Title: Caramel and Mocha (4/?)

Author: Kerttu

Pairing: Sands/El

Rating: R to be on the safe side

Disclaimer: As if anyone could own these guys!

Summary: Post-movie; severe case of AU; dreams can come true

AN: Thank you, Kazren, for fabulous beta. All the mistakes that remain are all mine. Bows to Maureen for ideas of smut (I hope 'tied up and undressed' satisfies you), and to Ebe who asked and pleaded with me and then showed how beautiful that would be if I gave Sands his gorgeous eyes back.

When the half an hour had passed the door opened again. Now there were three barrels meeting him: El held two semi-automatics and one old man aimed a huge rifle at him.

"You really know how to make a guy feel welcomed, don't you, El?"

"Come out." El stepped backwards and Sands noticed that his movements were silent now, no chains – so the Mexican had enjoyed himself too, and with the results that necessitated a change in dress code.

A part of the Agent grinned indulgently. Other parts were somewhat weary of not seeing ways of getting out of this situation. He was crazy, that was a given but he was not suicidal. Going against three firearms was not a good move. Even in his mad books.

He was lead into - surprise-surprise! - a bedroom. The lack of embellishments screamed El.

"Get on the bed."

Sands could not NOT smile.

"What? A threesome? I AM flattered, but-"

"Shut up and do it."

He did. El gestured with his right hand gun. "Spread your hands over the headboard and do not move."

"And you are still saying this is not a-"

"Be silent."

The old man put the rifle down, came over – El covering Sands without even blinking – and tied the American to the headboard.

"Kinky, El, very kinky..." Sands leaned sensuously back against it, at the same time surreptitiously testing his bonds (the man had done a damn good job) and bared his throat. "Are you going to-"

"Now we will talk."

Sands watched under lowered lids how El sent the man away, made the pistols disappear from his hands with a single flick of his wrists, closed the door and sat on a chair by the bed. "I tried nicely-"

Sands' head snapped back up. "You call drugging 'nice'?"

The dark eyes only gave him a Look. "That was a precaution and you know it. I meant coffee."

"Oh, and was pushing me down and having your wicked way with me nice also?"

El glared at him: "Who hit me first?"

"Who kissed first?"

El glare softened, turned into amused and he smiled a little. "I did. And I must say I do not basically regret what happened later."

"I always knew you were masochist, El."

The once-musician-now-killer looked at the ceiling and nodded. "You are probably right. I should have just knocked you out and drove you back to the nearest city. Less problems."

"There you are wrong, my dear El." Sands waited until El was facing him again before he allowed a slow smirk to emerge: "You see: I would have come back."

El moved to sit by his side, an answering smirk on his face. It made him look deeply mischievous. "And I would have again asked for the reason."

Smile was gone in a split second and Sands regarded him coldly, although his heart rate was beginning to climb again: "Really?"

El leaned closer and whispered: "Yes." That was definitely a flirt. And even as trite as it was, it worked, damn it.

Sands gritted his teeth and answered then, calm as ever: "So now what?"

"Now you tell me, why you had to come here."

Sands plopped his head back against the headboard. It was not the most comfortable position – his bruised shoulder groaned at him - but he couldn't complain. At least he got somewhat away from the man's disturbing presence and he was also fairly sure El was not going to gut him. "We did talk about it already."

"No. I asked and you dodged." El moved also back to sit more comfortably.

"Correction: I hit and YOU dodged." Sands began to study the cracks in the ceiling. El had to do a whole lot more and be VERY convincing about it if he wanted anything from him. 'But haven't you already given away what you really want?' the nasty little voice nagged again. Sands closed his eyes for a moment to block the voice and the world out.

"Do you really want to go on arguing?"

El's voice in the darkness only made the naughty voice inside his scull snicker and Sands was forced to open his eyes again. Some of the ceiling cracks were actually really interesting.

"It is the only weapon you have left in my reach."

"Aren't you tired of manipulating?"

A smug smile and a sing-song voice: "It's in my very nature, cannot change that."

El was quiet for moment. Then the mattress dipped and Sands was suddenly straddled.

"What-"

"Shh-"

"Don't you 'shh' me, you heavy log of –"

A mouth, hot, demanding and with a lingering hint of black coffee, descended on him like a desert eagle. Hands held his face in place and he could not breathe. Two thighs held him efficiently down.

He was released and for a split second he felt both adrift and bereft. There was no air left in his lungs.

"Is this what you want from me?" El asked and his fingers turned him to face the dark questioning eyes. In this close range Sands could tell that the Mexican legend was not so young anymore. But he was still very handsome.

"Ap-fucking-parently! Any more stupid questions?" When El did not react at once, Sands wrenched his head free. "No? Good! Now release me!"

"Why do you fear?"

"What?" He was angry now. He. Was. Not. Afraid.

Never that.

El sat back and looked at him. "You are scared."

Sands' eyes grew big, dark and very cold: "I am angry, you rotten unsuccessful assassin, and pissed off of being stuck here like this, and perhaps somewhat hungry but I am not 'scared'."

El smiled. He did not think it came out particularly nice one, though.

It did not matter.

The Gringo had come looking for answers. The ones he found obviously did not please him.

Too bad.

El had not thought he had any answers to give but it was plain to see that he WAS the answer. And since he had always been more a man of action than talk…

Sands jumped when El began unbuckling the American's trousers. "What do you think-" A hand slipped in and since after the bathroom he was commando, the first touch sent him teetering in the edge.

He gasped and arched and then El's mouth closed over his again.

It seemed that no time passed between the moment when El reached down and the moment when Sands shouted a short obscene word and blew up.

When the world came back to him, El lounged comfortably by his side and leaned his head on Sands outstretched arm. He was looking at him with a certain expectant air.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just looking."

"And what do you see, oh great gitarrista?"

"A dangerous man who is very-"

"If you say 'pretty' I am going to murdphhh-"

"I was going for 'beautiful'." El said after he had released Sands' mouth. "And addictive." He nuzzled Sands neck and to his own horror Sands heard himself sigh with pleasure. He struggled but managed some irony: "So great El Mariachi is a gay gun-fighter…"

"A Man follows his passions." El's hand slid onto his chest and he began unbuttoning Sands' shirt one button at a time. Its progress was excruciatingly slow and disturbingly arousing – and Sands could not remember that last time he had been so quick to get excited. Not since early puberty for sure.

He fought against the tide of arousal that El's fingers drew out so damn easily from his body: "A proper Catholic man should not follow this kind of passion."

"A proper Catholic man should not kill either." The shirt was open and El rolled on top of him, looking into his eyes. "But since I do…" He left the sentence unfinished and found suddenly Sands' collarbone extremely interesting. A focused, almost piercing look, a soft touch and then a long warm lick that made the American's ears ring.

"You… seem – oh fuck! – very… dedicated… to your… cause… now." Sands panted while El was painting his chest with what felt like brand-marks but must have been only the licks of his tongue. El just smiled, he could feel it in the curving of his lips against his skin and the man was driving him towards sexual frenzy again. And his body was loving each and every second of it.

It disturbed him.

It unsettled him.

It, well, rocked his world and doing that it tipped his scales of control and manipulation and he was just a human with his wants and needs and urges and the calm conniving tricking chess-master vanished under the scorching touches of Mexico. And left him truly and deeply afraid.

Fear, old bastard, decided this time be the utter aphrodisiac and did him quickly in once more.

"You are rather easy, Agent Sands." El's voice commented on his left. Sands did not even bother to open his eyes.

"Sure… Tie anyone up and… they are easy." An exhausted slur. God, he was tired now. Three orgasms within an hour. Never thought that was possible… Well, for a male anyway.

There was no fight left in him, at least not in that particular minute. Sands became aware that his hands were quite numb and his bruised shoulder was cramping. "Are you… going to keep me here like this forever?"

"Promise not to fight again?"

Sands felt his mouth curling into a nasty smile without even thinking about it. "I promise nothing."

"Fair enough." El's fingers were at his left wrist, the bonds loosened and Sands drew his hand back, curling the fingers. Pins and needles erupted across his skin. El must have seen his reaction, because suddenly the man's hands were rubbing his arm and shoulder. "Sorry about this."

"Bah…" Where had El learned to massage like that? 'Or perhaps his touch just feels so good because he is more than your match?' The tiny voice inside his head was a persistent bugger.

El moved closer to him and the man urged him to lean slightly forward. "What are you doing?"

"Just feel. I promise: no pain."

Sands quirked an eyebrow but the hands on his neck felt too good to argue. If El wanted to cater for his every need… He could very well live with that.

Then El's fingers found a very sore spot and he winced: "No pain? Really?"

"Not intentional at least."

"Ahh, so you do know how to talk yourself out of tight spot?"

"I know many things." The Mexican planted a small kiss on Sands' shoulder. "It does not mean I use all of them." El reached over, his chest brushed Sands' back (a heat that sent AGAIN some NIIICE naughty jolts down to Sands' spine) and the American was free. 'I should try to leave…' But now his other shoulder and arm were treated with the same luxurious kneading and Sands just could not make himself get up.

'Alright, for a little while I can stay…' even the little voice in his head conceded, and, smugly smiling, Sands did.