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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Sands/Lorenzo, hint of Sands/Lorenzo/El
Disclaimer: Were, am, and will never be mine.
Notes: Fits in Crucible-verse. //words// in Spanish.
Summary: Drabble. Result of me always thinking of Mexico now.
***
"Fideo is an eunuch who drinks his own piss."
"Hey! He's my friend, gringo."
"Well, if he hadn't showed up yesterday, we could've just bought El some nice shiny guitar strings, but no, Mr. Psychic Dumbshit already took care of that. You know he talks to dead people?"
"Yeah, well, that's his deal. You collect sunglasses of dead men."
"It's better to take from the cartels." High-pitched mockery. Growl of annoyance, then the unmistakable sound of a zipper.
"Sands, dammit! We're in a store!"
"Shut up." Mumbled around a mouthful of neck. Sounds of hands rubbing rhythmically over hard flesh, and then two muffled cries.
Panting. "We still need a birthday gift." Trembling hand brushes over carved wood. "Hey, what's-" creak of hinges "-damn. That's gorgeous." Takes hand and puts it on engraved silver. "Just feel that."
"Perfect. Now, you can have those two over there, and I'll take the storekeeper-what?"
"They're not trying to kill us, so we're going to pay for this." Gritted teeth. //Hey, man, we'll take this one.//
//Oh, The Mexican?//
//What?//
//The gun. It's called The Mexican. We just got it-sir? Uh, is your American friend all right?//
Over laughing, //Yeah, he'll be fine. How much?//
***