Hot Mexican Sun
Sexy Chords
"You see, Tommy, its all about technique," Sheldon Jeffery Sands said. He much preferred to be called Sands though; it was less of a pussy name that way. Tom poured them each a tall glass of tea. The Mariachi's had gone someplace on their own and so without their lovers to distract them, Tom and Sands sat in the kitchen of the abandoned church that they had taken as their home. It resembled a church less and less as they renovated it. Either way, no bills needed to be paid.
"What do you mean by that?" Tom asked. He sat across from his Uncle. Sands took a sip of his drink before smirking.
"You two aren't going at it," Sands said simply. Tom gulped loudly at this.
"You want to talk about my sex life?" he almost yelped.
"What? I ain't your Dad or Mom," Sands waved his hand as if it really didn't matter. Tom shook his head.
"Mom, I forgot to call her," he sighed.
"Is it her birthday?" Sands asked.
"No, she might be worried though, I didn't exactly let people know what I was up too," Tom shrugged.
"Ah, well, that complicates things only if you go back," Sands said frankly.
"But I'm not," Tom replied.
"Of course not, you've got El, who'd want to leave him?" Sands grinned lewdly at Tom.
"Oh? and what about you and Lorenzo and Fideo?" Tom asked.
"We're all good," Sands brought out a cigarette and lit up.
"Are we going anywhere with this? I have to open the station in fifteen minutes," Tom rolled his eyes.
"Don't take a tone with me, young man, I am still older and faster than you; and, for your information, all you gotta do is let him, as in 'The' take the lead," Sands replied.
"What…?" Tom blinked.
"Just let him make the first move," Sand shrugged.
"That's it? Let him approach me?" Tom asked.
"Du-uh, that's what he's been wanting the entire time. We ain't the only ones who talk about sexual techniques when our lovers are no where around. Now, get outta here Scamp, you gotta open the station," Sands had basically kicked his nephew out of the house.
Tom shook his head as he put his glass in the fridge and walked across the street from their kitchen to the gas station. It was the only one around and all the money, except for a bit for Tom, was given to the city treasury. That was for the widows and the orphanage mostly. Tom didn't mind working it. It was less dangerous than the job he did have. He did have a problem when it came to cleaning though, he was anal about a lot of things. It took forever to get the place back to the way he wanted it after a sand storm, but he didn't mind.
He was expecting a lot of tourists this next week, the Day of the Dead was coming up and so there would be people passing through. At least he prayed. He still had the fifteen thousand that he had taken when he had left 21 Jump Street. But that he had hidden and he didn't mention it to anyone. That was for a rainy day. Not to mention that the Mariachi's were weird about their money. They wanted to take care of their lovers had every thing they needed – both Tom and Sands had a hard time with that, in fact, they still did.
The one time that Tom had done some shopping for the house, El had gotten terribly mad. Well, mad wasn't the word exactly, more like upset. It had taken Tom a long while to make El feel better about it again, he even promised to not buy anything without asking El first. Tom knew that it was a bit of an extreme. After all, he had always been independent of anyone and any money. But, Mexico was different; El had made it abundantly clear that he was to be the main worker for him and Tom while Fideo and Lorenzo took care of themselves and Sands.
Of course the house bills were paid by everyone, Tom cleaned the bed room he shared with El and the public rooms while Sands took care of "The Den" as Sands liked to call his, Fideo and Lorenzo's own bedroom. Tom and Sands had quickly learned to not cross the Mariachi's when it came to money.
Tom opened the station, turned on pump number 1 and went about sweeping the floor before he would mop and stock the shelves. Sometimes the town kids would come in with whatever they had and get some candy. Tom usually cut the price in half for them; anyway, it seemed the right thing to do.
Tom shook his head as he started sweeping; life was almost boring now. There was no cases to work on, no paper work, no McQuaids. Nothing. It was simple here. Tom liked it, though he did wonder what life would have been like if he had stayed in America. He figured that he would have opened a bowling alley or something. Maybe he would have still worked for the Jump Street program if he had had the balls to stick it out.
Tom didn't know where it had come from, but all of a sudden he had gotten the urge to play. He had played the saxophone and the guitar. One case had called for it and Tom had learned a few tricks. And what did El find sexy? What did El do all the time…?
Tom shook his head, he wondered why he hadn't thought of it before.
--
He was slouched in the chair. Sands had adjourned to his own bedroom for a lie down and Tom had taken up his 'borrowed' guitar and was just plucking at the strings. The tune lilted from his fingers quite easily and Tom was happy about it. He hadn't plaid in a rather long time but once he started, he found that it all came back swiftly.
El entered the house as Tom got into a rhythm, he was playing something that was distinctly supposed to be played on an electric guitar. But El didn't care what Tom was playing, all he cared about was that his lover wore tight, torn jeans and a wife beater. Dark hair was all over the place, but Tommy was hot. End of story.
Tom looked and grinned (sexily, El thought) up at his lover; "Hey there," he simply said.
To say the least, the rest of the evening would be one that Tom and El would never forget and would re-live over the next week, several, several times.
--
A/N – Okay, I didn't think that this needed a sex scene. But I promise to write one if everyone wants it. I can't post it anywhere though because my Dad has a freaking Nanny program on the computers, so getting the sites that allow that sort of thing are all blocked! Even my LJ. Sigh.
