kathierif_fic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kathierif_fic) wrote2011-09-30 08:32 pm
kathierif_fic) wrote2011-09-30 08:32 pm
Fic: Serious (Leverage, Eliot/Hardison/Parker, FRAO)
Title: Serious
Fandom: Leverage
Pairing: Eliot/Hardison/Parker
Rating: FRAO
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Eliot isn’t taking this serious, which is a really good thing.
A/N: kink_bingo fic, prompt “wrestling/grinding”. 1190 words.
Eliot, Hardison’s analytical mind can tell, is not taking this serious, and if he’s honest, with himself, he knows that it’s a good thing.
It’s not that he wants to encourage this behavior on general in Eliot, because, if he is really honest with himself, it stings a little when Nate or Sophie or Eliot scoff at the things Hardison does or can do and let him feel how young he really is, compared to the rest of them. No, that’s really not behavior he wants to encourage.
But here, right now, with cool and hard linoleum or hardwood floor pressing against his body, it’s something Hardison thinks of as almost charming.
If Parker were here, things would be a little different. Parker doesn’t really get the allure of rolling around the floor while tangled up, of playfighting without getting hurt.
When it’s just Eliot and Hardison, Eliot is almost gentle with his touches. He’s smaller than Hardison, his limbs shorter, and technically, it’s unfair that Eliot always ends up on top no matter what happens, unless he smirks in that infuriating way of his and more or less just flops over.
He isn’t today.
Eliot is in a playful mood, which means they’ve been rolling around the floor and rubbing and squirming against each other for a while now, the game on the huge screen forgotten. One of Hardison’s uncoordinated kicks has toppled over the small table next to the couch, and he knows that one of them will, sooner or later, step into a small, important piece of electronics with razorsharp edges that have scattered onto the floor.
It’s most likely that it will be him.
Hardison doesn’t care right now. What he cares about is being pinned down by Eliot, long hair tumbling out of Eliot’s ponytail and around that smirk.
Eliot really isn’t taking this serious, not at all. Hardison knows that because he can still move his arms and legs.
He surges up, his leg wrapping around Eliot and his hand tangling in long hair that is softer than it looks, almost silky, his lips pressing against Eliot’s. Eliot probably knew what Hardison was planning from the first second on, but he doesn’t fight it. He lowers his head helpfully so that Alec doesn’t get a crick in his neck and palms his ass with a broad, warm hand while his tongue meets Alec’s and playfully and brushes against him.
Alec growls deep in his throat; a growl, not a whimper, and flips them over, so that Eliot ends up flat on his back. His hair fans out like a weird halo until Alec’s fingers mess it up again.
Alec kneels astride him, his legs splayed around Eliot’s hips. He can’t enjoy his triumph for long because Eliot’s hands squeeze his ass and yank at his pants, and they slide easily down over his ass, despite the belt he’d put on that morning.
His pants shouldn’t be able to slip down like that, he thinks vaguely and glances down suspiciously, and yeah, it’s like he suspected, sometime during their playful, not-serious wrestling match, Eliot has managed to open Alec’s belt to make the removal of his pants easier.
Alec wants to applaud Eliot for his thieving, but before he can open his mouth, he is yanked down again, his dick is pressing against the warm denim of Eliot’s pants – he can feel Eliot’s body heat even through his underwear – and they are kissing again.
Eliot’s fingers slide under the elastic of Alec’s underwear to cup his ass properly, and Alec bites at his lip – gentle, playful, not serious, because he remembers that one time when Parker’s elbow almost broke Eliot’s nose and instead of having sex, they spent the night rushing around town trying to find Parker, who had stared at the bright blood spilling through Eliot’s fingers and had disappeared before either Eliot or Alec could stop her – and fumbles his own hands between them to open Eliot’s jeans, shoving them down, touching hot skin and being touched at the same time.
Eliot hisses as his ass touches the cold floor, but he doesn’t try to roll them over again. He grabs Alec’s ass and bucks up, against him.
Eliot’s dick presses against Alec and then slides against his stomach. The feeling is intense enough to make his eyes fall shut, and Alec bites Eliot’s flushed bottom lip again and pushes back.
It’s not perfect. It’s rough and uneven and not enough friction and pressure, but none of them can stop now. They rub against each other like animals in heat, Eliot’s hands clamped on Alec’s ass, guiding him and not giving him what he wants, what he needs.
It’s rough and uneven and Alec’s heart is beating wildly against his ribs. His breath is coming in spluttered gasps and groans, and if this wasn’t feeling so awesome, he would worry about his asthmatic tendencies, but right now, all he can really think about is Eliot, all he can see is Eliot’s face, red and unfocused, all he can smell is Eliot, his sweat and soap and all he can hear is the low growl that tells him Eliot is getting closer to orgasm, and all he can feel is Eliot’s dick sliding against his own, and Eliot’s hand sliding off his ass and squeezing between them, wrapping around both their dicks and squeezing.
Alec groans and plants his hands on the floor next to Eliot’s broad shoulders, lifting his chest off of Eliot’s to give him room to work, and Eliot begins to stroke, rough, quick, too much too soon and Alec isn’t ready yet for that to be enough.
He opens his mouth to tell Eliot when suddenly, unexpectedly for him, wet, cold fingers are sliding into his ass and pressing against that spot that always makes him squeal and try to count the stars behind his tightly closed eyelids.
A lithe, naked body is pressing against his thighs, against one thigh. Long hair falls over the small of Alec’s back and gets stuck in the fine layer of sweat covering his skin.
Parker groans as she rubs against him, wild and unfocused, and Eliot growls louder and arches his back, coming in wet hot stripes against Alec’s stomach and shirt.
Parker’s fingers twist in him, and it’s enough to throw him over the edge, following Eliot, and add to the mess between them. He’s vaguely aware of collapsing on top of Eliot again, of Parker removing her fingers, of making soft, desperate sounds as she crawls up his body and Eliot’s fingers move off of Alec’s ass cheek to give her something to rub against, to touch her, and then, there’s nothing but Eliot below him and Parker pressing against his back, and although the cold, hard floor is insistently trying to push himself into Alec’s awareness via his elbows and knees, he isn’t willing to let it.
Not yet.
Not until Eliot will help it make its cause, namely being cold and hard, and it gets too much for Eliot’s body to take and he pushes them off.
Until then, everything is perfect.
Fandom: Leverage
Pairing: Eliot/Hardison/Parker
Rating: FRAO
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Eliot isn’t taking this serious, which is a really good thing.
A/N: kink_bingo fic, prompt “wrestling/grinding”. 1190 words.
Eliot, Hardison’s analytical mind can tell, is not taking this serious, and if he’s honest, with himself, he knows that it’s a good thing.
It’s not that he wants to encourage this behavior on general in Eliot, because, if he is really honest with himself, it stings a little when Nate or Sophie or Eliot scoff at the things Hardison does or can do and let him feel how young he really is, compared to the rest of them. No, that’s really not behavior he wants to encourage.
But here, right now, with cool and hard linoleum or hardwood floor pressing against his body, it’s something Hardison thinks of as almost charming.
If Parker were here, things would be a little different. Parker doesn’t really get the allure of rolling around the floor while tangled up, of playfighting without getting hurt.
When it’s just Eliot and Hardison, Eliot is almost gentle with his touches. He’s smaller than Hardison, his limbs shorter, and technically, it’s unfair that Eliot always ends up on top no matter what happens, unless he smirks in that infuriating way of his and more or less just flops over.
He isn’t today.
Eliot is in a playful mood, which means they’ve been rolling around the floor and rubbing and squirming against each other for a while now, the game on the huge screen forgotten. One of Hardison’s uncoordinated kicks has toppled over the small table next to the couch, and he knows that one of them will, sooner or later, step into a small, important piece of electronics with razorsharp edges that have scattered onto the floor.
It’s most likely that it will be him.
Hardison doesn’t care right now. What he cares about is being pinned down by Eliot, long hair tumbling out of Eliot’s ponytail and around that smirk.
Eliot really isn’t taking this serious, not at all. Hardison knows that because he can still move his arms and legs.
He surges up, his leg wrapping around Eliot and his hand tangling in long hair that is softer than it looks, almost silky, his lips pressing against Eliot’s. Eliot probably knew what Hardison was planning from the first second on, but he doesn’t fight it. He lowers his head helpfully so that Alec doesn’t get a crick in his neck and palms his ass with a broad, warm hand while his tongue meets Alec’s and playfully and brushes against him.
Alec growls deep in his throat; a growl, not a whimper, and flips them over, so that Eliot ends up flat on his back. His hair fans out like a weird halo until Alec’s fingers mess it up again.
Alec kneels astride him, his legs splayed around Eliot’s hips. He can’t enjoy his triumph for long because Eliot’s hands squeeze his ass and yank at his pants, and they slide easily down over his ass, despite the belt he’d put on that morning.
His pants shouldn’t be able to slip down like that, he thinks vaguely and glances down suspiciously, and yeah, it’s like he suspected, sometime during their playful, not-serious wrestling match, Eliot has managed to open Alec’s belt to make the removal of his pants easier.
Alec wants to applaud Eliot for his thieving, but before he can open his mouth, he is yanked down again, his dick is pressing against the warm denim of Eliot’s pants – he can feel Eliot’s body heat even through his underwear – and they are kissing again.
Eliot’s fingers slide under the elastic of Alec’s underwear to cup his ass properly, and Alec bites at his lip – gentle, playful, not serious, because he remembers that one time when Parker’s elbow almost broke Eliot’s nose and instead of having sex, they spent the night rushing around town trying to find Parker, who had stared at the bright blood spilling through Eliot’s fingers and had disappeared before either Eliot or Alec could stop her – and fumbles his own hands between them to open Eliot’s jeans, shoving them down, touching hot skin and being touched at the same time.
Eliot hisses as his ass touches the cold floor, but he doesn’t try to roll them over again. He grabs Alec’s ass and bucks up, against him.
Eliot’s dick presses against Alec and then slides against his stomach. The feeling is intense enough to make his eyes fall shut, and Alec bites Eliot’s flushed bottom lip again and pushes back.
It’s not perfect. It’s rough and uneven and not enough friction and pressure, but none of them can stop now. They rub against each other like animals in heat, Eliot’s hands clamped on Alec’s ass, guiding him and not giving him what he wants, what he needs.
It’s rough and uneven and Alec’s heart is beating wildly against his ribs. His breath is coming in spluttered gasps and groans, and if this wasn’t feeling so awesome, he would worry about his asthmatic tendencies, but right now, all he can really think about is Eliot, all he can see is Eliot’s face, red and unfocused, all he can smell is Eliot, his sweat and soap and all he can hear is the low growl that tells him Eliot is getting closer to orgasm, and all he can feel is Eliot’s dick sliding against his own, and Eliot’s hand sliding off his ass and squeezing between them, wrapping around both their dicks and squeezing.
Alec groans and plants his hands on the floor next to Eliot’s broad shoulders, lifting his chest off of Eliot’s to give him room to work, and Eliot begins to stroke, rough, quick, too much too soon and Alec isn’t ready yet for that to be enough.
He opens his mouth to tell Eliot when suddenly, unexpectedly for him, wet, cold fingers are sliding into his ass and pressing against that spot that always makes him squeal and try to count the stars behind his tightly closed eyelids.
A lithe, naked body is pressing against his thighs, against one thigh. Long hair falls over the small of Alec’s back and gets stuck in the fine layer of sweat covering his skin.
Parker groans as she rubs against him, wild and unfocused, and Eliot growls louder and arches his back, coming in wet hot stripes against Alec’s stomach and shirt.
Parker’s fingers twist in him, and it’s enough to throw him over the edge, following Eliot, and add to the mess between them. He’s vaguely aware of collapsing on top of Eliot again, of Parker removing her fingers, of making soft, desperate sounds as she crawls up his body and Eliot’s fingers move off of Alec’s ass cheek to give her something to rub against, to touch her, and then, there’s nothing but Eliot below him and Parker pressing against his back, and although the cold, hard floor is insistently trying to push himself into Alec’s awareness via his elbows and knees, he isn’t willing to let it.
Not yet.
Not until Eliot will help it make its cause, namely being cold and hard, and it gets too much for Eliot’s body to take and he pushes them off.
Until then, everything is perfect.