Learning Self-Defence - Leverage - Eliot/Hardison
Title: Learning Self-Defence
Pairing: Eliot/Hardison
Word Count: 275
Rating: PG
A/N: Written for comment_fic.
Summary: Eliot decides that Hardison needs to be taught how to handle himself.
Eliot is good with his hands, his fists. He has brute force behind him - and skill, years' worth of skill. He's refined his body until it works like a weapon, putting loaded guns to shame. He's a killer. You have to be in this business if you want to survive.
But Hardison…
Fuck, Eliot doesn't even know how Hardison ever managed to survive this long. He should've been (killed) arrested by now.
"That's it," Eliot growls angrily as he watches Hardison dabbing blood from yet another split lip. "I'm teachin' you self-defence."
"What?" Hardison protests. "I can defend myself just fine. Did you see the way I punched that guy?"
"He was old," Eliot says. He pushes his hair back from his forehead, scowling with his shoulders hunched. "And I'm fed up with watching you get your ass handed to you."
He's going to get himself killed one of these days - Eliot can't be there all the time.
Hardison's hand rests on his shoulder, and Eliot's pretty sure that it's supposed to be comforting. He fights not to tense up.
"Alright," Hardison agrees. His voice sounds light, as if this is nothing at all. "You can teach me your kung-fu skillz."
He can hear the Z and struggles not to twitch.
"You'll make it worth my while though, right?" Hardison says - and Eliot finds his attention drawn persistently down to the blood on his lip. It's like the bright plumage of a bird, drawing the eye in.
"I could be persuaded," Eliot agrees.
When Hardison kisses him, he tastes of metal and blood, and Eliot promises himself that he'll make sure that doesn't happen again.
Pairing: Eliot/Hardison
Word Count: 275
Rating: PG
A/N: Written for comment_fic.
Summary: Eliot decides that Hardison needs to be taught how to handle himself.
Eliot is good with his hands, his fists. He has brute force behind him - and skill, years' worth of skill. He's refined his body until it works like a weapon, putting loaded guns to shame. He's a killer. You have to be in this business if you want to survive.
But Hardison…
Fuck, Eliot doesn't even know how Hardison ever managed to survive this long. He should've been (killed) arrested by now.
"That's it," Eliot growls angrily as he watches Hardison dabbing blood from yet another split lip. "I'm teachin' you self-defence."
"What?" Hardison protests. "I can defend myself just fine. Did you see the way I punched that guy?"
"He was old," Eliot says. He pushes his hair back from his forehead, scowling with his shoulders hunched. "And I'm fed up with watching you get your ass handed to you."
He's going to get himself killed one of these days - Eliot can't be there all the time.
Hardison's hand rests on his shoulder, and Eliot's pretty sure that it's supposed to be comforting. He fights not to tense up.
"Alright," Hardison agrees. His voice sounds light, as if this is nothing at all. "You can teach me your kung-fu skillz."
He can hear the Z and struggles not to twitch.
"You'll make it worth my while though, right?" Hardison says - and Eliot finds his attention drawn persistently down to the blood on his lip. It's like the bright plumage of a bird, drawing the eye in.
"I could be persuaded," Eliot agrees.
When Hardison kisses him, he tastes of metal and blood, and Eliot promises himself that he'll make sure that doesn't happen again.