Sands' reaction to the spit just makes Jack laugh even harder. He finds it both endearing and ridiculous. "Aye, mate, I did. Little bloody cancer molecules are tangoing on your floor." He immediately spits in the coffee cup.
"It's starboard of your mop, mate. A bit. Oops, now it's port. You suck at this. You better get it fast, it looks like something that might stain." He spits again, and then wonders how Sands goes through his life never knowing for sure that what he thinks is in a mug is really what's in it. "Sorry I spat on your floor. I didn't see a spittoon, that's all."
Sands curses under his breath, trying to remember what side of the boat Jack is refereing to. This is why the clock reference works so much better.
"That's because this is not a bloody fucking dude ranch, you hillbilly of the sea." He wipes the mop over it as well as he can and tries to relax. That's not happening. "That's it. I'm getting the bleach."
Stripping down to his boxers so he doesn't stain his black clothing, Sands carefully folds each thing, setting it aside. And then he puts on rubber gloves. Then latex medical ones. he keeps a box under the sink. Getting down in front of Jack he starts scrubbing the floor. If Jack wasn't his best friend he would have been shot. Outside.
"Where is that fucking mexican when you need him?"
"Well a little fucking hospitality wouldn't kill you, it's not like you didn't KNOW I was drowning in my own mucous and cancer cells. Asswipe."
He raises his eyebrows when Sands starts obsessively cleaning. "Exactly when did you get so anal? As I recall, you weren't feeling particularly anal when we were together. By that, I'm referring to both your general lack of neatness, and the way you didn't let me fuck your ass, just so there's no confusion." He moves his feet up off the floor so that the bleach doesn't ruin the leather on his boots. "What Mexican? That pretty one they call El?"
"Jack, this is my place. Everything has to be exactly the way I need it. You can't fuck around with a blind man's personal space and by the way- I do have a child I would like to protect from whatever vile rot you have in your system. When it's your place I don't give a shit and will gladly piss in the sink if I need to." Satisfied that everything is okay now he throws the sponge in the sink and the rubber gloves away before washing his hands.
"Okay. I will only say this once. I love you. Go anywhere near El and you will be the last Jack I anally search. He belongs to me in every way imaginable. Mine. Not yours." Sands is seething.
"Not fucking yours." He goes into the bedroom, coming out with jeans and the t-shirt he got for his birthday from Muds. It proudly states that 'My Mexican works for less then your Mexican'. It would be funnier if that was the only racially insensitive thing he owned
( ... )
Even Jack has to make a noise at the idea of someone pissing in his sink. He bites his tongue about the idea of Elwyn catching anything from his spit. He's actually clean, other than his cancer.
Sands' outburst surprises and confuses Jack. He was just making conversation. It makes him feel surprisingly jealous and he aims to wound in return. "Don't worry about it, mate. I'm getting it elsewhere of late, and Metatron can see everything, so if I'm going to cheat, it should be something worth more than a one-nighter with your pal."
By the time Sands comes back, Jack is ready to go. As he stands, he takes an envelope out of his belt and tosses it on the table. "There's the ids you wanted back. And don't worry, mate. I'm well taken care of."
Sands will never stop accusing any of them of having STDs. And every single one of them is utterly offended.
El is Sands' bodyguard and the one to take him in after loosing his eyes. He was the first man Sands ever fucked when it wasn't part of the job. The fear that Jack would be... Jack with him pissed him off. "Since when are you two in a relationship? I talk to The Voice, as well you know. Don't bullshit me."
Sands picks up the ID's and carries them to the door as he walks Jack out. "Call me sometime, Fishface. Check in once in a while. If I have to hear about your death from some stranger I'll call you up like I did Bruiser just to flip you off." Avoiding his mouth (because ew. Lung juice) Sands kisses him on the cheek before sending him out with a 'fuck off now, cancer boy.' Because Sands is one of those sensitive new age males.
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"It's starboard of your mop, mate. A bit. Oops, now it's port. You suck at this. You better get it fast, it looks like something that might stain." He spits again, and then wonders how Sands goes through his life never knowing for sure that what he thinks is in a mug is really what's in it. "Sorry I spat on your floor. I didn't see a spittoon, that's all."
Reply
"That's because this is not a bloody fucking dude ranch, you hillbilly of the sea."
He wipes the mop over it as well as he can and tries to relax. That's not happening.
"That's it. I'm getting the bleach."
Stripping down to his boxers so he doesn't stain his black clothing, Sands carefully folds each thing, setting it aside. And then he puts on rubber gloves. Then latex medical ones. he keeps a box under the sink. Getting down in front of Jack he starts scrubbing the floor. If Jack wasn't his best friend he would have been shot. Outside.
"Where is that fucking mexican when you need him?"
Reply
He raises his eyebrows when Sands starts obsessively cleaning. "Exactly when did you get so anal? As I recall, you weren't feeling particularly anal when we were together. By that, I'm referring to both your general lack of neatness, and the way you didn't let me fuck your ass, just so there's no confusion." He moves his feet up off the floor so that the bleach doesn't ruin the leather on his boots. "What Mexican? That pretty one they call El?"
Reply
"Jack, this is my place. Everything has to be exactly the way I need it. You can't fuck around with a blind man's personal space and by the way- I do have a child I would like to protect from whatever vile rot you have in your system. When it's your place I don't give a shit and will gladly piss in the sink if I need to." Satisfied that everything is okay now he throws the sponge in the sink and the rubber gloves away before washing his hands.
"Okay. I will only say this once. I love you. Go anywhere near El and you will be the last Jack I anally search. He belongs to me in every way imaginable. Mine. Not yours."
Sands is seething.
"Not fucking yours." He goes into the bedroom, coming out with jeans and the t-shirt he got for his birthday from Muds. It proudly states that 'My Mexican works for less then your Mexican'. It would be funnier if that was the only racially insensitive thing he owned ( ... )
Reply
Sands' outburst surprises and confuses Jack. He was just making conversation. It makes him feel surprisingly jealous and he aims to wound in return. "Don't worry about it, mate. I'm getting it elsewhere of late, and Metatron can see everything, so if I'm going to cheat, it should be something worth more than a one-nighter with your pal."
By the time Sands comes back, Jack is ready to go. As he stands, he takes an envelope out of his belt and tosses it on the table. "There's the ids you wanted back. And don't worry, mate. I'm well taken care of."
Reply
El is Sands' bodyguard and the one to take him in after loosing his eyes. He was the first man Sands ever fucked when it wasn't part of the job. The fear that Jack would be... Jack with him pissed him off.
"Since when are you two in a relationship? I talk to The Voice, as well you know. Don't bullshit me."
Sands picks up the ID's and carries them to the door as he walks Jack out.
"Call me sometime, Fishface. Check in once in a while. If I have to hear about your death from some stranger I'll call you up like I did Bruiser just to flip you off."
Avoiding his mouth (because ew. Lung juice) Sands kisses him on the cheek before sending him out with a 'fuck off now, cancer boy.' Because Sands is one of those sensitive new age males.
Reply
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