a bleeding heart to even leave a man who’d tried to stage a presidential assassination to die, all because said man had been wounded and mutilated.
And then he wonders whether he perhaps should kill the Mariachi after all.
Author: Czeri
Title: Too Good
Pairing: Sands/El
Rating: NC-17
Thanks: to Beth Winter for great beta!
Feedback: Yes, please ;-)
Summary: It’s just a short smut-bunny, really.
El’s hand travels up the inside of Sands’ slightly raised thigh, before settling on the agent’s hipbone as the Mariachi enters him slowly from behind.
‘Too fucking slow,’ Sands thinks, but El soon makes up for it by starting a series of powerful thrusts that aren’t too slow at all.
Sands’ spine arches in delight and his head lolls back under the barrage of the half-forgotten sensation. It’s not easy to find a good fuck in this damned dust bowl of a country. But El’s good, oh yes, very good indeed. Almost good enough to kill.
Sands smiles grimly and then tries to match the nerve-tingling rhythm the Mariachi has set, but the hand on his hip tightens and holds him still.
‘Does our silent Mexican friend know *all* my kinks?’ Sands wonders for a moment before giving in and letting himself be restrained.
Though truth be told, El’s not all that silent any more. Sands can hear the ever more labored breathing, as well as feel it, like warm bursts of air against the back of his neck. And funnily enough, the breach of silence only makes his arousal flare up.
When the first shiver runs through his body, it’s so sweet that Sands can’t hold back a damning moan.
Christ, but how does El even *do* that, achieve *that* angle in the position they’re in?
Another couple of thrusts and he doesn’t care any more. All he cares about is the liquid heat pooling at the base of his spine before, as El’s movements grow ever more frenzied, suddenly spilling down the backs of his thighs, and up along his spinal chord, until he’s filled to the brink, until he can feel it buzzing along his skin, until his moans completely drown the ever quickening panting behind him. Helpless to stop the noise he closes his fists on the sheet while his whole body starts to fucking *glow*, every last nerve lighting up, making him feel hot and cold, numb and hyper-sensitive, all at the same time. And for a blessed moment he can almost *see*, the dark shape of himself against the white linen, speared and twisting as El fucks him, and the even darker form of the Mariachi, pressed snugly against his back.
Almost.
But the image feels real enough that he’s sure it’d have been burnt into his retinas, had he had any.
A sudden burst of liquid warmth inside tells him El has reached the end too. Still too far gone to stop himself, he moans brokenly as the slowly softening cock inside him gentles its punishing rhythm and then slips out.
Lying in the Mariachi’s arms afterwards, Sands wonders what it means that his throat feels almost as sore as his ass. Because Sheldon Jeffrey Sands doesn’t scream when he comes. Especially not when being screwed by a guy that’s too much of a bleeding heart to even leave a man who’d tried to stage a presidential assassination to die, all because said man had been wounded and mutilated.
And then he wonders whether he perhaps should kill the Mariachi after all.