[ handcuffs & salsa ]

It was dark outside, he could tell. He could smell it in the wind, he could feel it. No hot sun beating down, just a dark and dry heat saturating the air. He could read the lines in the wind telling him it was night time, that the geckos were outside their window, slicking up the glass and finding the bugs that are attracted to the light shining through their window. The fan in the middle of the room making a soft whirring humming sound did little to break up the stagnancy of the air, but was just enough to make sleeping tolerable.

“Will you take these off now?’

“No. Don´t think I will.’

It was quiet this night, but that wasn´t all that unusual. Fideo and Lorenzo had long ago ceased to stay with he and El once dusk had settled. By the time the sun began to set Fideo´s bones were itching for Tequila and Lorenzo´s fingers were itching to join him. Sands slept in the bed and El slept on a cot on the floor blocking the door, and Sands thought it was kind of funny El thought he was a flight risk. Kind of hard to fly when you have no wings to guide you.

“I do not like having my hands binded.’

“Well, El, I do not like having my eyes stolen...’

He´d found the leather strap in El´s suitcase when he´d been looking for a razor. At first he´d thought it was a belt, but there were no holes or buckles. When El had arrived back from his trip to the store with the food he´d left to get, he´d lunged at him, tackled him to the ground, and bound his hands behind his back. He´d hauled the angry Mexican up, thrown him in a chair, and then wondered to himself just what he thought he´d accomplish by all of this. The first sound El heard out of Sands mouth was laughter.

“What are you trying to do, Sands? What is your point?’

“My point is that I´d like for you to feel what I feel every day.’

It came out easily enough, the explanation. CIA Agents are trained to think well on their feet, to come up with plausible reasons for whatever need be in a quick manner. It wasn´t until it was out there, reverberating around the room, that he realized maybe that really did have something to do with it. Mostly, though, he was bored, and he liked the idea of El being rendered obsolete. He liked the illusion of once again being the one to throw the shapes, it was just too bad he could no longer watch them fall.

“That´s bullshit.’

“Not completely.’

There were chips on the table and a bottle of someone´s homemade and packaged to sell salsa in the bag El brought with him. It had almost broken when El had gone pitching to the floor, but Sands´ hand broke the fall. There would be a bruise there most likely, but maybe not since he wouldn´t be able to see the purple blueness of it, and if you can´t see it it´s not there. He opened the salsa on the second try and sat on the edge of the table as he dipped a chip in.

“Was it really necessary to blindfold me?’

“No. But I figured, hey… while we´re here.’

He could see in his mind´s eye the expression on El´s face. That dark glower the man had, the fine bone features pinched in annoyance. Watching him as he slowly ate his chips and salsa. That underlying taught spring underneath the calm exterior. He knew that feeling, the feeling of being ready to jump and tear and rip apart anything that got in your way. He felt that every day now. Hell, he´d felt it his whole life, so why should now be any different? He could feel that penetrating gaze as if it were burning a whole through him, warmth spreading through him even as a shiver traced down his spine.

“Is that the salsa you wanted?’

“Not quite, but close. Done good, El.’

He´s had to go by guts and guts alone for a while now. He´s had to rely on that feeling in the pit of your stomach that tells you the phone´s about to ring or to not cross the street just yet. That thing that holds you back when everything else is telling you to go forward, pushing you to proceed. He´s had to trust his instincts since too young of an age, and they failed him only once but oh… trust me, it was a doozy. Still though, instincts were what he still relied on, and his instincts were telling him to get up and walk forward.

“What the hell do you think you´re doing?’

“I´m sitting. You´re familiar with it, aren´t you?’

El´s thighs were taught and hard beneath his. His breath rushed out in surprise as Sands settled on top of him, and Sands´ mouth curved into an almost saccharine smile. He brought a chip covered in the spicy red mixture to his lips and flicked out his tongue to remove the excess. He felt El jump beneath him and grabbed onto the back of El´s chair to steady himself. He was full of adrenaline and he wasn´t sure how much of it was desperation for something real and how much of it was actual arousal, but it was so thick in his nose that he could feel the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

“You dripped some salsa on me.’

“Did I? I´m sorry.’

He reached his hand out and felt over El´s shirt, his fingertips just barely grazing the collar. He felt a wetness on the edge of it, his fingernail scraping over El´s skin as he scraped it off. Sands brought his finger to his mouth and licked off, humming in approval. He bent his head and flicked out his tongue to remove the remnants, the hot spices mixing with the tangy salt of El´s sweat beaded skin. His hands slid in place on El´s side, grazing lightly over the thin t-shirt and gripping it in his hands, pulling the shirt down to have more access at El´s throat. His teeth bit gently and then harder, and he didn´t stop until he felt El grow as hard beneath him as he already was.

“What are you doing?’

“Feeling real. Feeling you.’

So there El was, his hands tied behind him in a creaky old wooden chair. Sands straddling him, grinding his hips into him, and purring into his throat. El´s struggling ceasing as Sands´ tongue ran up to his jaw and his lips closed over his. Sands shoving his tongue violently into El´s mouth, and El reciprocating despite the myriad of reason why this is the last thing he needs to be doing with Sands right now. He can´t say no, and he can´t say stop, and at this point he doesn´t even want to, cause it´s been so long since he felt this way. All he knows is he´s hard, and he´s gong to get off if it´s the last thing he does.

“All this because of some salsa huh?’

“And handcuffs.’

“Leather straps.’

“Whatever.’