A Pale Substitute - Leverage - Alec/Eliot
Title: A Pale Substitute
Pairing: Alec/Eliot
Word Count: 491
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written for comment_fic.
Summary: Eliot has trouble adapting after they've scattered.
The hardest thing about scattering is that he suddenly finds himself missing people all of a sudden - missing Parker's insanity and Sophie's intelligence and Nate's quick eyes. Most of all, though, most of all he misses Hardison. He never would've thought about it before, always knowing he could rely on his fists to get him anywhere, but having a guy in the computer system had made things run a whole lot smoother.
And, yeah, Eliot could tell himself that that's what he misses. The tech genius. The computer whiz kid.
But that ain't it, and while Eliot's good for a con he's got a vow not to try conning himself. So he's got to admit, fist wrapped around his own cock, that it's not Hardison's brains he misses most. Not that clever mind. Nah, what he misses most is the wicked tease of Hardison's mouth, the way it'd seem like getting head from him was a continuation of their bickering conversations. Hardison would always make him work for it, wouldn't he? Always knew how to draw it out, leave Eliot panting and growling, demanding more. Always letting him think he was in charge when they both knew he was putty in Hardison's more than capable hands.
Alone in his hotel room, Eliot's hand strokes his hard dick. He tries to remember Hardison perfectly, each frantic encounter with each other. Even when they'd had all the time in the world in had been rushed. It had been desperate. Every - single - time. And, god, he'd never understood that. Still doesn't understand it now. Jerking himself off while thinking of damn Hardison - Alec - makes him drive closer and faster to orgasm than any amount of porn and perfect tits could ever manage. His mouth hangs open, drawing shallow breaths as he tells himself that he can last a little longer.
With memories of Hardison playing through his mind - those lips and that tongue and those evil, evil hands - Eliot finds himself losing the self-control he'd usually pride himself on. His body tenses, hand rushing faster, and his eyes screw even tighter shut as his orgasm hits him: it's a muted, dull thing compared to what Hardison used to wring out of him, but it's enough for now.
He lies back on his hotel bed - and tells himself that he resolutely does not miss the old weight of Hardison lying there beside him, rambling on even though Eliot would be so blissed out that he could hardly concentrate - and he breathes deep, breathes slow, trying to allow this to be enough to tide him over for now.
Splitting up was the best thing for all of them, really. The best way to stay safe, to stay hidden, to stay alive - but ever since the team went their separate ways, Eliot's been quietly admitting to himself that it's maybe not the best thing for his heart.
Pairing: Alec/Eliot
Word Count: 491
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written for comment_fic.
Summary: Eliot has trouble adapting after they've scattered.
The hardest thing about scattering is that he suddenly finds himself missing people all of a sudden - missing Parker's insanity and Sophie's intelligence and Nate's quick eyes. Most of all, though, most of all he misses Hardison. He never would've thought about it before, always knowing he could rely on his fists to get him anywhere, but having a guy in the computer system had made things run a whole lot smoother.
And, yeah, Eliot could tell himself that that's what he misses. The tech genius. The computer whiz kid.
But that ain't it, and while Eliot's good for a con he's got a vow not to try conning himself. So he's got to admit, fist wrapped around his own cock, that it's not Hardison's brains he misses most. Not that clever mind. Nah, what he misses most is the wicked tease of Hardison's mouth, the way it'd seem like getting head from him was a continuation of their bickering conversations. Hardison would always make him work for it, wouldn't he? Always knew how to draw it out, leave Eliot panting and growling, demanding more. Always letting him think he was in charge when they both knew he was putty in Hardison's more than capable hands.
Alone in his hotel room, Eliot's hand strokes his hard dick. He tries to remember Hardison perfectly, each frantic encounter with each other. Even when they'd had all the time in the world in had been rushed. It had been desperate. Every - single - time. And, god, he'd never understood that. Still doesn't understand it now. Jerking himself off while thinking of damn Hardison - Alec - makes him drive closer and faster to orgasm than any amount of porn and perfect tits could ever manage. His mouth hangs open, drawing shallow breaths as he tells himself that he can last a little longer.
With memories of Hardison playing through his mind - those lips and that tongue and those evil, evil hands - Eliot finds himself losing the self-control he'd usually pride himself on. His body tenses, hand rushing faster, and his eyes screw even tighter shut as his orgasm hits him: it's a muted, dull thing compared to what Hardison used to wring out of him, but it's enough for now.
He lies back on his hotel bed - and tells himself that he resolutely does not miss the old weight of Hardison lying there beside him, rambling on even though Eliot would be so blissed out that he could hardly concentrate - and he breathes deep, breathes slow, trying to allow this to be enough to tide him over for now.
Splitting up was the best thing for all of them, really. The best way to stay safe, to stay hidden, to stay alive - but ever since the team went their separate ways, Eliot's been quietly admitting to himself that it's maybe not the best thing for his heart.