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by Linaelyn


Fandom: OUATIM    Rating: R    Pairing: Sands/El    Full Header


"Show me your gun." El held his hand out for Sands' weapon.

"Why?" Sheldon continued to fiddle with the rag over the black warm metal, ostensibly cleaning, but obviously fondling.

"A gun explains much about a man's character. Who he is. What he believes."

"Bullshit. Sometimes a gun, like a cigar, is just a gun. It's just whatever I could lift out of the impound without having it noticed."

"But not this time. Not with you. Not this gun."

"Fuck you. It's just a gun." But still, Sands handed it over, because he didn't feel like fighting about it. "You can clean it again, if you get it all sweaty and filthy."

"Hmmm... hmmmmm..."



Asshole. Sands turned away. El smirked.

"I think I could be wrong about this after all. I can't see you actually being this varonil. You are not such el hombre viril."

"Oh, I'm not, am I? And what the FUCK to you mean by that?" Sands spun to face him again, and would have looked daggers at the mariachi, if he'd still had eyes with which to do so. As it was, the hostility was naked on his face.

"I really doubt you can manage ocho shots in one session, mi amigo." A little smirk, and a tilt of the head, at the thought of such a feat.

A slow grin spread across Sands' face until even his molars showed.

El blinked. Breathed. Blinked. "Prove it."

"Sure thing, mi amigo. Now? Rock and roll." He reached across the space between them, dug fingers like claws into the seat of El's black chinos, ground their hips together.
"I should have made you a bet. Let's say I made a bet. You owe me a hundred bucks. No. A thousand. That's got to have been worth a thousand, easy." Sands sucked on his cigarette in the piles of sweaty sheets, thighs splayed, hair hanging over his face.

El said nothing. He just lolled lethargically, eyes closed.

"And now we know. Now, we know exactly why El Mariachi carries a shotgun, don't we."

El pulled the pillow over his head and tried to sleep through the jabber.

Ignoring him, Sands continued. "Only got two barrels on a shot gun. Yup. Only two shots before you have to reload." His shoulders shook with laughter. "Only two shots, yup."

Sands bounced out of bed and padded towards los baņos, seemingly as fresh as they'd begun, four hours earlier.

El murmured from under the linens, "Two shots, yes. But more powerful than anything from your little pistol."

"I'll grant you that; too bad it's sawed off."

El gave up and pulled the second pillow over his head.


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