Leverage fic
Written for kinkbingo
Title: 5 Times Eliot was almost killed by his hair.
Fandom: Leverage
Pairing: Eliot/Parker/Hardison
Kinks: Shaving, genderplay, sensory deprivation, possession/marks, whipping/flogging
Genre: crack and kink
Eliot never had some authority figure tell him to cut his hair; he was past authority figures by the time he grew it out, and long, long past living according to the rules of others, and so he never understood why people thought his hair was some kind of rebellion. He wasn't one of those dang teenagers who think their hair says something about who they are.
But he knew it was best to keep it in a ponytail, even if he didn't always bother. It's just safer that way; he knew it from experience.
The first time his hair almost got him killed was in Croatia. The hair was just long enough to get in his eyes during a fight, and it slowed him down just long enough that he missed getting stabbed by an inch. The hair, sweaty down his brow, wouldn't stay brushed aside, and he spent the rest of the fight interspersing his moves with swipes of hand across his hair, trying to clear his path of vision. He grumbled to no one that as soon as he finished the fight he would cut his hair.
But then he didn't. Raised the knife, thought about being killed over hair in the eyes, told himself to do it. But he left it.
The second time Eliot's hair endangered him was when he was fighting someone who was very close to his equal at hand-to-hand. He was just about to get him in a good tight grapple, where he would have the advantage, when he felt the sharp tug of the man's fist gripping his hair, yanking his head away from where Eliot needed it to go. It was a different kind of pain, more superficial but somehow more painful than punches and kicks. But Eliot managed to headbutt the guy and disorient him enough that he could grab the nearest piece of furniture and use it as a highly effective weapon.
He still didn't cut his hair. Instead, he visited an ex-flame and asked her to yank his hair while she pegged him. She obliged.
The third time Eliot's hair almost got him killed was when he was pretending to be a German businessman in Tokyo. One of his former employers - a 'legitimate' businessman who had a few not-so-legitimate artworks that were stolen - recognized him. He lied up and down, and almost had them convinced, but the businessman claimed that there weren't all that many retrieval specialists with that particular haircut and that particular tattoo, and Eliot ended up having to jump out a thrid floor window into a tree branch to avoid hurting the cops who were called to arrest him.
The fourth time Eliot's hair almost got him killed was when he was with team. Hardison was joking around with Parker over the coms, and Eliot had grumbled to him, "Stop pulling her pigtails and get this door open." Hardison had reached over and yanked Eliot's hair, smiling as he said, "Jealous?" Eliot wasn't sure why or how he didn't block it, but he just stood there, trying to think of something snarky that would make Hardison feel like a dork. Instead, he said nothing, and when Hardison got the door open, Eliot almost didn't notice that a guard and a gun were waiting for them.
Almost. He still managed to disarm him, even if he silently berated himself for taking a half second longer than he should have. But he felt better about his mistake that night, after Parker and Hardison convinced him that he was only distracted because of all that unrequited tension. That he would be back to top form once he just spent the night with them and got it out of his system.
Eliot saw right through it. He knew a trap when he walked into one, and he knew Hardison and Parker were offering a lot more than a way to let off steam. But as he lay in their bed, Hardison's face nuzzling the back of his head, Parker leaning on his shoulder, he didn't much mind their attempts to corner him.
The fifth time Eliot's hair almost got him killed was all Parker's fault. They had been together, the three, for a few weeks. First, she was playing with his hair, and he tried not to flinch. As close as they had gotten, he still thought she had a little too much crazy not to beware. But soon she was braiding it, not in a nice single rope at the back, but in a delicate French braid. Then she undid it and tried another style, a braid wrapped crownlike around the front of his head, an elegant and exceedingly feminine look. Parker seemed pleased with herself as she dragged him over to the mirror, and Eliot had to admit that he was impressed with her technical skill.
Hardison came over to look, and Eliot raised an eyebrow, daring him to criticize his hairstyle. Instead, Hardison raised an eyebrow back, but one that made it clear that Hardison thought it was a turn-on. He said, "You look good, El, but I wouldn't let Parker turn you into her doll. Who know where that might -"
"YES!!!" Parker said, "Eliot should totally be our doll!"
Eliot muttered something like an expletive and went to storm off, but Parker jumped on his back and grabbed his shoulders hard, and she was strong enough that getting her off without hurting either of them might be an issue. "Get off of me NOW!" he spat.
"Eliot, don't be silly. If you were my doll, I would take really good care of you. I would comb your hair and dress you up and -"
"Eliot, it's not a bad idea," Hardison interrupted, assuming he would be better at talking Eliot into things. And he went through all the reasons, all the activities, until finally he rolled his eyes and let them do what they wanted.
Hardison and Parker smiled at each other. It was always this way; Eliot would grumble a lot and then eventually do anything they asked him to. Parker called him a grouchy sub.
He wasn't so grouchy when Hardison was rubbing shaving cream all over his legs, then running a razor up them in long clean lines, caressing Eliot's now-hairless legs as he went. And he wasn't about to complain when Parker did a quick run to the closed sex shop to "buy" a leather corset that she tied him into, his breath quickening as she used her strength to bind his torso in. Hardison got his face razor then, to make Eliot's face clean-shaven, and he used the blade so slowly, so carefully on Eliot's neck, making sure not to let the jerks of Eliot's corset-hindered breathing make the razor go any direction it shouldn't. When he was done, he put plenty of eyeliner on Eliot, and Parker couldn't stop staring at his eyes, not bothering to hide it as she licked her lips. Finally, Hardison smeared a thumbful of lip gloss across Eliot's mouth, a soft touch that Eliot's lips parted for, just slightly.
Parker helped him into his stockings, black lace ones with garters, and into a short loose skirt of pink satin. They brought him back to their mirror and let him look at himself.
He was impressed by the transformation. To say the least.
But then Parker said, "Time to see what our doll can do," and a shiver ran up Eliot's spine, anticipation and nervousness and arousal all at once.
Parker smirked a little too much as she blindfolded him, black silk scarf across his eyes, the leftover fabric hanging down, gliding smooth across his skin. Then he felt Hardison take his arms, pull long gloves over them, all the way up to his elbow, and he wondered how he looked then, skirt and stockings, braided hair and blindfold, corset and gloves. But he felt Parker press down at his shoulder and he knelt, obeying.
They gave him their orders: please them both at once, using only his hands and mouth, while not being able to see anything, and with the gloves interfering with his sense of touch. Do it in ten minutes or be punished.
After ten minutes he had very nearly succeeded. He was good enough that not seeing wasn't much of an issue after the first minute, but he knew he had to concentrate on Parker since she took so much longer. So he kept a hand on Hardison, rubbing, while his mouth, hand, and concentration were on Parker.
And it worked. He kept his mouth working as she came, and when she was done, he just moved back and said "How much time left?"
"49 seconds," Hardison groaned, and Eliot quickly moved all his attention to him. And he was good, virtousic, but somehow Hardison had gotten some kind of determination or control that Eliot wasn't used to - not that Hardison normally had a reason to hold back, but still....
And Eliot didn't quite make the 10 minute limit.
He shivered as Parker giggled when she realized there would be punishment.
His hands and neck were actually tired already, but they took off his blindfold and brought him over to the table, where they bent him over. He was almost relieved when he heard Parker crack the whip, since her more creative punishments were more worrisome.
But the whip was still a whip, and it was still Parker - surprisingly strong, unsurprisingly relentless Parker - flicking her wrist and sending wave after wave of sharpsharpsharp pain onto Eliot's ass. She was good at hitting the same spot twice, and he cussed her out more than once, but that just made her hit him harder. When she finally stopped, Eliot was breathing laboredly, and he tensed as Hardison stepped behind him, not sure if he really wanted more. But Hardison just loosened the laces on the corset so Eliot could breathe easy, and then pulled him up to hold him.
He stood there, Hardison supporting him from behind, and Parker squeezing in in front of him, peering up at his face, running her hand too close to his eyelashes.
"You're the prettiest doll I've ever owned, Eliot," she said.
Eliot just grunted.
Hardison whispered in his ear, gentle but with an edge, "Thank us for letting you be our doll, Eliot." It was the first time Hardison ever ordered Eliot to thank him for punishment.
"Thank you," Eliot rasped.
Parker smiled. "Now let's help our doll relax."
As they led him to bed to play with their doll some more -- and as they made it clear that they read him just fine, and the hard stuff was over for the night -- Eliot thought - just for a second - that maybe this would work out just fine, that maybe this wouldn't end up as a big clustefuck of a relationship and they might actually last more than a few weeks.
Years later, Eliot would wonder how this happened. How he became the kind of guy who gets hard at the thought of being owned. It seemed like he wasn't his old self, like that guy had died in some pit somewhere, the way guys like him were supposed to, with no ties or families or real homes. And this new person - who for some crazy reason trusted these people to tie him up and beat him and own him - had replaced him. And he would think back and realize that the other guy - the guy who knew that refusing to cut his hair might get him killed in a fight and didn't care enough to cut it - was gone. Dead or changed, didn't matter: gone. The moment he realized that he, despite every bit of training and experience that told him to do otherwise, trusted Parker and Hardison to take care of him. And the harder thing, too -- to admit to himself that he wanted them to, that he needed to be taken care of, and maybe he even deserved it.
All because Parker had decided one day she wanted to see how his hair looked in braids.
Title: 5 Times Eliot was almost killed by his hair.
Fandom: Leverage
Pairing: Eliot/Parker/Hardison
Kinks: Shaving, genderplay, sensory deprivation, possession/marks, whipping/flogging
Genre: crack and kink
Eliot never had some authority figure tell him to cut his hair; he was past authority figures by the time he grew it out, and long, long past living according to the rules of others, and so he never understood why people thought his hair was some kind of rebellion. He wasn't one of those dang teenagers who think their hair says something about who they are.
But he knew it was best to keep it in a ponytail, even if he didn't always bother. It's just safer that way; he knew it from experience.
The first time his hair almost got him killed was in Croatia. The hair was just long enough to get in his eyes during a fight, and it slowed him down just long enough that he missed getting stabbed by an inch. The hair, sweaty down his brow, wouldn't stay brushed aside, and he spent the rest of the fight interspersing his moves with swipes of hand across his hair, trying to clear his path of vision. He grumbled to no one that as soon as he finished the fight he would cut his hair.
But then he didn't. Raised the knife, thought about being killed over hair in the eyes, told himself to do it. But he left it.
The second time Eliot's hair endangered him was when he was fighting someone who was very close to his equal at hand-to-hand. He was just about to get him in a good tight grapple, where he would have the advantage, when he felt the sharp tug of the man's fist gripping his hair, yanking his head away from where Eliot needed it to go. It was a different kind of pain, more superficial but somehow more painful than punches and kicks. But Eliot managed to headbutt the guy and disorient him enough that he could grab the nearest piece of furniture and use it as a highly effective weapon.
He still didn't cut his hair. Instead, he visited an ex-flame and asked her to yank his hair while she pegged him. She obliged.
The third time Eliot's hair almost got him killed was when he was pretending to be a German businessman in Tokyo. One of his former employers - a 'legitimate' businessman who had a few not-so-legitimate artworks that were stolen - recognized him. He lied up and down, and almost had them convinced, but the businessman claimed that there weren't all that many retrieval specialists with that particular haircut and that particular tattoo, and Eliot ended up having to jump out a thrid floor window into a tree branch to avoid hurting the cops who were called to arrest him.
The fourth time Eliot's hair almost got him killed was when he was with team. Hardison was joking around with Parker over the coms, and Eliot had grumbled to him, "Stop pulling her pigtails and get this door open." Hardison had reached over and yanked Eliot's hair, smiling as he said, "Jealous?" Eliot wasn't sure why or how he didn't block it, but he just stood there, trying to think of something snarky that would make Hardison feel like a dork. Instead, he said nothing, and when Hardison got the door open, Eliot almost didn't notice that a guard and a gun were waiting for them.
Almost. He still managed to disarm him, even if he silently berated himself for taking a half second longer than he should have. But he felt better about his mistake that night, after Parker and Hardison convinced him that he was only distracted because of all that unrequited tension. That he would be back to top form once he just spent the night with them and got it out of his system.
Eliot saw right through it. He knew a trap when he walked into one, and he knew Hardison and Parker were offering a lot more than a way to let off steam. But as he lay in their bed, Hardison's face nuzzling the back of his head, Parker leaning on his shoulder, he didn't much mind their attempts to corner him.
The fifth time Eliot's hair almost got him killed was all Parker's fault. They had been together, the three, for a few weeks. First, she was playing with his hair, and he tried not to flinch. As close as they had gotten, he still thought she had a little too much crazy not to beware. But soon she was braiding it, not in a nice single rope at the back, but in a delicate French braid. Then she undid it and tried another style, a braid wrapped crownlike around the front of his head, an elegant and exceedingly feminine look. Parker seemed pleased with herself as she dragged him over to the mirror, and Eliot had to admit that he was impressed with her technical skill.
Hardison came over to look, and Eliot raised an eyebrow, daring him to criticize his hairstyle. Instead, Hardison raised an eyebrow back, but one that made it clear that Hardison thought it was a turn-on. He said, "You look good, El, but I wouldn't let Parker turn you into her doll. Who know where that might -"
"YES!!!" Parker said, "Eliot should totally be our doll!"
Eliot muttered something like an expletive and went to storm off, but Parker jumped on his back and grabbed his shoulders hard, and she was strong enough that getting her off without hurting either of them might be an issue. "Get off of me NOW!" he spat.
"Eliot, don't be silly. If you were my doll, I would take really good care of you. I would comb your hair and dress you up and -"
"Eliot, it's not a bad idea," Hardison interrupted, assuming he would be better at talking Eliot into things. And he went through all the reasons, all the activities, until finally he rolled his eyes and let them do what they wanted.
Hardison and Parker smiled at each other. It was always this way; Eliot would grumble a lot and then eventually do anything they asked him to. Parker called him a grouchy sub.
He wasn't so grouchy when Hardison was rubbing shaving cream all over his legs, then running a razor up them in long clean lines, caressing Eliot's now-hairless legs as he went. And he wasn't about to complain when Parker did a quick run to the closed sex shop to "buy" a leather corset that she tied him into, his breath quickening as she used her strength to bind his torso in. Hardison got his face razor then, to make Eliot's face clean-shaven, and he used the blade so slowly, so carefully on Eliot's neck, making sure not to let the jerks of Eliot's corset-hindered breathing make the razor go any direction it shouldn't. When he was done, he put plenty of eyeliner on Eliot, and Parker couldn't stop staring at his eyes, not bothering to hide it as she licked her lips. Finally, Hardison smeared a thumbful of lip gloss across Eliot's mouth, a soft touch that Eliot's lips parted for, just slightly.
Parker helped him into his stockings, black lace ones with garters, and into a short loose skirt of pink satin. They brought him back to their mirror and let him look at himself.
He was impressed by the transformation. To say the least.
But then Parker said, "Time to see what our doll can do," and a shiver ran up Eliot's spine, anticipation and nervousness and arousal all at once.
Parker smirked a little too much as she blindfolded him, black silk scarf across his eyes, the leftover fabric hanging down, gliding smooth across his skin. Then he felt Hardison take his arms, pull long gloves over them, all the way up to his elbow, and he wondered how he looked then, skirt and stockings, braided hair and blindfold, corset and gloves. But he felt Parker press down at his shoulder and he knelt, obeying.
They gave him their orders: please them both at once, using only his hands and mouth, while not being able to see anything, and with the gloves interfering with his sense of touch. Do it in ten minutes or be punished.
After ten minutes he had very nearly succeeded. He was good enough that not seeing wasn't much of an issue after the first minute, but he knew he had to concentrate on Parker since she took so much longer. So he kept a hand on Hardison, rubbing, while his mouth, hand, and concentration were on Parker.
And it worked. He kept his mouth working as she came, and when she was done, he just moved back and said "How much time left?"
"49 seconds," Hardison groaned, and Eliot quickly moved all his attention to him. And he was good, virtousic, but somehow Hardison had gotten some kind of determination or control that Eliot wasn't used to - not that Hardison normally had a reason to hold back, but still....
And Eliot didn't quite make the 10 minute limit.
He shivered as Parker giggled when she realized there would be punishment.
His hands and neck were actually tired already, but they took off his blindfold and brought him over to the table, where they bent him over. He was almost relieved when he heard Parker crack the whip, since her more creative punishments were more worrisome.
But the whip was still a whip, and it was still Parker - surprisingly strong, unsurprisingly relentless Parker - flicking her wrist and sending wave after wave of sharpsharpsharp pain onto Eliot's ass. She was good at hitting the same spot twice, and he cussed her out more than once, but that just made her hit him harder. When she finally stopped, Eliot was breathing laboredly, and he tensed as Hardison stepped behind him, not sure if he really wanted more. But Hardison just loosened the laces on the corset so Eliot could breathe easy, and then pulled him up to hold him.
He stood there, Hardison supporting him from behind, and Parker squeezing in in front of him, peering up at his face, running her hand too close to his eyelashes.
"You're the prettiest doll I've ever owned, Eliot," she said.
Eliot just grunted.
Hardison whispered in his ear, gentle but with an edge, "Thank us for letting you be our doll, Eliot." It was the first time Hardison ever ordered Eliot to thank him for punishment.
"Thank you," Eliot rasped.
Parker smiled. "Now let's help our doll relax."
As they led him to bed to play with their doll some more -- and as they made it clear that they read him just fine, and the hard stuff was over for the night -- Eliot thought - just for a second - that maybe this would work out just fine, that maybe this wouldn't end up as a big clustefuck of a relationship and they might actually last more than a few weeks.
Years later, Eliot would wonder how this happened. How he became the kind of guy who gets hard at the thought of being owned. It seemed like he wasn't his old self, like that guy had died in some pit somewhere, the way guys like him were supposed to, with no ties or families or real homes. And this new person - who for some crazy reason trusted these people to tie him up and beat him and own him - had replaced him. And he would think back and realize that the other guy - the guy who knew that refusing to cut his hair might get him killed in a fight and didn't care enough to cut it - was gone. Dead or changed, didn't matter: gone. The moment he realized that he, despite every bit of training and experience that told him to do otherwise, trusted Parker and Hardison to take care of him. And the harder thing, too -- to admit to himself that he wanted them to, that he needed to be taken care of, and maybe he even deserved it.
All because Parker had decided one day she wanted to see how his hair looked in braids.