Title: Sunday Morning Coming Down
Author: Kerttu
Pairing: Sands/El
Rating: R to be on the safe side
Disclaimer: As if anyone could own these guys!
Summary: Post-movie; set in my Mentality AU (Sands has his eyes); Sunday in dreamy Mexico style
AN: Thank you, Kazren, for fabulous beta. (hugs her) The mistakes that remain are all mine. Bows to Maureen for ideas of smut (You just rock me into writing even when I should not!) The title is definitely either a song title or a line from lyrics but I cannot recall from where. So whoever owns it, does.
It's was a lazy Sunday morning in El and Sheldon's (he sometimes even liked when El called him that but he never showed it) apartment and Sands had finally found a new number of his favourite comic book in this shitty town.
He had wanted to read it at once but the early morning walk to the shop had left him drenched – one of those odd strong warm tropical downpours had occurred and no amount of cursing helped him when he had made his way back, dripping and muddy. So, a shower later he was sprawled on his stomach on the floor in the spot of sun and read his beloved comic book.
He heard El emerge from the bedroom but he did not move. There was really no need for that, was there? He was in the plain view, he had even left some of the lukewarm water in the shower and he was reading his book.
He heard El stop and felt him watching him.
"What?"
"Your boxers are showing."
"So?"
"Just saying."
"You jingle, I show the tops of my boxers when I want to."
He had not known the fact but the grey sweatpants were somewhat loose… and he never wanted to get caught with things unplanned. So if the boxers showed, they showed because he really wanted them to show.
El shifted his weight – the floorboards creaked – but he did not stop staring. Sands could still feel his eyes on his bare back.
He could very easily imagine how El looked at this precise moment – the dark hair like a ribbed curtain shading his eyes, the look in those pits of coal, hungry… Sands swallowed and felt himself go hard. He loved to be watched like that but he also never wanted to be found out to be so vain…
"Why do you wear shades?"
"It too bright, it hurts my eyes. You must have read something under direct sunlight?" He still did not move but tension and temperature were rising in the room. With them, it was so easy to happen.
The footfalls came closer – El was barefoot, Sands noted – and then the comic book was snatched away.
"Hey fuckmook, I was reading that!"
A hand in his shower-wet hair, grabbing and holding him. El's knees hit the floor and the face of the Agent was wrenched upwards (not that he minded so much) and the kiss promised a whole world and then some.
A push against his shoulder, and he was flat on his back, El dragging his pants down.
"You just could have-" His breath hitched, since El was kissing him down there, only thing keeping him off his skin was the thin layer of cotton. "Fucking desperado…"
Then the boxers were gone, too. His hands found El's hair, warmed by the sunlight pouring down on them. He tangled his fingers in the strands, loved the texture of them and the mouth lavishing hot lust on his cock.
The sun hit directly in his eyes whenever El's tongue made him twitch, so he closed them. Bright red surrounded him, the colour of passion, blood and madness, and he never wanted to see anything else again.
When calm again, he noticed that his shades were still on but askew. Somehow it struck him has funny. El had crawled by him, lying there like a big lazy cat.
"Now I have to take another shower."
"Probably."
"That's your fault."
"Si." An arm sneaked around him. "Want me to join you?"
"Maybe…" He allowed his eyes to drift shut again. "But I definitely want to finish my comic."