So, since I have been churning out one-shots like a muthafucka, lately, here's my latest one and a pretty short one, as well. One of the relationships that most intrigued me in the show, was the relationship portrayed between Santanico and Carlos. I felt like half the things he done throughout the show, he done for her because he loved her, and once I got that thought, head-canon, whatever, stuck in my head, this is what was born from it. This is a Carlos/Santanico fic if you haven't already inferred that, with explicit smut in the beginning. You have been warned.
Reviews are welcome, so please, go on ahead and leave one. It'd be muchly appreciated :)
So, read, review and enjoy!
- Nagiana
"Yours is the light by which my spirit is born . . ." - Carlos, "From Dusk til Dawn"
The first time he saw her, he didn't fall in love in her because she was beautiful. He fell in love with her power – what she could do for him. No longer would he be treated like shit underneath his commander's mailed boot. No longer would he be looked down upon and spat upon because of where he came from – because his mother was Moor in a Spanish Catholic country while his father was nothing more but a useless drunkard. No, Santanico saw past that. She saw everything else inside him – his greed, his lusts, his anger. She saw past his background, and embraced who he truly was inside - who he truly wanted to be. In return, he noticed she was beautiful for the first time, and then he fell in love with more than just her innate power that would soon become his. And that love was hopeless and all-consuming and would forever ensnare him in her grip.
These thoughts flitted through his mind as he stood there and watched rather dispassionately as Santanico stood before her alter, bathed in blood and licking her fingers free of all the brain matter and gore that hung from the painted claws. When she was done, she gazed around at the carnage surrounding her before turning her eyes onto him. She arched a brow and gestured to the corpses. "I'll have the girls remove all the trash." She told him, and Carlos chuckled as he moved slowly up the stone steps towards her.
He unkindly kicked aside the de-limbed torso of his former commander, and stepped closer to her, his face appearing centimeters from hers. "Of course. We wouldn't want you becoming an abomination by cleaning up after yourself, right?" He asked, his tone lilting and silky, and Santanico's nostrils flared as her eyes radiated anger at his impudence. She had an air of arrogance about her, his little Vampire Queen, that was sometimes infuriating, sometimes intriguing, and then sometimes incredibly sexy. But she was beautiful and powerful, and Carlos still loved her and he'd be damned if he wouldn't lick the blood and suck the brain matter clinging to her toes if she told him to.
They stood there for a moment; her brown eyes meeting his of the same color, waiting for the other person to make the first move. A light breeze wafted through the open doorway and square cut windows, blowing an unfamiliar scent into Carlos' face. Through the thick, coppery smell of blood and gore that hung thickly in the air like a miasma, it was unmistakably feminine - a light combination of orchids and something more natural. The smell filled his nostrils and made him think of faraway places - of lands away from the fighting and misery that he had seen since coming to the New World.
Santanico did not miss the change in Carlos' eyes and mouth. All the anger and resentment and satisfaction that had been present moments ago while he witnessed the killing of his commander and his men, was gone. Now, she could see something else - something almost indefinable. Before then, she thought him a man only out for power and money – that he was nothing more but a greedy man. Before then, Santanico had always assumed that to be Carlos' only mindset. But somehow, she saw the truth then, hidden away behind his brown eyes – the truth that when he looked at her, she saw nothing but love and adoration and worship. It warmed her heart in a way that it hadn't been warmed for a very long time, and suddenly, Santanico realized just why she had changed him – why she had made him what she was – why she made him different than the men and women who served her further back in the temple. She was lonely. She wanted someone who understood her, who could be beside her forever in this Hell she was trapped in . . . she wanted someone of her equal.
Carlos, was that man – that equal.
Neither noticed the other's stance relax and their breathing return to normal. An inexplicable feeling hung in the air between them - one that neither of them wanted to acknowledge. But they also couldn't ignore it, either. In her typical blunt fashion, Santanico stepped forward and pulled Carlos into a rough kiss that tasted of blood and bone marrow.
Her taloned hands gripped his hair tightly as her lips pressed evermore insistently against his. Carlos' first instinct was to resist but as the kiss continued, that instinct slowly fell away. He returned the kiss, his tongue slipping cleanly into her mouth. He felt her tongue connect with his and the two moved against each other. They darted around one another's in a manner not unlike a duel. Carlos reached out and grasped the hemline of her white gown, where he prepared to move it up her thighs and hips and over her head. Santanico froze and her hands shot downwards to latch onto his. She broke the kiss and gave him a strange look - eyes wide and alarmed at the speed this was going. Their faces remained inches from the others, however, and for a moment, her heart seemed to pound against her chest, something that hadn't happened since she was a girl alive and on the cusp of womanhood, feeling her heart race underneath the heated the gaze of the man she fancied. All she wanted was for him to kiss her again – kiss her like he had before – kiss her and look at her as if she was the only woman in his entire life who mattered to him.
For a moment at that look, Carlos thought he had gone too far. But Santanico's face relaxed and she allowed him to draw her gown up and over her head, where it then fluttered to the floor. The white fabric soaked into the blood pooling on the ground and stained a garish red. She undid the buckles of his breastplate and allowed it to fall to the stone floor, as well, with a sharp, metallic 'clang'. The tunics underneath soon followed. Next were the gauntlets, all which fell to the ground with equal alacrity until they both stood completely naked before the other. Santanico's olive colored skin glowed in the light of the midday sun. Her dark nipples were smaller than Carlos had expected, even more so given the size of her small but still ample and well-shaped breasts. Another surprise was the pubic hair, or lack thereof. He had a completely unobstructed view of her soaked vulva. He watched as a droplet ran down her thigh and fell onto the stone floor.
You are my Queen, my world, my moon . . . He wanted to say the words, but in the end, was afraid to. They failed him underneath the brown gaze of the petite woman standing before him. She licked her lips in anticipation as she stared at Carlos' nude form. She didn't know what she had expected, but was surprised at how muscular and fit he was. His body was lithe and well-toned. A small amount of hair covered his groin and even less on his chest and around his navel. His cock twitched as her eyes settled on it. There were a few drops of seed on the tip - now useless - and her mouth went dry at the sight. She recovered herself quickly, however, and the arrogance returned to her bearing as her head rose slightly. A certain air of imperiousness joined that arrogance, and he couldn't help but find it intensely arousing. "On your knees, Carlos," She commanded, her voice silky and final. One of her eyebrows arched then. "You want to worship an altar? Then you shall worship at mine."
Carlos couldn't help but grin as he knelt down in front of her, hands folded in front of him like he had countless times before when he had fallen before the altar of Christ - thoroughly unsurprised that Santanico was taking such a dominant approach with him. When was a Goddess ever known to be submissive to a man?
Santanico moved forward then, and took a stance mere centimeters away from his face. He could smell her in such close proximity – heady and intoxicating and only leaned forward when she placed a gently pressing hand on his head.
With a smirk, Carlos reached out and rubbed his fingers along her slit. His index and thumb pinched her clit as his other hand spread her lips open. Her face gave no indication of her feelings save for another delicately arched brow, but her body more than made up for her silence. Carlos' fingers were soaked with an abundance of arousal in a matter of moments. His fingers moved away from her clit and slid into her. Her inner walls gripped them tight as he massaged the inner walls of her womanhood. It was then that Carlos leaned forward slightly and ran his tongue along her folds.
Santanico's eyes closed as she grit her teeth. She was determined to not make a sound despite her body aching for her to cry out – to exalt his name to the Heavens. Her will was severely tested when his tongue reached her clit. Her breathing increased rapidly as an orgasm built. Carlos expertly responded to her body's signals and moved his fingers faster. Her legs shook ever so slightly and her hand reached out to the bloody stone altar behind her in order to steady herself. He pulled his fingers out just as she climaxed and watched as her orgasm ran down her shapely legs in delicious looking rivulets. He leaned forward again and sensuously lapped it up, Santanico breathing heavily as she fought down the moan that was desperately trying to escape past her parted lips.
He got to his feet and after several moments, she regained her composure enough to turn and shove Carlos onto his back on the altar. Climbing up and over him, she threw her leg over his prone form and slowly lowered herself down onto his cock. She hovered above it for a moment, her hand gripping his pulsing shaft. She held it straight as she impaled herself on it. She didn't stop until Carlos was fully inside her up to the hilt. He grinned as he watched Santanico bite down on her plump bottom lip. Her hand seemed to involuntarily cradle her breast as she started to rise and just as she reached the peak, Carlos grabbed her hips and suddenly pulled her back down.
Santanico moaned loudly in both shock and pleasure at the abruptness of him reentering her. She looked down at him, her face a mixture of annoyance and a desire for him to continue. The latter overpowered her and she started riding him, setting an eager pace that suited them both. Her breasts heaved as Santanico moved as fast as she possibly. Her pussy gripped him tighter than ever and her face was a mask of fierce concentration. Carlos could see her composure slipping as her mouth opened slightly and her eyes widened.
Santanico apparently realized this as well, because she slid off Carlos' glistening shaft and stood up. She laid her hands on the altar and thrust her ass out. Carlos climbed to his feet and moved behind her. He waited several seconds before suddenly thrusting into her. Santanico's eyes widened and her mouth fell open again as Carlos slammed into her with abandon. Finally facing away from him, Santanico allowed her face to reflect the pleasure she felt. Her Priests and Priestesses wouldn't have recognized the woman that stood there at that moment.
They were both so preoccupied they failed to notice the return of one of her Priestesses. The woman walked into the room and began dragging the now festering corpses out of the room. Carlos jumped when she entered his field of view, surprised that she could be so blase about walking in on her Goddess being fucked by a man newly turned, until he remembered they were bred and changed to not notice such things. Even Santanico was taken aback for a moment. But her surprise vanished to be replaced with lust. "Maya." Santanico said, motioning between her legs. Carlos was astonished to see Maya nod and kneel down in front of Santanico as if it was the most commonplace thing in the world. She immediately went to work licking and caressing Santanico's lips and clit. He watched for several moments, dumbstruck by the spectacle.
But he saw an opportunity present itself and was more than willing to take advantage of it. Without warning he started thrusting into her again. His hips slammed into her with enough force to shake her well-toned ass. Santanico knew what he was doing and she couldn't stop him even if she wanted to. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she released a moan as one of her hands curled into a fist on the altar. Her eyes closed as the entirety of her will went to keeping her voice in check. She felt a hand grab her breast and roughly pinch her nipple. Another followed suit and she was hard pressed to keep quiet.
Maya nibbled Santanico's clit and with a spontaneity that Santanico was surprised he could muster at that moment, Carlos wrapped his strong hand around the front of her throat, and lifted her up to him. Her sweaty back met his heaving front and her head immediately fell back on his shoulder. His lips caught hers in a passionate kiss and it was then that she felt another wave build quickly inside her. Carlos' cock moving in and out of her rapidly, as well as the skilled ministrations of Maya's lips and tongue, brought her pleasure to even greater heights.
Although if she was being completely honest with herself, the one who was kissing her so passionately, was the one she wanted the most.
Sandwiched between an eager Carlos and an emotionless but nonetheless quite efficient Maya, Santanico finally let her voice be heard. Breaking their kiss, she cried out Carlos' name in ecstasy as wave after wave of pleasure crashed down around her. Arousal soaked Maya's face and Carlos' cock as Santanico's body tightened like a bowstring being drawn. She clamped down on his shaft as her body contracted. Hissing, Carlos felt himself climax and he shot his load deep into her womb. Closing her eyes, she pushed Maya none-too-kindly away from her and allowed Carlos to wrap his arms around her and hold her close against him. Maya hit the altar behind her before slinking off to resume what she had been doing before her mistress called her over.
"Next time . . . next time, I want you underneath me. And I want to see your face when you come like that." He murmured, a certain possessive tone to his voice that made a shiver of both delight and desire to dun up and down her spine. She had been dominant for far too long. She longed for a man who could exert his dominance over her. She grinned and gave a laugh as his lips ran up her neck.
"You do what your Goddess commands of you." She breathed and felt him grin against the smooth column of flesh.
"Yes, but every Goddess needs her God."
He stayed with her, not because he knew he would be lonely otherwise, and not because he didn't have scores of his own to settle now that he was immortal and all-powerful (and he did – many), but because she herself couldn't leave. If she was trapped – if she couldn't escape that Hellhole her fellow tribesman had put her in - then he would be, too. He allowed his love for her to trap him in that same stone cage she was trapped in. And in the beginning, she loved him for it. She had longed for a lover who would be willing to help shoulder her burdens – to balm the ache of being trapped and alone for so long with only brain-dead, mindless Priests and Priestesses for company.
But that was in the beginning. And while it had been beautiful and heady when it first started - when the arc of their relationship encompassed her calling him her lover, then her husband, and finally, her God, after a few centuries of being cooped up together, it was inevitable that eventually things would start to sour. Carlos was just shocked at quickly they ended. He had loved her nonstop for centuries – he would never stop loving her – but her spurning of him the way she did, was cruelty. She grew conniving and manipulative in her age – desperate to break free of the stone chains that had binded her for centuries upon counting, and she would find a way, even if it eventually killed her. And no amount of attention and love and doting from Carlos, could take that desperation away like it had in the beginning, when she was still a young girl complacent to being doted upon and distracted by frivolous things.
In the beginning, Santanico had been desperate for not just a lover to love her, but a friend, as well – someone to love her and to talk to her like she wasn't a Goddess to be constantly stuck on a pedestal and worshiped. She wanted someone to treat her as if she was still alive – still a young girl. Now . . . now that the novelty of having such a friend had long been worn off, she was desperate to escape her prison – her cage of stone and cold. Whether or not Carlos came with her, didn't interest her any longer. She had made him what he was, yes – she had made him powerful by her own blood, but he interested her no longer. His novelty had long worn off, as well as his novelty of being her only friend.
She was fully aware that she was stringing him on. She was aware of how men viewed her – saw only her beauty and her seductiveness. She was aware that Carlos had a habit of allowing his love to string him along behind her like a lovesick puppy – worshiping the ground of a woman he wanted but who no longer wanted him. Gone were their days of sleeping in each other's arms and nights filled with heady lovemaking on the stone altar drenched in dried, flaking blood that her worshipers sacrificed to her and the Snake God, on every day. Gone were the days of him being called the Snake God – of her worshipers sacrificing to him in the same way they sacrificed to her because he alone was the vessel of the God who loved and had chosen Santanico as the recipient of his immortal gift. Gone were the nights when they would feed off the choicest of mortals – lips locked and hands exploring as blood filled their mouths from the other – lemon-lime, cherry – strawberry-banana.
Gone were their days of excess – of gluttony and lust and love. His Goddess was gone and replaced with a cruel caricature of the woman he had fallen in love with. Gone was the love his Goddess had bore him – the love that had lasted for centuries before spoiling in the hot Mexican sun like a decaying corpse. He grew angry with her – bitter from her cruelty of him – of spurning him for the psychotic, useless Gecko brother that she knew would never, ever be able to compare to him. His kisses and touches would never compare to his. Their lovemaking and his tongue between her legs would never make her come like he could.
But his love for her never died. Masked, though it was with bitterness and regret and anger and hatred, it was still there, and there, it would remain. Crouched and waiting - hunched in the shadows for the day she would realize she chose wrong. The day she realized she wanted him back - the one man who would always understand her - the one man who would leap to do her bidding, who would kill, maim and fall on a stake at just the snap of her manicured fingers.
Santanico . . . his love, his wife . . . His Goddess.