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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: PG
Pairing: El/Sands/Seth Gecko/Miguel Bain
Feedback: Yes, please. If only to say at which line the keyboard broke.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: Smashing of From Dusk Till Dawn, Assassins and 'Mexico. For permetaform in return for the icons.
Summary: Somewhere along the line, things must have gone wrong.
***
The bed shouldn't be this full.
And under the circumstances, El shouldn't be quietly simmering in his contentment. He vaguely remembers being a good man, with a lovely wife and child. With a sense of right and wrong. Now, though-black is bleeding white, and white is staining black. Now El stands outside both, and God help him, but he does not regret a thing.
Not the guns nestling next to his skin, beneath his pillow. Not the guitar propped up beside him on the pillows. Not the pale-skinned form curled into his side and purring to his throat, nor the stubbled cheek and neck lying on his thigh to turn up black flames to the moonlight. Nor the newest body, snuggling up under one tattooed arm so its head of curls rests beneath El's hand, the tip of his pistol just grazing one sweaty sable lock.
El looks past them all to watch the baleful moon and the swirls of dust, swaying temptingly as they drift over the sill. She's asking again. She always asks, hoping her wayward son will come back to the deceptive warmth of her bosom and play her treacherous game. Cocaine pawn to bullet-shattered queen. Black knight breaks himself against the rook's mud walls, which, however many times they tumble like Jericho, always rebuild themselves.
The silver beams of light offer him heroic glory and salvation's death, but El shakes his head, disdain in every part of his smile. He turns away from her, and back to them.
Somewhere along the line, things must have gone wrong. And El has no intention of letting anyone right them.
***