(no subject)
Title: Winter in July
Author: order_of_chaos
Fandom: Once upon a time in Mexico
Pairing: El/Sands
Rating: G
Time taken: 28 minutes.
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, merely borrowed for mine own amusement. I am making no profit whatsoever from them. The title is from a book by Essie Summers, and the country may or may not be New Zealand.
Challenge: July, quantum leap, no-smoking, refrain, cottage. Time limit: 60 minutes.
Winter in July was all wrong, Sands believed, a miserable sullen belief that had nothing to do with the cold, and everything to do with the no-smoking sign on the cottage door. Their hosts were friends of El's, and the ex-agent was nobly refraining from complaining. This nobility permeated the space surrounding him just as sullenly as the complaints would otherwise have done, and it didn't take a quantum leap of thinking to figure out that Sands wasn't overjoyed. He huddled into a corner of the couch, glare safely concealed behind dark sunglasses.
And waited.
Snow curled in with a jingle of footsteps and a rush of iced wind, cut off with the click of a door closing. The sag of cushions indicated someone settling lazily beside him, a pool of warmth in the cold climate. Flicker of fingers against wood, tapping lightly, then moving. Picking out a haunting refrain from the familiar instrument. The song fit the echoes of open spaces and jagged horizons that defined this country.
Sands shivered, moved almost reluctantly closer to the mariachi.
"Hey," El murmured, gently reproving as if Sands should have thought to tell him already. Warm arms wrapped around him. "What's wrong?"
Sands melted into him with a sigh. Everything.
"I can't see the mountains," he answered.
Author: order_of_chaos
Fandom: Once upon a time in Mexico
Pairing: El/Sands
Rating: G
Time taken: 28 minutes.
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, merely borrowed for mine own amusement. I am making no profit whatsoever from them. The title is from a book by Essie Summers, and the country may or may not be New Zealand.
Challenge: July, quantum leap, no-smoking, refrain, cottage. Time limit: 60 minutes.
Winter in July was all wrong, Sands believed, a miserable sullen belief that had nothing to do with the cold, and everything to do with the no-smoking sign on the cottage door. Their hosts were friends of El's, and the ex-agent was nobly refraining from complaining. This nobility permeated the space surrounding him just as sullenly as the complaints would otherwise have done, and it didn't take a quantum leap of thinking to figure out that Sands wasn't overjoyed. He huddled into a corner of the couch, glare safely concealed behind dark sunglasses.
And waited.
Snow curled in with a jingle of footsteps and a rush of iced wind, cut off with the click of a door closing. The sag of cushions indicated someone settling lazily beside him, a pool of warmth in the cold climate. Flicker of fingers against wood, tapping lightly, then moving. Picking out a haunting refrain from the familiar instrument. The song fit the echoes of open spaces and jagged horizons that defined this country.
Sands shivered, moved almost reluctantly closer to the mariachi.
"Hey," El murmured, gently reproving as if Sands should have thought to tell him already. Warm arms wrapped around him. "What's wrong?"
Sands melted into him with a sigh. Everything.
"I can't see the mountains," he answered.