The Storm
Disclaimer: El and Sands belong to the great Robert Rodriguez.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A PWP set in an unspecified time, in an unspecified place.
And lo! the muse suddenly stirred to life. And Rebecca had no choice but to answer its call. And so she hurried to her computer and thus a story was born. And although she had been very terrible lately and had been falling behind on her reading of fanfiction, she decided to post anyway, on the off chance that someone might like to read this new creation of hers.
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The storm was rolling in, and El Mariachi had not slept all night.
He felt irritable, and restless in his own skin. The skies were leaden gray backlit by an eerie green glow. It had stopped raining for now, but he could see it coming down the road, a solid curtain of water. The hurricane was to make landfall and pass right over Culiacan.
El had chosen to stay. This was his home. He would not abandon it.
"So is it the end of the world?" a voice drawled behind him.
He did not turn around. "And if it was?"
A chair creaked. Footsteps sloshed across the porch. They were already wet from the earlier rains. "I get it. The world is ending tonight. What would you do with the few hours remaining to you?"
Strong arms snaked about his waist. A chiseled cheek was pressed against the naked skin of his back. One hand crept downward. "I know what I would do."
El sucked in a sharp breath. "And what is that?"
In response the hand touched him, holding him gently, but with just enough pressure to keep him tense. Sands trailed burning kisses down his shoulder blade. "You know what."
Without warning it began to rain again. The wind drove the drops sideways, onto the porch. El flinched back as the water struck his face. He turned around, still within the circle of Sands' arms, so now the rain beat on his back.
Sands was grinning. "Oops! Better batten down the hatches." He had to raise his voice to be heard above the pounding rain on the roof.
El seized his mouth in a fierce kiss. The rising passion of the storm matched the fire that burned in his own body. He gripped Sands' face in both his hands, not wanting to let go.
And Sands answered him. The agent shoved him backward until his back was to the porch railing. Warm rainwater streamed over his back and shoulders. It dripped from the ends of Sands' hair and rolled down his chest. The kiss was their battleground as they strove to equal the fury of the elements. And they fought themselves, and the dark fate that had brought them together in ways so unforeseen, yet so inescapable.
At last the need for air became an imperative, and El tore free of the kiss.
Sands did not let him get far. The agent nipped at his mouth, catching his lip between his teeth. "If this is the end of the world, you're going down with me."
"With, or on?" El asked with an arched eyebrow.
Sands grinned wickedly. "I have no objections."
Torrents of rain fell from the sky. It ran from the eaves of the roof in a waterfall, effectively shutting them off from the outside world. Here they were in their own little world, where no one else could see, or judge, or question. They could hear the howl of the wind, and feel it grasp at their skin, but it could not take hold. Here, enclosed by rain and wind and sky, they were free.
The storm raged on for some time, but long after it had blown itself out, they lay together in water and wind and exhausted, content passion.
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