Strummed

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Tilting echoes of feeling fill the morning air as the sun wakes the world. Not that he could see it, but he could imagine the fucking scene. He could imagine El sitting on the bed with his guitar in hand, plucking at it as he did his lover. The guitar didn't moan out its pleasure, though it was pleasure that El strummed out of him.

Sheldon Jeffery Sands had always loved the guitar. Not that he would say so to his puppet-turned-lover. But he had played as a kid just to get away from the hard home life that he had. Mrs. Johnson was hi teacher and he had gone to her house every day for a lesson. She even invited him over on the weekends. Sometimes he would play with the other kids who took guitar from her.

There had been three of them in all and Mrs. Johnson like the titillating music of the Mariachi. She had called them "The Three Mariachi" – she took care of them. And the day Sheldon Jeffery Sands had found out his family would be moving and he would never again take guitar from her, she had given him the guitar that she had come to think of as his. She had his name burned into the handle, it belonged to him.

He called it Sandry. For it was the light color of sand.

Now, hearing El play the music he had learned to play himself; it was hard not to go back to those long summer days when they would all get together over lemonade and return insults as boys are wont to do. To look at girls as they passed by to a swim meet or to go to the mall. Mrs. Johnson had wanted them to play in the mall once. But Sheldon wouldn't have stood for it.

He buried his head into the pillow; it was freshly washed and smelled of light powdered soap. The room grew warm with the morning sun. El was still playing, still coaxing those intoxicating smells from his guitar like the cook could make a grand piece of Pork. It might have been wrong of him to compare El to a Cook, but that's the way he flew. Fuck it.

"El, must you play so fucking early?" he moaned.

"Does it not make you relax?" El replied amused. Sands knew El was amused and glared at him. El gloried in the fact that for a moment, he had been able to beat the X-Agent at his own infernal, word game.

"Fuck you,"

a/n – Okay, I tried to do better with detail. So this happens to be a bit of a character sketch. I don't own anything but I love Johnny Depp so…yeah…