Fic: Two for the Road (3/?)
Title: Two for the Road (3/?)
Summary: Eliot thinks it would be safer if they split up, but he can’t bring himself to say it out loud. Eliot/Parker
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I don’t own “Leverage.” Clearly.
Note: Not betaed, because I suck. Sorry for the delay, but RL has been kicking my booty. :)
Eliot decides to fight in Richmond. The truth is, they could use the cash, and he easily recalls how damn good it felt to fight again.
On the way, he impulsively decides to make a stop.
Parker’s been sleeping, curled up in the seat next to him, Hardison’s toy Enterprise clutched in her hand. He doesn’t realize she’s awake until she speaks.
“Where are we?” she asks sleepily.
“Couple hours outside Richmond,” he says. “I have a friend who lives out here. I know him from way back.”
Instead of asking how they know each other, she just nods, and he’s relieved that she doesn’t need to ask every detail of his past. He figures Parker has enough of a past of her own that she knows better than to dig into anyone else’s.
He thinks she’s fallen asleep again, but when he pulls into Truck’s drive, she sits up straight, looking around curiously. The driveway’s a long, gravel road, and it takes them a few minutes just to get to the house.
He pulls in behind a giant black pickup and hops out, Parker appearing like magic beside him. He watches her in amusement as she looks around, wide-eyed, at the cute white farmhouse, huge garden, small henhouse. He knows, without even looking, when she spots the horses, grazing inside the neat rows of white fence beyond the house.
“Horses?” she whispers.
“Yeah, they’ve got a few,” he says.
“Hmmm.”
He can’t tell what she’s thinking, but before he can ask, the house’s front door bangs open.
“Eliot Spencer, you son of a bitch!” Truck comes toward him, grinning. Eliot has never asked where the nickname came from, though he suspects it’s due to the man’s extremely large size. “I hope you’ve got that 800 bucks you owe me.”
“I think you’re remembering that wrong,” Eliot says with a laugh. “It’s you who owes me the $800.”
As his friend shrugs, Eliot makes introductions. “Parker, this is Tom Jennings, better known as Truck. Truck, this is Parker. We’re headed to Richmond, but I couldn’t resist stopping by.”
“Eliot!”
He grins and elbows Parker gently as the tall woman, blonde curls crammed under a baseball cap, heads over from behind the house. “That’s the woman Truck tricked into marrying him,” he says loudly.
“Hey now,” Truck says. “I won her fair and square in that poker game, Spencer; I didn’t even cheat that time.”
“You … won her?” Parker asks wonderingly, and Truck just laughs.
“Don’t listen to this guy,” the blonde says, coming up beside her husband and whapping him not-so-gently on the back of the head. “I had my reasons for marrying him, though at times it is hard to remember them. And since both of these two were apparently born in a barn and have no manners, I’ll introduce myself. I’m Cassie.”
“Parker,” she says.
“Pleased to meet you,” Cassie says, talking a mile a minute as usual. “I’ve got a pot roast on that will feed an army, so we’ll be set for dinner. Let’s get your bags. You are staying, aren’t you?”
Cassie insists they leave their bags in the front hall for Truck to take up, then settles them in the cheery apple-green kitchen with lemonade and cookies to tide them over while she finishes dinner. She’s perfected the art of making pleasant conversation without actually asking questions that can’t be answered, and Eliot is amused to see she has Parker chattering away in just a few minutes.
He’s known Truck for years, and Cassie nearly as long, and it feels nice to just let his guard down a little and relax.
He’s helping Parker to set the table for dinner and pondering how … normal she’s acting. She’s been different since the explosion, but he’s almost certain that she’s deliberately trying to tone down the crazy in front of his friends. It’s kind of sweet of her, but he’s afraid to thank her for fear that she’ll decide to climb up on the roof or break into Truck’s office safe or something.
“Got your bags up in your room,” Truck says, coming into the dining room.
Eliot freezes. “Our … room?”
He doesn’t even have to say more before Truck catches on. “Oh, shit, we thought you two were -”
Parker laughs loudly, and Eliot is irritated to find he’s a little insulted.
“The other guest room is in the middle of a paint job,” Truck explains, “but we could make up the couch for you.”
Eliot mentally winces to think of his back after a night on their couch, but the truth is he’s had much worse.
Before he can answer, Parker pipes up, walking around the table to stand next to him. “That’s OK, Truck. We can share. As long as Eliot doesn’t steal my covers.” She waves a fork in Eliot’s face as she speaks, a warning that only he would understand.
He chokes back a laugh, then before he can stop himself he steps closer and says quietly, “That’s all right Parker, I don’t even need the covers. I’m too hot.”
While he knows from personal experience that the average woman would get weak in the knees at that tone of voice, Parker just snorts out another laugh and taps him on the nose with the fork before heading into the kitchen.
Truck watches her go, then turns to Eliot, his eyebrows raised. “You’re really not …”
“Nope.”
“Damn, boy, what’s wrong with you?”
“It’s complicated,” Eliot growls, inexplicably annoyed.
Truck glances at the kitchen door again. “Ain’t nothing that complicated.”
*
He’s determined not to say anything or make a big deal out of it, but when Parker comes into the room wearing nothing but a long blue T-shirt, showing off miles of toned leg, he can’t seem to help himself.
“You didn’t have to do this,” he says.
“Do what?” she looks at him blankly, but he knows - he damn well knows - she’s perfectly aware of what he’s talking about. He’s seen her pull that clueless act on Hardison more times than he can count, any time she just doesn’t want to talk about something.
He considers calling her on it, but instead just waves at the bed. “Sharing the room?”
Parker shrugs. “Sleeping on that couch wouldn’t be good for you,” she says. “You have a fight coming up.”
When he doesn’t answer, she looks up and grins at him. “I’m planning to win some money betting on you.”
He feels out of sorts, and he can’t figure out why. He’s not being forced to sleep on the couch, Parker is being perfectly agreeable, to the point of even trying to act normal in front of his friends. But for some reason, he just feels angry.
“That all I am to you, Parker? A meal ticket?” He knows he’s being ridiculous; Parker probably has more money than he does, stashed in hidey-holes all over the world. And what she doesn’t have, she can certainly steal for herself. He just wants to pick a fight with her, and he doesn’t even know why.
“No,” Parker says. “You’re also my chauffeur.”
When he just looks at her, she grabs a pillow off the bed and throws it at him. “You want to sleep on the couch, sleep on the couch. Geez.”
She yanks back the covers and climbs in the bed, and after a moment he drops the pillow on his side of the bed and follows suit. She doesn’t say anything more, just flips off the bedside lamp.
“Parker …” He wants to apologize, but that would require him explaining what’s wrong, and he’s afraid it goes back to Parker laughing when he flirted with her. It’s Parker, for God’s sake. He doesn’t even know what got into him to flirt with her in the first place; he should be grateful that she took it as a joke. “You got that fork over there?” he asks, finally.
“Under my pillow,” she mumbles.
He doesn’t know if she’s serious or not, but he plans to keep his hands off her covers - and everything else - just in case.
*
He wakes to the smell of vanilla and the warmth of someone curled around his body.
He opens his eyes to see a mass of blond hair. Parker’s head is snuggled into his chest, her body is pressed against his, and one of her legs is curled around one of his.
All in all, not a bad way to wake up, and every part of his anatomy seems to agree. Gently, he starts to extricate himself from her before she wakes up and they have an embarrassing situation.
As soon as he begins to move, however, Parker mutters a protest and moves closer. He grits his teeth as she shifts, rubbing right up against his erection. If it were any other woman, now would be the time when he’d roll her onto her back and make both of their mornings with a quick round of sex.
But it’s not any other woman; it’s Parker.
He gently pushes her aside and climbs out of bed quickly, grabbing his stuff and heading for the shower.
He strips and turns on just the cold water, stepping in with a slight shiver. He lets his mind linger just for a moment on the feel of Parker’s warm body next to his before he mentally puts her back where she belongs - firmly in the box labeled “family.”
And that’s where she’s going to stay.
Summary: Eliot thinks it would be safer if they split up, but he can’t bring himself to say it out loud. Eliot/Parker
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I don’t own “Leverage.” Clearly.
Note: Not betaed, because I suck. Sorry for the delay, but RL has been kicking my booty. :)
Eliot decides to fight in Richmond. The truth is, they could use the cash, and he easily recalls how damn good it felt to fight again.
On the way, he impulsively decides to make a stop.
Parker’s been sleeping, curled up in the seat next to him, Hardison’s toy Enterprise clutched in her hand. He doesn’t realize she’s awake until she speaks.
“Where are we?” she asks sleepily.
“Couple hours outside Richmond,” he says. “I have a friend who lives out here. I know him from way back.”
Instead of asking how they know each other, she just nods, and he’s relieved that she doesn’t need to ask every detail of his past. He figures Parker has enough of a past of her own that she knows better than to dig into anyone else’s.
He thinks she’s fallen asleep again, but when he pulls into Truck’s drive, she sits up straight, looking around curiously. The driveway’s a long, gravel road, and it takes them a few minutes just to get to the house.
He pulls in behind a giant black pickup and hops out, Parker appearing like magic beside him. He watches her in amusement as she looks around, wide-eyed, at the cute white farmhouse, huge garden, small henhouse. He knows, without even looking, when she spots the horses, grazing inside the neat rows of white fence beyond the house.
“Horses?” she whispers.
“Yeah, they’ve got a few,” he says.
“Hmmm.”
He can’t tell what she’s thinking, but before he can ask, the house’s front door bangs open.
“Eliot Spencer, you son of a bitch!” Truck comes toward him, grinning. Eliot has never asked where the nickname came from, though he suspects it’s due to the man’s extremely large size. “I hope you’ve got that 800 bucks you owe me.”
“I think you’re remembering that wrong,” Eliot says with a laugh. “It’s you who owes me the $800.”
As his friend shrugs, Eliot makes introductions. “Parker, this is Tom Jennings, better known as Truck. Truck, this is Parker. We’re headed to Richmond, but I couldn’t resist stopping by.”
“Eliot!”
He grins and elbows Parker gently as the tall woman, blonde curls crammed under a baseball cap, heads over from behind the house. “That’s the woman Truck tricked into marrying him,” he says loudly.
“Hey now,” Truck says. “I won her fair and square in that poker game, Spencer; I didn’t even cheat that time.”
“You … won her?” Parker asks wonderingly, and Truck just laughs.
“Don’t listen to this guy,” the blonde says, coming up beside her husband and whapping him not-so-gently on the back of the head. “I had my reasons for marrying him, though at times it is hard to remember them. And since both of these two were apparently born in a barn and have no manners, I’ll introduce myself. I’m Cassie.”
“Parker,” she says.
“Pleased to meet you,” Cassie says, talking a mile a minute as usual. “I’ve got a pot roast on that will feed an army, so we’ll be set for dinner. Let’s get your bags. You are staying, aren’t you?”
Cassie insists they leave their bags in the front hall for Truck to take up, then settles them in the cheery apple-green kitchen with lemonade and cookies to tide them over while she finishes dinner. She’s perfected the art of making pleasant conversation without actually asking questions that can’t be answered, and Eliot is amused to see she has Parker chattering away in just a few minutes.
He’s known Truck for years, and Cassie nearly as long, and it feels nice to just let his guard down a little and relax.
He’s helping Parker to set the table for dinner and pondering how … normal she’s acting. She’s been different since the explosion, but he’s almost certain that she’s deliberately trying to tone down the crazy in front of his friends. It’s kind of sweet of her, but he’s afraid to thank her for fear that she’ll decide to climb up on the roof or break into Truck’s office safe or something.
“Got your bags up in your room,” Truck says, coming into the dining room.
Eliot freezes. “Our … room?”
He doesn’t even have to say more before Truck catches on. “Oh, shit, we thought you two were -”
Parker laughs loudly, and Eliot is irritated to find he’s a little insulted.
“The other guest room is in the middle of a paint job,” Truck explains, “but we could make up the couch for you.”
Eliot mentally winces to think of his back after a night on their couch, but the truth is he’s had much worse.
Before he can answer, Parker pipes up, walking around the table to stand next to him. “That’s OK, Truck. We can share. As long as Eliot doesn’t steal my covers.” She waves a fork in Eliot’s face as she speaks, a warning that only he would understand.
He chokes back a laugh, then before he can stop himself he steps closer and says quietly, “That’s all right Parker, I don’t even need the covers. I’m too hot.”
While he knows from personal experience that the average woman would get weak in the knees at that tone of voice, Parker just snorts out another laugh and taps him on the nose with the fork before heading into the kitchen.
Truck watches her go, then turns to Eliot, his eyebrows raised. “You’re really not …”
“Nope.”
“Damn, boy, what’s wrong with you?”
“It’s complicated,” Eliot growls, inexplicably annoyed.
Truck glances at the kitchen door again. “Ain’t nothing that complicated.”
*
He’s determined not to say anything or make a big deal out of it, but when Parker comes into the room wearing nothing but a long blue T-shirt, showing off miles of toned leg, he can’t seem to help himself.
“You didn’t have to do this,” he says.
“Do what?” she looks at him blankly, but he knows - he damn well knows - she’s perfectly aware of what he’s talking about. He’s seen her pull that clueless act on Hardison more times than he can count, any time she just doesn’t want to talk about something.
He considers calling her on it, but instead just waves at the bed. “Sharing the room?”
Parker shrugs. “Sleeping on that couch wouldn’t be good for you,” she says. “You have a fight coming up.”
When he doesn’t answer, she looks up and grins at him. “I’m planning to win some money betting on you.”
He feels out of sorts, and he can’t figure out why. He’s not being forced to sleep on the couch, Parker is being perfectly agreeable, to the point of even trying to act normal in front of his friends. But for some reason, he just feels angry.
“That all I am to you, Parker? A meal ticket?” He knows he’s being ridiculous; Parker probably has more money than he does, stashed in hidey-holes all over the world. And what she doesn’t have, she can certainly steal for herself. He just wants to pick a fight with her, and he doesn’t even know why.
“No,” Parker says. “You’re also my chauffeur.”
When he just looks at her, she grabs a pillow off the bed and throws it at him. “You want to sleep on the couch, sleep on the couch. Geez.”
She yanks back the covers and climbs in the bed, and after a moment he drops the pillow on his side of the bed and follows suit. She doesn’t say anything more, just flips off the bedside lamp.
“Parker …” He wants to apologize, but that would require him explaining what’s wrong, and he’s afraid it goes back to Parker laughing when he flirted with her. It’s Parker, for God’s sake. He doesn’t even know what got into him to flirt with her in the first place; he should be grateful that she took it as a joke. “You got that fork over there?” he asks, finally.
“Under my pillow,” she mumbles.
He doesn’t know if she’s serious or not, but he plans to keep his hands off her covers - and everything else - just in case.
*
He wakes to the smell of vanilla and the warmth of someone curled around his body.
He opens his eyes to see a mass of blond hair. Parker’s head is snuggled into his chest, her body is pressed against his, and one of her legs is curled around one of his.
All in all, not a bad way to wake up, and every part of his anatomy seems to agree. Gently, he starts to extricate himself from her before she wakes up and they have an embarrassing situation.
As soon as he begins to move, however, Parker mutters a protest and moves closer. He grits his teeth as she shifts, rubbing right up against his erection. If it were any other woman, now would be the time when he’d roll her onto her back and make both of their mornings with a quick round of sex.
But it’s not any other woman; it’s Parker.
He gently pushes her aside and climbs out of bed quickly, grabbing his stuff and heading for the shower.
He strips and turns on just the cold water, stepping in with a slight shiver. He lets his mind linger just for a moment on the feel of Parker’s warm body next to his before he mentally puts her back where she belongs - firmly in the box labeled “family.”
And that’s where she’s going to stay.