When Mojave Dragonfly asked for a Christmas present with Sands, El and Kate, I don't think this was quite what she had in mind. This is a follow-up to "Clockwork Mexico". Contains non-slash sexual situations.
No Good Deed Goes Unpunished
Why did I go along with this crazy idea? Sands wondered, not for the first or last time. El and Kate had descended on Culiacan two days ago and whisked him off to spend Christmas with them in El's village. They'd helpfully given him a room near the "lived-in" section of the place they were occupying--it used to be some kind of fort or mission, and it was freaking huge.
Sands recognized their tactic for what it was--a way to keep him in the dark, so to speak, about the layout of the place. Under the guise of not taxing the poor blind man's navigational faculties, of course, which was a load of crap. But he knew how to play along. A day or two to lull them into believing he was complying with their little game, but now that they'd wandered off, he was going to explore until he knew where everything was--not just his room, the kitchen and the john.
There were two long corridors at the head of the stairs, and Sands had paid attention to which way he'd heard footsteps going: right. There was another, much larger bathroom--insititutional, really, directly across from the stairs. Several more rooms, empty.
A room behind a hanging curtain showed signs of regular occupation; there was furniture--a massive four-poster bed heaped with pillows that hid two guns, a wicker basket of clean laundry at its foot, a faint whiff of bleach...clearly this was Kate and El's room. His fingers discerned a soft coverlet--velvet, with irregular stitching...his mind conjured up an memory of the Victorian crazy quilt Grandmother Morganstern used to have thrown over the back of the sofa in her parlor.
Voices echoed as the sound of booted feet came down the corridor. Sands froze for a moment, loathe to be caught in their private space. Either get busted, or--- Quickly, he hit the floor--there was a wool runner beside the bed--and he slid beneath the old bed with heartbeats to spare. The floor was wooden, and smelled mildly of lemon oil.
"You know, we could have stayed out in the garage," Kate said breathlessly nearby. "It wouldn't be the first time."
"I know," El replied, his voice lower, intimate. "But I don't like the garage. It's for cars, not for--"
"Mmmm," Kate purred, and Sands got an uneasy feeling. Oh, God, they aren't going to--? From the cloth rustling noises and the scritch of a zipper, he realized they were. The head of the bed was opposite the door. Lousy feng shui, he tried to distract himself. Was that Zen decor article in GQ or Maxim? Damn, I miss periodicals...
He had to do something to tune out, because if the slurping sounds were any indication, El was getting a blow job a few feet away from where Sands lay. Kate coughed nearby.
"You okay?" the mariachi inquired, solicitous.
"Hairball," she said succinctly, and it was all Sands could do not to snicker. Skirmishing in progress; above him, the bedsprings creaked as a body landed on the mattress. There was a clunk-thud across the room. Another thud. Her shoes? The bed rocked, springs just over his head, old-fashioned coil springs... Snap, zip, rustle...something soft hit the floor. "Come and get it!"
El still stood beside the bed. "Are you sure? Maybe one of us should play hard to get." His tone was teasing, and Sands felt like beating his head against the boards. Briefly, he considered squirming out from under the bed, standing up, and departing with an innocent remark. Wouldn't work. They'd probably pound the snot out of me...at the very least.
"Hard to get? Darlin', has it somehow escaped your notice that you're already hard?" Haaahd...God, that southern drawl of hers is so annoying. Does she think it's sexy? It makes her sound like a brainless sexpot, and I'm not going to wonder how she'd look in a pair of Daisy Dukes. (If he could see, Kate wasn't in the top ten as far as priority scenery went. Not even close.)
The bedsprings flexed again. "It has not escaped my notice..." El's voice, right overhead.
"So what are we gonna do about that, hmm...?
"You. Are not. A nice girl."
Kate gave a wicked little laugh, and Sands ground his teeth. Then she squealed. Wonder what he's doing to her? "Teeth!" she exclaimed. "Sharp teeth!"
"Yes. The better to eat you with, my dear..."
Sands's mouth hung open in disbelief. The idea of exiting was starting to look better than staying. After all, what were the odds of both of them chasing after him stark naked? Projectile weapons, he reminded himself. They don't have to catch you, they just have to shoot you.
"You know," Sands heard the mariachi say, sounding innocent, "We could just take a nap." Yeah, right.
"Oh, no, darlin'. You're gonna have to wear me out, first. I know you can."
No way. Abso-freaking-lutely no way in hell was he going to lie there listening to them while they did the deed. Enough was enough. Taking a deep breath, he slithered to his right until he'd cleared the bed, then stood up.
The sound of two guns being cocked simultaneously greeted him.
"And just what were you doing under our bed?" Kate asked in her steel magnolia voice.
Play innocent. "Looking for a contact lens."
El snorted.
"Did you find it?" Kate wanted to know. I can't quite tell if she's going to start snickering or start shooting.
He faced the bed and pulled the Gear down on his nose, reminding her that all the contact lenses in the world weren't going to help. "No luck."
Sands casually slid his hands into his pockets and switched the sonar back on. Door on my left, about five paces... "Carry on." There was no comment from the would-be lovers. Apparently they were going to let him get away with it. When he reached the curtain, he paused, smirked, and said, "Don't worry, I didn't see a thing."
Laughter followed him down the corridor. They were still in the throes of audible mirth as he descended the stairs. Sands had a smile on his face. They're gonna have a helluva time concentrating after that little interruption. They'll be checking under the bed from now til I leave, and it'll drive them nuts! Can I kill a mood, or what?
The End.
Robert Rodriguez owns Sands and El. Technically, Thomas Harris created Kate, but I don't think he'd recognize her anymore.
Merry Christmas, y'all!