Blind man's Bluff

Slash. Implied themes. Violence. Language. Mature.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, thank you for pointing out the pathetic ness in my life. No, really, thank you. Thanks to movie 'Team America' for the line I have borrowed. Also to the documentary made of the failed –cry- movie of La Mancha for the line I have also borrowed.

This is the LIGHT version. If you want the more angst-y, horrific, non –con one then let me know; email me or, review or something, or pm or…

This version does not contain the details that the other one does, yet I realize the 'other one' may offend so I've posted the 'toned down' version.

There is OOC ness, but it had to happen because of the situation at hand. Sorry.
- -

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Blind Man's Bluff
/

"This is not funny."

A deafening silence.

"Fuck. You!"

His voice echoed off the peeling, white painted wall.

He stood with legs apart, hands at his side, remote control forgotten on the carpet. His pose was defiant; but a more observed eye would note the slight tremble in his hands, the bent right knee and the cast down head with pricked ears, listening for any whisper of sound. For the past unaccountable minutes, Sands had been staring, barely breathing, intent on hearing the previous noise again.

Yet it had not come, and it nerved him greatly. He knew someone else was in his home, in El's home, and he knew it was not the jingling Mariachi. He tried again.

"This is your last time fucker. Either make yourself known or I'll have no qualm in shoving your balls up your ass so far that when you shit, you'll be shitting out your own balls. Comprende?"

Still a sound was not heard in his swallowing abyss of black.

Hesitantly he forced his left foot forward; a slow glitch, a little shuffle, then a step. He turned sharply to his left, where he knew the curtains were. Had a movement, a noise, just occurred during his slow move? Had he heard the curtain rustle? Did the floor creak like it always did under the right pressure, did he hear the sound of skin against fabric, or was he paranoid now?

He would not admit it was the latter.

Sands knee bumped against the low coffee table, and he whispered a swear word. He hated those damn tables that were constantly shifted, even though the last time El had moved them Sands had put a gun to his temple as a little reminder. He shifted to the side, moving towards what he knew was the front door. If there was someone in here their intention was not to kill him just yet, and Sands wanted to get out before he found out their true intention.

The coffee table Sands had just previously bumped, dragged along the carpet and Sands spun furiously around, knowing the intruder was only a meter, maybe two, behind him. He shot a hand to his hips waiting for the contact of worn leather and cold metal. When his hands brushed only air and fabric, it was then Sands remembered he had left them on the couch. Removing them briefly as their edges had been grinding painfully against his sharp hips.

"Shit" he muttered, half hoping the intruder would respond.

He moved again as the intruder moved to his left, then to his right with Sands following. A brief pause, then Sands heard the rustle of curtains again, and he realized that the intruder had somehow slipped the eight meter distance without Sands even realizing.

This man was good, but not good enough for Agent Sands.

The intruder again came back to the table, drumming a hand on it before moving away from it once more. The man, Sands noted, was cocky. Cocky and seemingly arrogant, and that was not a favorable mixture of the ex CIA man. Sands heard the man move to his left, then right then left again and Sands followed every move until he could no longer tell left from right, up from down.

The intruder finally made a circle took a run to the left, and whip lashed suddenly to his right. His footsteps became inaudible, as though he had stopped moving, but Sands highly doubted that. He had followed every move, every jump and sudden leap and heard the distinct sounds made of his fine pointed, slightly heeled boot. Sands knew this man's walk, his distinct sound. It mattered not what part of the room the intruder moved to, Sands was able to follow. Realization dawned on the eyeless man.

He no longer knew where he himself was.

His fist clenched, and he looked up, panting slightly. Sweat mingled on his brow amongst strays of clinging chocolate hair. This was not a good situation for a man such as himself, but then, he was always prepared for any situation.

What Sheldon Jeffery Sands did not know was that, very soon, even years of CIA training could not have prepared him for this.

"Sands"

The voice was gruff, muffled slightly, and Sands knew that it was not the intruder's true voice; muffled by either a bandana tied around his face, a hand, a cloth or something he had not yet named. His stance relaxed slightly. He may not know where he was anymore, but he knew where the intruder was; and that was approximately three meters from where he stood.

"That's what they call me, among other things" a pause, "What do they call you big fella?"

Sands own voice skillfully masked his fear and trembles, and he was proud of the simple matter of which he could mask all emotions. The intruder muttered out something, but Sands did not catch it and asked for him to repeat himself.

"I said" the grinding of a foot as it burned out the cigarette, "they don't call me anything."

"Nameless boy then, eh?" he gestured, "Mind if I have one?" silence, "Alright fine, don't share, I see you missed out on the 'share and care' lesson at school then." More silence, his cockiness was growing with each soundless moment, "What is it you want?"

Sands heard a step forward, the crunch of leather, and the sound of rough shirt fabric. That one, simple step had stripped Sands of all his cockiness and provoked a sudden fear in him once more. He desperately, shamefully, wished El would burst through the doors with his prized revolver, shoot the fuckers brains out and then they could laugh at Sands expense of how shit scared he was, and for once Sands would allow it.

"You."

Short, simple and firm; leaving no room for any query, and change. His foot was down, mind made up. Sands straitened his back, leaning heavily on his left leg, a hand in his pocket. He had to be calm, to be in control. "Flattered, I assure you, but wouldn't be a first. So who sent you?"

"No one."

He had to admire a man who could provoke so much fear into him with only one or two words; he really had to admire that. Generally Sands had to confuse them, twist words upon them or show some well polished metal to get the reaction Sands was giving the intruder, but then, he mused, his victims had never had to live in their own darkness. Touch their only control, relying on the eyes of others, pouring trust into people when one never had before.

"Then," he shifted his sun glasses, "why would you stumble inside of this house, right now, with no one bribing you too, paying you too. A lusted revenge perhaps? A fought temptation that you can no longer battle and have to kill. Or perhaps, there's simply nothing else to it but simply felt like killing innocent blood tonight. And if you've chosen me, I am flattered" He smiled, "Not willing and easy, but flattered"

"The only words," and Sands could almost see the sadistic smile, "you got right were lusted, temptation, not willing and easy" Another footstep, "Otherwise, you are nowhere near the answer"

Sands knew the proximity between them had closed to less than a meter, and he hated knowing he couldn't remember when the wide three meters had diminished to not even one. He swallowed hard, a hand snaking instinctively to his hip, wanting to find his imagined holster.

"Then why?"

Where was El? Where was his knight in rusted armor on a lame donkey, clumsily trying to get through the door but then, with such precision, shooting the maniac in front of Sands between the eyes? "I came voluntary. And you're going to come involuntary, it restores balance, don't you see. And I know how you thrive on restoring the balance."

Sands tired to shake off the uneasy feeling, the growing nausea and tried not to concentrate on the double meaning.

"You seem to know too much about me; perhaps this means you either need to get a suited life and stop living mine, or maybe you do have a life and yours is just too sad and pathetic to be a proper life that you feel the need to live" he drawled, "mine."

The force of the backhand sent Sands down to his knees, a chocked cough and a swear word. He touched gingerly to his left check, dropping his hand to his mouth to come in contact with a small trickle of blood.

"Crazy fucker."

He heard himself gasp for air as he slammed into the floor. The air have being kicked from him as the pointed, slightly heeled boot had said its Salutations to his groaning ribs. What nerved Sands was how the intruder had managed to close the distance between them with a sudden, unheard quickness, that Sands finally had a very real reason to doubt his skilled hearing.

"You will speak to, when spoken" the voice was calm yet firm and it infuriated Sands.

"Fuck you, you don't tell me a damn fucking –" he was silenced by another few kicks to his unshielded ribs.

"You will speak," he bent down to the Agents level, "When spoken too."

Sands was wise not to retort. What was the saying? Once bitten, twice shy? He waited with growing impatience for the taller man- which he realized when he had been struck in the face- to say something, anything.

"You want to know why I am here."

He couldn't help himself, "You just clicked did ya? Finally made it up to the right page, yea, you bean-fucker, I've been inquiring about that."

His hair was wrenched back; a burning intensity dawned on the Agents scalp. His neck arched back involuntary.

"You will learn manners too, Sheldon, so long as I am here"

Sands wanted to know how this man knew his damn given name, "What." He paused as if talking to a small child, "Do you want?"

"You."

"Yea. Yea, we both know that already. Why?"

"Because, you are a desirable, attractive, curious, impaired man, Sands. And your mysteriousness attracts me" he leaned closer, whispering, "Agent Sheldon, Jeffery Sands."

Shivers coursed his body, and he swallowed heavily a few times. This was not happening; what this sick bastard was implying was merely his brain exaggerating the situation.

"I…I…" a first, lost for words.

A tongue trailed down the side of his jaw, and Sands heard himself scream inside, "I see you understand now."

He nodded, voice suddenly dry and gone. The hand released his hair, and Sands made a quick dash to stand again, but two, well shaped, arms encircled him dragging him down again.

"Stop! Get the fuck off me you sick bastard!"

"No" a lean finger moved the stray hair away, "You're too…pretty for that Sands, I've been watching you."

A new fear gripped Sands. This sick bastard had been watching him? For how long and where? When he was out with El, in the lounge room, kitchen…he shuddered, bathroom? Or the bedroom when he and El had…

"And I want you, and I'm going to get it from you. Willingly or unwillingly, it doesn't matter to me."

Sands whimpered, trying to fight the stronger embrace.

"Just leave me the fuck alone."

The intruder shifted his position, now kneeling with his arms still enclosed around the thinner man, forcing Sands down.

"Relax; you're going to be okay."

Sands laughed a fearful little laugh, "Yea, I'm about to be fucked up the asshole and you're telling me to relax."

"Shhh."

"Don't fucking 'shhh' me!"

His voice was bordering on hysteria. This was not happening, he was not about to get raped on the crème carpet in El's house by some random, perverse homosexual. Never, in all his ruthlessness, sardonic and callous ways, had Sands forced someone into the degrading ways he was about to be inclined to.

"I just need you to relax." soothing rubs on his restrained back, "I need you to lie down."

Sands shook his head, biting back a whimper. His legs kicked wildly from underneath him. He reared his head back and caught the man on the bridge of his nose. The tight arms suddenly let go of him with a loud cry of 'Santa Dias' and Sands squirmed forward, crawling forwards before picking himself up.

Before he had made it to a full stand, a hand gripped his ankle and brought him back down again, hard. His head smacked against the carpet, and although soft, the wood was not and the carpet was thin. Stars danced in front of him, and he felt clawing at his pants but could not fully comprehend it.

"I told you to relax, to be calm, but you couldn't do something as fucking simple as that, could you? Now we're going to do it the hard way. I didn't want to hurt you, but you've left me uncaring of that."

The spinning blackness stilled, and Sands let the intruders words wash around him. It wasn't until he felt the warm night air on his upper thighs, and the tugging on his briefs that he again started to struggle.

"Stop it!" the intruder emphasized the words with a worthy slap.

For a moment Sands was stunned, then he shook his just washed hair and continued prying at the larger hands that tried to strip him naked. "Fuck you."

"I'm trying to let you do that!"

Cursing his choice of words, Sands managed to pull a hand away. Smirking in thought glory, Sands was completely taken aback when he felt a sharp blow to his temple. His black world seemed to shake, and he unknowingly released the hand. His neck fell limp and slammed again into the floor. His nose scrunched, and wearily, he touched a long finger to his temple to feel the stickiness of fresh blood. Another injury from the unknown man.

"You wanna fuck with me fucker?" He spat out weakly.

"Yes."

Another choice of bad words he mused regretfully. The sound of thrown clothing reached his ringing ears, and Sands knew by the touch of wind, that his gentile was now showing. His head felt light and dizzy, and his arms weakly reached for the man's stronger, sleeveless ones.

"What if I said no?" his voice a quiet whisper.

"Then I would say; too bad." he pulled his own shirt off, moving to unbuckle his belt.

Sands nodded, hand falling as his world grew fuzzy. The many slams, and few blows were not enough to submit him to unconsciousness, but they slowed down his moves, his thoughts, and his speech. Sands tried to reason the mans motives, tried to tell himself that he was not getting raped, but in any form it all spelled the same.

Sheldon Jeffery Sands was weak and vulnerable. Sheldon Jeffery Sands was about to get raped.

And nothing changed that painful statement.

"I want you to take off your shirt"

"Why? Too fucking lazy to do it yourself?"

A painful slap retorted to Sands sarcasm, and the blind man winced with the force of it. "I don't want to do this."

"I know" he climbed on top of Sands, straddling him.

"Then I'm not going to take it off" and he wasn't. Not in his state; his slightly dizzy, weak, pathetic dog like state.

"You will, because I am telling you too" he bent down, kissing viciously at Sands' open neck. He ran a hand up to his chest, moving silkily along the faded olive complexion.

Sands nodded, hissing against the grinding teeth. He gingerly moved his arms up and over his head, pulling the torn, black 'tee' off. "Happy?" He smiled sarcastically.

"Very."

Sands' neck arched back, his hands limp on his side as the intruders tongue ran roughly down the side of his neck, biting the base. He felt the strong, but soft hands of the intruder run the length of his sides, bumping over his slightly showing ribs. Sands' knee bent up without his consent and he groaned softly.

"I want you to stop"

No answer was given, but the soft chuckle and the hand encircling his groin.

"Please"

Sands rarely begged, rarely said please and thank you, but he was scared. Another rarity for him. He couldn't get out of this situation; he was smaller than the man, lighter, dizzy and currently pinned down. He had lost his control, and panic filled him. Loosing control was something he didn't do, something that didn't happen. He didn't lose control.

"Calm down" the intruder placed a hand on his chest, feeling the fast rise and fall. "You are not relaxed."

"You think you'd be fucking relaxed in my situation?" he growled, chest still rising frantically.

"No."

A tense silence fell, and Sands began to feel himself relax slightly, but not fully. Growing impatient, the intruder shifted his position; still on top of him, but now his knees ground against his hips. Sands didn't get the chance to ask what was going on, before his mouth clasped onto the others and he felt a warm tongue enter his mouth.

Instinctively he replied back, tongues dancing against each other, running along the others teeth. Something about the playfulness of the opposite tongue reminded him of someone he couldn't place right now, but he thought he knew this tongue. He pushed himself away, turning his head so his cheek faced the intruders face.

"No" was all he said.

The intruder laughed a warm laugh that did not match the situation they were in, "No? You're body is saying yes" he placed a hand on Sands erect member, "And you were slow to break the kiss."

"You're wrong" Sands would like to have known when he became so goddamn weak. Perhaps logically, when his eyesight was taken, but logically, he should have been able to fend the intruder off.

The man, who Sands thought was Mexican by the muffled accent he sometimes caught strong glimpses of, moved lower down and it was only a matter of time before Sands would lose his pride and dignity.

"Are you ready?"

Sands made no reply.

- - -

Sands lay naked next to the toned man, his back facing him. His breath short and hitched, shoulders occasionally heaving with silent sobs, and unshed tears. He felt a rush of emotion and chocked, a small hiccup, and then a wounded dog's whimper.

The intruder shifted, encircling Sands' smaller waist and pulling him gently closer to him so that Sands laid tucked into his side. Not bothering to struggle, Sands let his abused, bleeding body be dragged across the soft carpet. He flinched at the contact of sweaty skin and curled his legs closer to his upper body.

A hand played with his hair, stroking, speaking soothing tones that Sands was not listening to. All he could hear was the powerful, furious beat of his heart that echoed in his ears. His shallow breathing and the sound of his choked sobs. The irony here was that Sands never before had wanted to cry and now, when he finds himself longing to feel the salty wetness, he cannot.

He could feel the swelling on his face, the bruises forming on various areas of his torso. The trickle of fresh blood running down his legs, mingling with the seed of the intruder, the violator. His stomach rolled and he felt a warm, acidic taste in his mouth. He scrunched himself tighter, willing himself to keep any remaining dignity he still might have and not throw up.

The intruder sighed, running a shaking hand down the other man's back. He regretted everything, every single disgusting pleasure he had just committed, he regretted. The pain and brutal force, the cries of the Agent, the screams and verbal abuse from both, he regretted. For nothing had given him a right to do what he had done. He had no fair reason, but only a reason that no longer seemed good enough.

He made shushing noises to the trembling man, and felt a burning hatred at himself. Anger, worn patience, forbidden desire and a resentment had been the reason for this night. The reasoning voice inside of him unable to be heard, drowned out by all his wickedness he thought no longer dwelled inside of him.

But then he met Agent Sands, CIA, and everything from that moment onwards, changed.

"Do you still want to know the answer, gringo, of who I am and what I'm doing?"

A bell ran off in Sands head, but he only whimpered in pain, the bell dimming.

"You needed to understand that you can't always have control. That one day, something is going to happen and the person you love, but won't admit, won't be there to help you. You needed to understand that restoring the balance doesn't always mean killing the cook. If you killed me now it would not restore the balance, you'd forever remember this and I would not for I would be dead. There is no balance in that. The balance would be in letting me live, so we both could feel the pain, yet if I live I will have my dignity whereas you will not. There is not always a balance."

A confused silence and he knew the thinner man was trying to get his thoughts together.

"Sometimes, you can make a false balance. By pretending what happened never did, and by accepting those you push away. Because it hurts them when you do that, Sands, it makes them feel like they are nothing. When you mean so much to a person, and constantly hurt them, there is only so much that they can take. I never meant for this"

Sands face turned to where he knew the other mans face was, "You?"

A nod, "sì"

Sands body wracked, his shoulders heaving, face turned back to smother the carpet. He felt cruelly betrayed; trust would never again be given from him. The one person he had believed, had trusted and hoped in, had fucked him in two senses. A small whimper like a strangled animal, a few chocked sobs then the strained, raspy words.

"I hope you die El Mariachi."

For he knows killing El will not restore balance, and now all he can do is wait and hope.

- -

It had to be done. /grins maniacally. /

Somehow, I think Sands' last line wasn't' right. There was just something... I was going to have 'I hate you El Mariachi', but it didn't seem powerful enough. And now the posted one seems corny. Urgh.

After the line, "Sands made no reply" is where all the noncom truly happens, which has slightly more detail, slightly more story. So again, if you want that version, just let me know.

Please let me know what you thought of this.

Thanks.