Happy Birthday! Late, and EARLY! (Orphan, Cypher, and Tei!!)
So this is a super happy birthday for orphan_project, cyphersushi, and an early birthday for teithiwr!!! I love you all, you've meant so much to me. :smishes you three and twirls:
For orphan_project:
She couldn't be decisive so - each prompt gets three sets of three sentences. Sometimes they fit together as part of the same narrative... sometimes they don't.
Kane RPS, Goth!boys, dreams:
Christian wakes with a start, the old scar on his leg aching; he doesn't know why he was dreaming about high school, of all things, about trying to impress idiots that couldn't be bothered to give a damn. He sits up, rubbing at his leg, and tries to ignore the feeling settling in his stomach, like his hackles are up and he's waiting for the first punch to be thrown cos he knows it's gonna be a sucker punch.
Fuck it all, today is gonna suck...
---
If the grass is just a little too blue and the sky is maybe headed toward orange, Steve really can't bring himself to notice --not that he'd be likely to notice anyway, or remember later-- because he's too busy watching Christian slide down onto his cock again, his tattoos glistening a little with sweat; of course they're moving too, the tattoos, moving along Chris' skin like they're alive and fuck but that's hot, and it's also wrong, just wrong enough that Steven starts to realize that this is a dream. He doesn't want to wake up, he doesn't, but he does wake up and he's hard, not that it can be completely explained by the dream.
"Mornin'," Christian murmurs before licking a hot stripe up the underside of Steve's cock, and that, that right there will always be worth waking up for.
---
"It was just a dream, Steve," Chris says, insistent, trying yet again to make the words sink in, "just a goddamn fucking dream!"
"It wasn't just a fucking dream, Christian, that's the fucking problem, cos it was him, you were dreaming about --" Steve says, teeth grinding, but he stops and finally looks Chris in the eye, if only for a second.
"You think," Chris says, standing in front of him now, taking Steve's hand and --with some small resistance-- he puts Steve's hand on his collar, "no, no I only wear one of these, only yours."
Kane RPS, Vampire + Kitten, all my fault:
He finds the boy all but under the small table on the back porch, his ears flattened against the sides of his head, his knees pulled tight against his chest, streaks of tears staining his cheeks and jeans. Steven sits beside him, stroking his hair when a tiny sob hiccups its way out of Christian and waiting until the boy was ready to talk.
"Stevie got hurt," he says finally, his voice wobbly and small, "and it's all my fault."
---
"We were playing," Christian says, picking at the hole in his jeans as they drive, his tail flicking lightly --a good sign, though he still hasn't met Steven's eyes-- and his shoulders still a little slumped, "it was at the park and we were pretending we needed to invade the fort, and I said that we couldn't just walk in the front, we had to sneak in like ninjas, and we thought the tree... that the tree would be..." He just stops, and Steven doesn't need to look to know his lip is probably trembling. "I'm s'posed to look out for him."
---
Steven has to knock on the door because Chris won't come out from behind him, one hand tight on Steven's hand, his tail curled lightly around Steven's ankle; when Stevie's mom answers the door she looks a little angry, but relents when she sees Christian's face, his wide eyes fixed on the floor like he's waiting for her to yell, and she lets them in. Chris stays behind Steve's leg even when she leads them up to Stevie's room, and he's shy even when Stevie smiles over at him, his leg in a bright green cast.
"I know," Stevie says, pouting when he sees his mother, "I'm still grounded for a month."
RPS, Spy!au, three ways to say the same thing:
Director Harmon gives him a look, cold, unblinking, and turns on his heel, as though that's all the answer Blondie's going to get; he puts up a hand before Blondie can open his mouth to push the issue.
Winchester just gives him a pitying look as Blondie stalks back into the bullpen, hands fisted at his sides, and Blondie just ignores him, same as he ignores Alona and Riley sharing a look from the doors to the MOFO operations room. All he wanted was a week, one fucking week...
---
"No," Christian says, emphatically, cheeks flushing as he shakes his head vigorously, "no, no, no, nonono nooooo."
Pauley just grins at him, predatory even as she nods, stalking forward slowly, reaching one hand out toward Christian, and the other... well, Chris isn't sure what she's got in the other hand but he is sure he doesn't want to find out. "Steve's going to love it!"
---
"It seems reasonable," Moravek says, a small smirk pulling at the edge of his mouth, "this little of ours, yes, you give me what I want, and I give you back your linguist."
Blondie takes a moment to consider, just a moment, just a heartbeat --there are ways to handle people like Moravek and the people Moravek work for without disrupting the flow of relations, of business, because you take them out and you just get a new player filling in their place-- but it takes no more than that, and really he only takes the moment to consider how badly The Agency will take it, and then puts a bullet between the man's eyes.
"Baby Doll, we're gonna need a clean up, and I'm gonna need Shiva..."
For cyphersushi:
RPS/Leverage, CK/Eliot, Got my face but none of the moves:
The simple bar fight isn't actually just a simple bar fight --never is, not for Eliot-- but there ain't exactly any worthwhile players in this mess and the only people standing out are the ones that incited the whole thing and the one in the middle, the one that --unfortunately for him maybe-- looks just like Eliot. He ain't half bad for a civilian, knows how to dodge, or take a hit, sure as hell knows how to give as good as he gets (and he's gettin' more than enough), but the fact remains whoever he is he ain't Eliot, and the fight is pretty damn thick.
Eliot smirks; he's got what it takes to clear this mess out, and he's starting with that sonuvabitch right there that set that fat bastard goin' in the first place...
Burn Notice/Leverage, Michael Westen/Eliot, Under-cover as bachelor-party strippers:
The problem with intel you haven't done yourself is that very occasionally they leave something out; if you're lucky, it's something like the color of their car, but if you're unlucky... well. Then you end up playing stripper at a bachelor party.
I'm going to kill Sam, assuming, that is, I can get what I came here for without getting shot, caught, or killed, and as long as I can get to him before Eliot does...
RPS, Waiter!Steve 'verse, melted chocolate:
It's all over his hands, spattered on his apron and even flecked on his face, because it all nearly fell apart on him --literally-- and he's trying to work the melted chocolate on the ice cold slab to make the replacement part, cussing under his breath so that the kids in the next room can't hear him. "This," he says, loud enough that Christian can hear him from the doorway, "is why I hate doing pieces."
Christian just smirks, sneaking a finger into the chocolate before licking it off slowly and saying, "I'll make it up t'ya darlin'."
RPS, Goth'verse, tattoos as messages of love:
Pauley watches Christian as he first sets the gun against Steve's skin, cheeks tinged pink and biting his lip like it's important, and has to wonder if Steven realizes what this means from Christian, if he knows that this is Christian claiming him, putting his heart on the line with every drop of ink. He'd better understand, or Pauley intends to take it very personally enough to ensure the man would never be capable of breeding for the rest of his (only provided through artificial support) life.
Steven turns his head, and his hair is in his face now, but she can see the way he's smiling, the way he looks at Christian, and any lingering worry is put to rest.
Wolverine, Logan/Remy, voodoo:
"Cher," Remy says --probably on account of Logan hating the term-- smirking all the while, "you were warned, n'est-ce pas?" Logan glares at him, trying his best to promise pain and death with just his eyes.
Not like he can do much else as a chihuahua, or what, will he yap him to death and jump in his lap?
Alice/Leverage, Hatter/Eliot, clever fingers:
Eliot's used to a lot of different kinds of hands --violent ones especially, but he's had his share of a woman's touch, and gotten used to Parker's sticky fingers-- but Hatter is a helluva lot of somethin' else. Clever fingers finding places Eliot's not sure he ever thought of being touched, stealing away things he hadn't actually thought himself capable of giving, Eliot finds himself chasing after that touch, after the way it lingers when Hatter is gone.
Time was Eliot would have broken his fingers for that, for making him feel, making him remember... making him wait...
RPS, CK/Steve, blue-eyed cherokee:
Continues off the CK cowboys prompt I did for Faunaana.
Steve knows it ain't a good idea to let the Cherokee stay, but he can't bear to send a wounded man away, not once it's clear it ain't just some flesh wound, or once he's realized the Cherokee's sweating with fever. He knows it ain't a good idea to get up close to'm --stories make'm out to be a trickster after all-- but the man's eyes are glazed, and it don't take much to figure things are worse'n they look; not that the Cherokee makes it easy, skittering back like Steve's the one's gonna rob'm blind and worse.
"Easy," Steven says once he's had his look, "easy, you're gonna need more help than I got in my saddle bags..."
RPS, Steampunk 'verse, J2, leaving the world behind:
"Goodbye, mother," Mister Ackles says, not unkindly, and kissing her on the cheek before jaunting up the gangway to the airship, "and we shall see you in three months time!" He pauses there, if only long enough to wave to his mother and sister, and then heads toward the forward observation deck, weaving through the aircrew as they finish their preparations, until at last he stands shoulder to shoulder with Jared, staring toward the horizon, Texas already forgotten below them. "Well then, have you and the captain chosen our destination yet?"
RPS, Stempunk'verse, CK/Steve, unexpected:
Christian doesn't know what to do with this, with the man in his arms, hands fisted into his coat to keep him from running, disappearing; he wouldn't have asked for this, would barely have dreamed, but he cannot let go, cannot imagine not having this come dawn, no matter how unexpected finding Master Carlson at his door at this hour was. He lets the man push him backward, back toward the divan in the corner, lets Steven touch as he wants, lets him press against him. They lay together and sleep, or rather Steven sleeps, and Christian keeps watch over him, fingers carding through his hair til dawn tinges the sky pink.
Burn Notice/Leverage, Michael Westen/Eliot, hideout:
It's a shack. It's a shack barely hidden by the trees on a mid-river island surrounded by enemy militia that would as soon shoot them as waterboard them for their information, possessions, and, well, just because.
Mike's not particularly thinking about any of that, though, and he'd like to attribute it to his bruises or the fact that they almost died or any number of other logistical issues that they really ought to be paying attention to but he can't; Eliot's biting his shoulder, pressing deeper, claiming all of his attention (claiming him), and Mike can't bare to think beyond the moment, beyond this, whatever it is, and the fact that Eliot's tipping him so far over the edge the world fades away...
For teithiwr:
Leverage, Hardison/Parker/Eliot: some sort of cute domestic threesome moment:
Eliot can hear Hardison pouting from all the way across the room and just turns around to give him a look, a look which states quite clearly ain't my fault your little cheese puff things exploded everywhere cos I'm in the freakin' kitchen makin' your sorry ass some dinner. Parker skips around, light as a feather, finding where all the really weird ones ended up, like behind the TV and caught up on the curtain rod and just barely caught between the edge of the speaker and the wall up in the far corner.
"Was supposed to have these while watchin' Chuck," Hardison mutters, mostly to himself as he scoops a few more puffs from under the couch, "not that either one of ya would even understand, philistines, the both of you."
Leverage, Eliot, issues with a computer:
Eliot holds the thing like it's a baby --or maybe a Faberge egg-- that is, just secure enough not to drop it and just delicately enough not to break it; it's new, after all, and he doesn't care if the damn thing's made of brush aluminum, it barely feels like more than a piece of paper.
"What'm I supposed to do with it?" he asks, trying to hide what Sophie's starting to label a pout with a growl.
"Man," Hardison laughs at him, "it's a computer, type on it, surf the internet, whatevs."
Leverage, Hardison/Parker/Eliot, Hardison's arms; the appreciation thereof!:
"Why are they called guns," Parker says, more to herself than Hardison even if she is poking him in the arm sharply, "they don't look like guns and they don't have guns on them and Eliot doesn't like guns except when he talks about yours." Hardison nearly chokes on his soda because seriously, seriously since when does Eliot even look at him if it ain't to smack him around (well, ok, or to make sure he's not hurt), but he still manages to mutter something about how Eliot's just talking about muscles. "Oooooooh... no wonder, your muscles really are really hot, well, not hot hot but attractive, that's what you say for attractive... right?"
Leverage, Parker, with wet hair:
Eliot's sort of getting used to coming home to find Parker already in his apartment --because at least Hardison's got the decency to come back with him-- but this, this is a first, even for her. Eliot and Hardison are just setting grocery bags on the counter when she stalks out from the bathroom, stark naked and nothing but droplets of water and wet hair plastered to her skin, molded to her with slowly fading rivulets like she's just stepped out of his shower; she pouts at him hands on her hips and asks something about his towels, possibly about not having any, and he vaguely remembers to make himself say something. "Usually just air dry."**
---
Hardison licks his lips, trying to get his brain up out of the gutter before Parker realizes he's there, only for Eliot's words to sink in. Now all he can picture is Parker and Eliot lounging on the couch, both of them in little more than their birthday suits and glistening from the shower, long hair clinging to each smooth curve of muscle and...
God dammit he said all that out loud didn't he...
**I should note there's a very good reason for this. It involves hiding the fact that he likes very fluffy, very soft, very luxurious towels...
Leverage,Hardison/Parker/Eliot: kissing in the rain:
Parker all but tackles Eliot full force, hard and fast enough that even if it hadn't been raining it'd be a struggle to stay on his feet (even if he hadn't been in a fight, even if the comms hadn't gone dead, even if) and she barely waits for him to huff at her (he only does it when he's ok, can't spare the energy to be annoyed when he's not) and sit up before her mouth is on his, the rain and the puddles making their hair and clothes heavy.
"It's alright, baby girl, we're alright." The words are hardly out of Hardison's mouth before she's pulling him closer and they're sharing air, the rain soothing away anything that might have resembled tears, just cool enough to make all three of them feel warm.
For orphan_project:
She couldn't be decisive so - each prompt gets three sets of three sentences. Sometimes they fit together as part of the same narrative... sometimes they don't.
Kane RPS, Goth!boys, dreams:
Christian wakes with a start, the old scar on his leg aching; he doesn't know why he was dreaming about high school, of all things, about trying to impress idiots that couldn't be bothered to give a damn. He sits up, rubbing at his leg, and tries to ignore the feeling settling in his stomach, like his hackles are up and he's waiting for the first punch to be thrown cos he knows it's gonna be a sucker punch.
Fuck it all, today is gonna suck...
---
If the grass is just a little too blue and the sky is maybe headed toward orange, Steve really can't bring himself to notice --not that he'd be likely to notice anyway, or remember later-- because he's too busy watching Christian slide down onto his cock again, his tattoos glistening a little with sweat; of course they're moving too, the tattoos, moving along Chris' skin like they're alive and fuck but that's hot, and it's also wrong, just wrong enough that Steven starts to realize that this is a dream. He doesn't want to wake up, he doesn't, but he does wake up and he's hard, not that it can be completely explained by the dream.
"Mornin'," Christian murmurs before licking a hot stripe up the underside of Steve's cock, and that, that right there will always be worth waking up for.
---
"It was just a dream, Steve," Chris says, insistent, trying yet again to make the words sink in, "just a goddamn fucking dream!"
"It wasn't just a fucking dream, Christian, that's the fucking problem, cos it was him, you were dreaming about --" Steve says, teeth grinding, but he stops and finally looks Chris in the eye, if only for a second.
"You think," Chris says, standing in front of him now, taking Steve's hand and --with some small resistance-- he puts Steve's hand on his collar, "no, no I only wear one of these, only yours."
Kane RPS, Vampire + Kitten, all my fault:
He finds the boy all but under the small table on the back porch, his ears flattened against the sides of his head, his knees pulled tight against his chest, streaks of tears staining his cheeks and jeans. Steven sits beside him, stroking his hair when a tiny sob hiccups its way out of Christian and waiting until the boy was ready to talk.
"Stevie got hurt," he says finally, his voice wobbly and small, "and it's all my fault."
---
"We were playing," Christian says, picking at the hole in his jeans as they drive, his tail flicking lightly --a good sign, though he still hasn't met Steven's eyes-- and his shoulders still a little slumped, "it was at the park and we were pretending we needed to invade the fort, and I said that we couldn't just walk in the front, we had to sneak in like ninjas, and we thought the tree... that the tree would be..." He just stops, and Steven doesn't need to look to know his lip is probably trembling. "I'm s'posed to look out for him."
---
Steven has to knock on the door because Chris won't come out from behind him, one hand tight on Steven's hand, his tail curled lightly around Steven's ankle; when Stevie's mom answers the door she looks a little angry, but relents when she sees Christian's face, his wide eyes fixed on the floor like he's waiting for her to yell, and she lets them in. Chris stays behind Steve's leg even when she leads them up to Stevie's room, and he's shy even when Stevie smiles over at him, his leg in a bright green cast.
"I know," Stevie says, pouting when he sees his mother, "I'm still grounded for a month."
RPS, Spy!au, three ways to say the same thing:
Director Harmon gives him a look, cold, unblinking, and turns on his heel, as though that's all the answer Blondie's going to get; he puts up a hand before Blondie can open his mouth to push the issue.
Winchester just gives him a pitying look as Blondie stalks back into the bullpen, hands fisted at his sides, and Blondie just ignores him, same as he ignores Alona and Riley sharing a look from the doors to the MOFO operations room. All he wanted was a week, one fucking week...
---
"No," Christian says, emphatically, cheeks flushing as he shakes his head vigorously, "no, no, no, nonono nooooo."
Pauley just grins at him, predatory even as she nods, stalking forward slowly, reaching one hand out toward Christian, and the other... well, Chris isn't sure what she's got in the other hand but he is sure he doesn't want to find out. "Steve's going to love it!"
---
"It seems reasonable," Moravek says, a small smirk pulling at the edge of his mouth, "this little of ours, yes, you give me what I want, and I give you back your linguist."
Blondie takes a moment to consider, just a moment, just a heartbeat --there are ways to handle people like Moravek and the people Moravek work for without disrupting the flow of relations, of business, because you take them out and you just get a new player filling in their place-- but it takes no more than that, and really he only takes the moment to consider how badly The Agency will take it, and then puts a bullet between the man's eyes.
"Baby Doll, we're gonna need a clean up, and I'm gonna need Shiva..."
For cyphersushi:
RPS/Leverage, CK/Eliot, Got my face but none of the moves:
The simple bar fight isn't actually just a simple bar fight --never is, not for Eliot-- but there ain't exactly any worthwhile players in this mess and the only people standing out are the ones that incited the whole thing and the one in the middle, the one that --unfortunately for him maybe-- looks just like Eliot. He ain't half bad for a civilian, knows how to dodge, or take a hit, sure as hell knows how to give as good as he gets (and he's gettin' more than enough), but the fact remains whoever he is he ain't Eliot, and the fight is pretty damn thick.
Eliot smirks; he's got what it takes to clear this mess out, and he's starting with that sonuvabitch right there that set that fat bastard goin' in the first place...
Burn Notice/Leverage, Michael Westen/Eliot, Under-cover as bachelor-party strippers:
The problem with intel you haven't done yourself is that very occasionally they leave something out; if you're lucky, it's something like the color of their car, but if you're unlucky... well. Then you end up playing stripper at a bachelor party.
I'm going to kill Sam, assuming, that is, I can get what I came here for without getting shot, caught, or killed, and as long as I can get to him before Eliot does...
RPS, Waiter!Steve 'verse, melted chocolate:
It's all over his hands, spattered on his apron and even flecked on his face, because it all nearly fell apart on him --literally-- and he's trying to work the melted chocolate on the ice cold slab to make the replacement part, cussing under his breath so that the kids in the next room can't hear him. "This," he says, loud enough that Christian can hear him from the doorway, "is why I hate doing pieces."
Christian just smirks, sneaking a finger into the chocolate before licking it off slowly and saying, "I'll make it up t'ya darlin'."
RPS, Goth'verse, tattoos as messages of love:
Pauley watches Christian as he first sets the gun against Steve's skin, cheeks tinged pink and biting his lip like it's important, and has to wonder if Steven realizes what this means from Christian, if he knows that this is Christian claiming him, putting his heart on the line with every drop of ink. He'd better understand, or Pauley intends to take it very personally enough to ensure the man would never be capable of breeding for the rest of his (only provided through artificial support) life.
Steven turns his head, and his hair is in his face now, but she can see the way he's smiling, the way he looks at Christian, and any lingering worry is put to rest.
Wolverine, Logan/Remy, voodoo:
"Cher," Remy says --probably on account of Logan hating the term-- smirking all the while, "you were warned, n'est-ce pas?" Logan glares at him, trying his best to promise pain and death with just his eyes.
Not like he can do much else as a chihuahua, or what, will he yap him to death and jump in his lap?
Alice/Leverage, Hatter/Eliot, clever fingers:
Eliot's used to a lot of different kinds of hands --violent ones especially, but he's had his share of a woman's touch, and gotten used to Parker's sticky fingers-- but Hatter is a helluva lot of somethin' else. Clever fingers finding places Eliot's not sure he ever thought of being touched, stealing away things he hadn't actually thought himself capable of giving, Eliot finds himself chasing after that touch, after the way it lingers when Hatter is gone.
Time was Eliot would have broken his fingers for that, for making him feel, making him remember... making him wait...
RPS, CK/Steve, blue-eyed cherokee:
Continues off the CK cowboys prompt I did for Faunaana.
Steve knows it ain't a good idea to let the Cherokee stay, but he can't bear to send a wounded man away, not once it's clear it ain't just some flesh wound, or once he's realized the Cherokee's sweating with fever. He knows it ain't a good idea to get up close to'm --stories make'm out to be a trickster after all-- but the man's eyes are glazed, and it don't take much to figure things are worse'n they look; not that the Cherokee makes it easy, skittering back like Steve's the one's gonna rob'm blind and worse.
"Easy," Steven says once he's had his look, "easy, you're gonna need more help than I got in my saddle bags..."
RPS, Steampunk 'verse, J2, leaving the world behind:
"Goodbye, mother," Mister Ackles says, not unkindly, and kissing her on the cheek before jaunting up the gangway to the airship, "and we shall see you in three months time!" He pauses there, if only long enough to wave to his mother and sister, and then heads toward the forward observation deck, weaving through the aircrew as they finish their preparations, until at last he stands shoulder to shoulder with Jared, staring toward the horizon, Texas already forgotten below them. "Well then, have you and the captain chosen our destination yet?"
RPS, Stempunk'verse, CK/Steve, unexpected:
Christian doesn't know what to do with this, with the man in his arms, hands fisted into his coat to keep him from running, disappearing; he wouldn't have asked for this, would barely have dreamed, but he cannot let go, cannot imagine not having this come dawn, no matter how unexpected finding Master Carlson at his door at this hour was. He lets the man push him backward, back toward the divan in the corner, lets Steven touch as he wants, lets him press against him. They lay together and sleep, or rather Steven sleeps, and Christian keeps watch over him, fingers carding through his hair til dawn tinges the sky pink.
Burn Notice/Leverage, Michael Westen/Eliot, hideout:
It's a shack. It's a shack barely hidden by the trees on a mid-river island surrounded by enemy militia that would as soon shoot them as waterboard them for their information, possessions, and, well, just because.
Mike's not particularly thinking about any of that, though, and he'd like to attribute it to his bruises or the fact that they almost died or any number of other logistical issues that they really ought to be paying attention to but he can't; Eliot's biting his shoulder, pressing deeper, claiming all of his attention (claiming him), and Mike can't bare to think beyond the moment, beyond this, whatever it is, and the fact that Eliot's tipping him so far over the edge the world fades away...
For teithiwr:
Leverage, Hardison/Parker/Eliot: some sort of cute domestic threesome moment:
Eliot can hear Hardison pouting from all the way across the room and just turns around to give him a look, a look which states quite clearly ain't my fault your little cheese puff things exploded everywhere cos I'm in the freakin' kitchen makin' your sorry ass some dinner. Parker skips around, light as a feather, finding where all the really weird ones ended up, like behind the TV and caught up on the curtain rod and just barely caught between the edge of the speaker and the wall up in the far corner.
"Was supposed to have these while watchin' Chuck," Hardison mutters, mostly to himself as he scoops a few more puffs from under the couch, "not that either one of ya would even understand, philistines, the both of you."
Leverage, Eliot, issues with a computer:
Eliot holds the thing like it's a baby --or maybe a Faberge egg-- that is, just secure enough not to drop it and just delicately enough not to break it; it's new, after all, and he doesn't care if the damn thing's made of brush aluminum, it barely feels like more than a piece of paper.
"What'm I supposed to do with it?" he asks, trying to hide what Sophie's starting to label a pout with a growl.
"Man," Hardison laughs at him, "it's a computer, type on it, surf the internet, whatevs."
Leverage, Hardison/Parker/Eliot, Hardison's arms; the appreciation thereof!:
"Why are they called guns," Parker says, more to herself than Hardison even if she is poking him in the arm sharply, "they don't look like guns and they don't have guns on them and Eliot doesn't like guns except when he talks about yours." Hardison nearly chokes on his soda because seriously, seriously since when does Eliot even look at him if it ain't to smack him around (well, ok, or to make sure he's not hurt), but he still manages to mutter something about how Eliot's just talking about muscles. "Oooooooh... no wonder, your muscles really are really hot, well, not hot hot but attractive, that's what you say for attractive... right?"
Leverage, Parker, with wet hair:
Eliot's sort of getting used to coming home to find Parker already in his apartment --because at least Hardison's got the decency to come back with him-- but this, this is a first, even for her. Eliot and Hardison are just setting grocery bags on the counter when she stalks out from the bathroom, stark naked and nothing but droplets of water and wet hair plastered to her skin, molded to her with slowly fading rivulets like she's just stepped out of his shower; she pouts at him hands on her hips and asks something about his towels, possibly about not having any, and he vaguely remembers to make himself say something. "Usually just air dry."**
---
Hardison licks his lips, trying to get his brain up out of the gutter before Parker realizes he's there, only for Eliot's words to sink in. Now all he can picture is Parker and Eliot lounging on the couch, both of them in little more than their birthday suits and glistening from the shower, long hair clinging to each smooth curve of muscle and...
God dammit he said all that out loud didn't he...
**I should note there's a very good reason for this. It involves hiding the fact that he likes very fluffy, very soft, very luxurious towels...
Leverage,Hardison/Parker/Eliot: kissing in the rain:
Parker all but tackles Eliot full force, hard and fast enough that even if it hadn't been raining it'd be a struggle to stay on his feet (even if he hadn't been in a fight, even if the comms hadn't gone dead, even if) and she barely waits for him to huff at her (he only does it when he's ok, can't spare the energy to be annoyed when he's not) and sit up before her mouth is on his, the rain and the puddles making their hair and clothes heavy.
"It's alright, baby girl, we're alright." The words are hardly out of Hardison's mouth before she's pulling him closer and they're sharing air, the rain soothing away anything that might have resembled tears, just cool enough to make all three of them feel warm.