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Entry tags:
End Game by Miss Becky (R)
Fandom: ONCE UPON A TIME IN MEXICO
Pairing: Sands/El Mariachi
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
evilmissbecky
Author's stories on LJ:missbeckymexico
Author Website: fanfiction.net profile
Why this must be read:
And now for something completely different. Different for Miss Becky, that is. After committing herself so wonderfully and thoroughly to the scenarios in her Still Standing trilogy (After the Dust has Cleared, When All is Said and Done, and Que Quieres en la Vida) Miss Becky changes gears and writes a completely different scenario. End Game is darker than the others, and is unabashedly slash. This time it is El Mariachi who is slipping into the abyss of insanity and Sands who is relatively sane. Don't miss this one; it's my favorite.
They fell together, each of them breathing hard with pain and exertion. For a moment Sands lay where he was, his right arm draped across El's chest, his right leg over El's. The mariachi’s body was warm and solid beneath him, a strange sensation after three years of solitude.
Then El twitched, and Sands remembered suddenly where he was. He tried to roll off the mariachi, but his body would not obey him. Chills shuddered through him, and he could not stop shaking. Against his will his hand clutched at El, trying to draw the mariachi closer. He needed the warmth of El's body. Christ, he was so cold!
El said something, but the mariachi's voice came from very far away. Hands took hold of his shoulders, and he was lifted and then laid back down on the mattress. And just like that, the chills vanished and he was dumped in the desert under a blazing sun. The heat was everything, the heat was the whole world. The mattress was scratchy even through his clothes, making his skin itch and tingle.
He hurt so much. He just wanted to die. It had been three years. Surely he was allowed to die now.
A hand brushed the hair off his forehead. The voice spoke again, words he did not comprehend. Only the tone of the voice reached him, quiet and steady.
Another voice came. This one was higher-pitched, older but kinder. The deep voice answered, and this time there was a steely note in its words.
The owner of the old voice might have said something in response, but Sands never knew it. He was floating among the darkness.
****
"Why do you want to save him?" asked the doctor.
"I want him healthy when I kill him," El said without hesitation.
Then he frowned.
That was the right answer. It was the only answer. So why did it feel so wrong?
******
OUaTiM Overview
End Game
Pairing: Sands/El Mariachi
Author on LJ:
evilmissbeckyAuthor's stories on LJ:
missbeckymexicoAuthor Website: fanfiction.net profile
Why this must be read:
And now for something completely different. Different for Miss Becky, that is. After committing herself so wonderfully and thoroughly to the scenarios in her Still Standing trilogy (After the Dust has Cleared, When All is Said and Done, and Que Quieres en la Vida) Miss Becky changes gears and writes a completely different scenario. End Game is darker than the others, and is unabashedly slash. This time it is El Mariachi who is slipping into the abyss of insanity and Sands who is relatively sane. Don't miss this one; it's my favorite.
They fell together, each of them breathing hard with pain and exertion. For a moment Sands lay where he was, his right arm draped across El's chest, his right leg over El's. The mariachi’s body was warm and solid beneath him, a strange sensation after three years of solitude.
Then El twitched, and Sands remembered suddenly where he was. He tried to roll off the mariachi, but his body would not obey him. Chills shuddered through him, and he could not stop shaking. Against his will his hand clutched at El, trying to draw the mariachi closer. He needed the warmth of El's body. Christ, he was so cold!
El said something, but the mariachi's voice came from very far away. Hands took hold of his shoulders, and he was lifted and then laid back down on the mattress. And just like that, the chills vanished and he was dumped in the desert under a blazing sun. The heat was everything, the heat was the whole world. The mattress was scratchy even through his clothes, making his skin itch and tingle.
He hurt so much. He just wanted to die. It had been three years. Surely he was allowed to die now.
A hand brushed the hair off his forehead. The voice spoke again, words he did not comprehend. Only the tone of the voice reached him, quiet and steady.
Another voice came. This one was higher-pitched, older but kinder. The deep voice answered, and this time there was a steely note in its words.
The owner of the old voice might have said something in response, but Sands never knew it. He was floating among the darkness.
****
"Why do you want to save him?" asked the doctor.
"I want him healthy when I kill him," El said without hesitation.
Then he frowned.
That was the right answer. It was the only answer. So why did it feel so wrong?
******
OUaTiM Overview
End Game