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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: R for issues and some whacked gunkink.
Pairing: Sands/El
Disclaimer: Never mine.
Feedback: Yes, please. Whatever you can spare.
Notes: For ponderosa121 in return for the icon.
Summary: El and Sands have an argument in bed. In a manner of speaking.
***
The gun is cutting into El's tongue. It's not a pleasant way to wake up.
"Morning-" Sands starts to say, but El is already sucking it down, throwing the stupid gringo off-balance long enough to wrench away the pistol. He cracks metal against a back tooth doing it, and that's going to hurt for a while. But he's used to that.
Sands is lying at the other end of the bed, crouched and nervous, and El is dangling the gun over his knee. "I've tasted that before."
"No shit." The other man's panting, hard, and his teeth are latched into his bottom lip so hard blood is dripping onto the sheets. He eels his way over, keeping his head down, and then El realizes what's going on.
"We're damned," he tells himself, as if the words will mean anything.
Like a devil from the deep, Sands rises up El's chest, rubbing against the gun El has pressed to his side. "Yeah, but you like that," he breathes, just before seeking out the taste of steel, secondhand.
***