The Control Job, Chapter 2
Title: The Control Job (2/?)
Fandom: Leverage
Pairing: Eliot/Hardison
Wordcount 5,000 (approx)
Rating: NC 17
Warnings: Bad langauge, slash, elements of D/s, secenes of an explicit sexual nature.
Summary: This story is another way of looking at Eliot and Hardison, at their relationship and how they define who the are. This chapter? is the morning after.
Before I begin I have to apologise for taking so long to post this. I got caught up in a lot of R/L. I also have to apologise if anyone is a fan and say that the next chapter will also take a while, but I'll explain that later. Finally, before I post this chapter I just want to say thank you to everyone that reviewed. This story was so experimental and different for me, and the response was overwhelming. Thanks for your time. Hope you enjoy.
Chapter 2
Eliot woke slowly, consciousness rising to the surface of his mind as if he was swimming up from the bottom of a lake, but in no hurry to reach the surface, in no rush to breathe. He felt warm and languid. Used to his body and mind waking together quickly, used to a racing mind and tensed muscles, he revelled in the feeling of relaxation, the lack of tension. His mind felt as easy as if he really were floating weightless in water, content never to leave its murky depths. He was only meters from the surface when he began to panic.
His mind began to race, thrashing blindly around as he sought to wake as fully and quickly as he usually did; his body sat straight up in bed, his eyes darting around frantically to take in his surroundings. It was bright - too bright.... He could hear a voice speaking, and it took him several moments to realise that it was his own.
"Hardison. I'm at Hardison's apartment. Eight rooms. Three entrances. Twenty three windows. Knives in the kitchen. Knife in my jeans, in the living room. I'm in the bedroom. Two entrances and a fire escape. No weapo-"
A sharp sting bloomed on the side of his face. He struck back without even thinking, and heard a yelp and a thud before he came fully awake. Everything came swiftly into sharp focus: the room; the sound of traffic leaking in through the windows, the soft white sheets under and around him.
The man sitting on the floor, glaring at him, clutching the side of his face.
For a moment, the whole room seemed to freeze, and Eliot couldn't help but be glad. He needed a little time, just to gather his thoughts. Hardison obviously didn't care.
"The hell, man? You hit me!"
Eliot glared back. "What did you expect? You hit a man like me in the face first thing in the morning, did you think I was gonna turn around and thank you for it?" He was pretty sure that was what had happened. Stinging cheek, Hardison on the floor.... It was the only logical explanation his mind could come up with for any of this at the moment, and he clung to it.
"Well, excuse me," Hardison retorted, getting to his feet. "But when a man is shaking and mumbling to himself, and can't seem to hear when you yell his damn name in his face, you don't got a lot of options, even when it is a 'man like you?'"
"Oh." Eliot deflated slightly, and cast about for something to say to that, anything to do. He realised that he was clutching the sheets to his waist, and felt ridiculous, like a blushing maiden in a story - but still extremely reluctant to let them go, even as he realised that his clothes were in the other room.
"And another thing," Hardison was saying, having apparently forgotten that Eliot knocked him to the floor. "D'you normally wake up like that? Because I swear, that can't be good for the undercover or covert whatever that you do. I'm pretty sure I've woken up with you before, and it never happened like that."
Hardison looked so ridiculous, just prattling on as usual as if he didn't know that he was naked, and Eliot was trying to hide under the bed covers. So normal, and so just the damned opposite that Eliot wanted to laugh, and maybe hug him, maybe just cover all that naked skin with his hands and learn what he'd barely had the opportunity to feel last night - and God damn it, that was how he had got into this mess in the first place, letting Hardison in because it looked normal and felt unfamiliar and seemed the right thing to do.
Looking up he realised that the other man had been silent for a little while (when had he become so easily distracted? He never had before). "Don't worry," he said finally, flatly. "It doesn't happen often (never, never before)."
"So why?" And, yes, Hardison did look ridiculous (sexy), naked and indignant with his arms crossed so it took Eliot a moment to process that fact that Hardison was really asking "Was it something to do with me (Us. Last night)?"
"Don't worry," Elliot repeated, forcing himself to get out of bed and not care that Hardison's gaze raked over his body as he did so (ignoring the tingle that shivered up and down his spine to settle in his belly). "It won't happen on a job (I hope). I need to get home."
"That's it?" Hardison asked, and Eliot closed his eyes in frustration (pain) as he realised that there was no way Hardison was just going to let this go, the way Eliot needed him to (hoped he wouldn't). Opening them again he headed out of the room without another word.
"Seriously, that's it?" Hardison asked as Eliot, finally having located his jeans, yanked them on. "I know you're a love 'em and leave 'em kinda guy, but you always told me you at least took 'em to breakfast. I thought I was worth that much."
"We need to check in at the office," Eliot said, but he knew, just like Hardison did, that no one would be there the day after a job finished, not till much later.
"You're running away." Eliot, searching for wherever he'd thrown his T-shirt, had to close his eyes again against the memories that created, of Aimee screaming at him, before he would take her in his arms and make her forget he'd ever been gone. He couldn't (wouldn't) do that with Hardison. He just wanted things to go back to where they'd been before last night.
"What are you running from? Is it the fact that I'm a guy? I know, I'm not your usual type - hell, you're not mine. But I didn't think you were that close minded - "
"I'm not running from anything," Eliot hissed out between his teeth. "I was a soldier; d'you really think you're the first guy I've had a hand job from? This was a mistake, and I don't - this was a mistake. That's all."
He turned then, forced himself to look Hardison in the face, to see the hurt that he'd inflicted in his friend's eyes. It was there alright, along with a steely determination which made him groan inwardly (made his knees turn to water).
"A mistake, huh? And why's that?" Hardison was advancing on him, and Elliot had nowhere to run. "I'm not asking you for anything, Eliot, just an explanation. Why was it a mistake?"
"You're a team mate," Eliot told him. "It just - complicates things." Hardison didn't look convinced. "You're a friend," Eliot told him, realising he sounded slightly desperate. "This would just - it would just fuck everything up. Ok? Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"It's what you wanted to tell me," Hardison replied, and all Eliot wanted was to yell at him for the stupid tone in his voice, for the disbelief he could hear in the few simple words.
"Fine," and he barely restrained himself from throwing his hands up in the air like an exasperated mother. "Why do I think it's a mistake?"
Hardison kept moving towards him. "You don't," he told him. "You're scared. What happened last night - it might have been my first time with a guy, but I'm not naive enough to think that's what made it feel that way. You relaxed last night."
"No" (Yes)
"Yes. For the first time since I've known you, you weren't thinking about anything but yourself, and that scares you to death." He was close now, so close that Eliot had to tilt his head up to look him in the eye, but he couldn't look away. "Just - just tell me, why that's so scary."
No. Can't tell him...."When I stop thinking - people die. The wrong people."
He expected Hardison to want to question that, could see by the look in his eye that he did, but all he said was, "No."
Silence reigned in the apartment for a full minute. "What?"
"No one is going to die if you relax with me," Hardison told him, in the same firm, implacable voice as last night, and Eliot believed him.
It almost killed him to do so, but God help him, he couldn't help but believe him.
"We'll work the logistics out later," he went on, as if utterly oblivious to the war that was going on inside Eliot's head, every single one of his instincts and memories yelling at him not to listen. The slight smile told Eliot that he was very aware. "For now, you can buy me breakfast."
"Br-breakfast?"
"Are you saying I'm not worth breakfast?" Hardison asked, striding towards the door and grinning at Eliot over his shoulder. He was every inch the over excited geek that Eliot knew so well, only memories and bite marks testimony to what he had somehow become last night.
Eliot hesitated for a moment, and grinned right back. "Not at all, darlin'," he drawled out, and his smile became even wider as he saw Hardison twitch at the endearment. "But unless you're planning on causin' a riot," he let his eyes trail slowly down and then up Hardison's body, "you might wanna consider wearin' a few more clothes."
Startled, Hardison looked down at himself, then back up at Eliot. Slowly, the two of them began to laugh.
>>>><<<<
So, the thing Eliot couldn't figure out was how nothing seemed to have changed. They were at breakfast, sitting in a window booth in a diner round the corner for Hardison's apartment, and they were joking and laughing as if nothing had happened the night before.
If they had done what Eliot had wanted he would be at home right now, pretending not to think about Hardison. It would have been awkward and tense as hell between them for months, even as they tried to pretend to everyone else that everything was ok. If they ever got back to where they'd been before last night - well, he would have stopped it before it got even that far again, Eliot thought.
This, he decided, even as he teased the other man about the mustard he'd somehow managed to get all over his face, was better. Without even thinking about it, he was reaching across to wipe it off with a napkin, just like he used to do for his sisters when he was a kid, and Hardison was batting his hand away, and laughing, and it was like a really good morning after and a night out with a friend all rolled into one.
Eliot sure as hell hoped Hardison knew what he was doing, because he had no clue, and he was pretty much leaving it all up to him. It was as if, of the control he'd given up last night, Hardison had given back everything Eliot needed, and kept just one small piece. Eliot knew that whenever Hardison spoke to him in that voice, he'd give it all up all over again, and he trusted this ridiculous man-child, covered in mustard and grinning at him, to know how and when to use that power.
God only knew why.
"So," he heard a voice say that sounded suspiciously like his own. "You said we'd work out the logistics later?" Hardison paused in wiping the last of the sauce of his face and stared at him, his eyes comically wide. Eliot stared back, feeling just as shocked, and only just stopping himself from clapping his hand over his mouth as he realised that he'd just started the conversation he'd tried to avoid having with every girl (and guy) he'd ever slept with.
"Seriously?" Hardison said, and a tight, cold feeling began to grow in the pit of Eliot's stomach as he wondered if he'd misjudged the situation. Hardison knew he was usually a one night kind of guy - if that was all he wanted.....
"I've been sitting here for almost an hour trying to figure out how to bring this up without sounding like a girl, and you just come out with it? I'm supposed to be the emotionally stable one here. You're supposed to be running out the door at the mention of it. Way to switch roles on me, man!"
Eliot barely stopped himself from grinning. "Well, if you want me to leave - " and he actually made to get out of the booth, only to be stopped by Hardison's fingers wrapping around his wrist.
"Sit your ass back down," he was told. "Hard enough getting you here in the first place," he could hear Hardison grumbling as he shifted back along the seat. "I've already been hit in the face once today, don't wanna go through that again just to get you to listen."
"Yeah, sorry about that," Eliot said, but he was distracted by the fact that Hardison hadn't let go of his wrist, was stroking his fingers just a little over Eliot's pulse point.
"Yeah, well you should be," Hardison replied, but he didn't seem too bothered. "So, logistics." Eliot wanted to tense, wanted to feel the need to run away, because, like Hardison said, that was what he did in these situations, right? But with Hardison's hand gripping him, he just couldn't quite care enough to feel scared. "Three questions, ok?" Hardison continued, and Eliot nodded.
"Do you want to tell the others?"
"No." Aimee would have protested at that, but Hardison just gave a quick nod, and moved on.
"Two. Do you wanna do that again?"
It should have taken a minute to think that one through, at least; it shouldn't be as simple as a yes or no, shouldn't be the instinctive answer he gave to the last question, but "Yes," left his mouth without a second thought.
Another nod. "Ok. Now, do you trust me?"
He did pause at that one, and closed his eyes, thinking. He knew what Hardison was asking here. Not "Do you trust me with your life?' because Eliot had done that before. Not "Do you trust me with your secrets?" because Hardison wasn't stupid. He knew he'd been further in than most people in a long while. He was asking "Do you trust me with yourself?"
Seconds and hours seemed to slip by as Eliot just sat there, eyes closed, long enough for Hardison to give a sigh and let go of Eliot's wrist. Eliot caught his retreating fingers with his own, holding them in an almost cruel grip as he opened his eyes, and looked at Hardison. "Yes."
A look of relief flooded Hardison's eyes, so intense that Eliot could feel see all the tension drop from the body in front of his, even as he felt it leave his own. Whatever they had last night, Eliot would get to have it again.
"Ok," Hardison pulled his fingers from Eliot's and signalled their waitress. "Check."
Eliot felt slightly at a loss. "That's it?"
Hardison looked at him, and everything he had seen in him last night was burning in his eyes all over again. "No. Not even close."
>>>><<<<
They didn't touch. They didn't touch and it was excruciating, just like night before. Eliot didn't even look at Hardison, but the image of his eyes, hunger burning fire bright, seemed to hang suspended in his mind, refusing to leave. Eliot thought he might die with the need to look, to touch, before they reached Hardison's apartment.
Excruciating as last night, but worse, because this time Eliot could feel Hardison beside him wanting to cross the space which lay between them, break the silence, and all that was keeping Eliot from doing just that was his own thread-fine control. They didn't touch, and to distract himself Eliot wondered why.
If he had been with a girl they would have walked hand in hand, or with and arm around a waist or shoulder. Even hurrying to a discreet spot with a fellow soldier usually meant arms brushing and careful, heated, glances. He wondered if when he had said he didn't want the team to know Hardison thought he had meant the world at large as well. He wondered if this was another game, and then wondered how this could ever work: a man who hated game playing and loved control under orders from a boy who didn't know what to do with a man's body. Then he stopped wondering anything when Hardison yanked through a doorway, shoved him against a wall and brought his lips crashing down against Eliot's.
Eliot's mind whirled, spun into a deep black hole and fell, lost forever, under Hardison's kiss. As first kisses went, it wasn't bad.
It wasn't the fun, easy kiss of a pick up, or the battles for dominance, the heavy handed mashing of skin on skin which came with kissing another soldier. Hardison wasn't the best kisser he'd ever met, but he had no need to fight Eliot for dominance; he took it without a second thought, plundering his mind as he took his mouth. His lips with hot and silky, his tongue invading Eliot's mouth, and Eliot had no thought of fighting him, of trying to put the engagement back on his terms. He had no thoughts at all as long as Hardison kept kissing him, kept stealing his breath, his mind, his soul.
They must have moved, although Eliot didn't notice, because the elevator doors (when had they got into it?) were opening and Hardison was bundling him inside, stripping them both as he did, almost never pausing the kissing which had so seized Eliot's body.
It was good then, more than good, fire flaring under Eliot's skin everywhere their bodies touched, spreading out to engulf him entirely, but at the same time they seemed to stop, stuck in that one motion. Eliot could feel Hardison's hands slowing, feel the hesitation which began, little by little, to draw him out from under whatever compulsion Hardison had over him. He could feel Hardison draw back, see the hesitation in his eyes, and he wanted to scream, because he was losing the feeling, losing the space inside his head which was the only thing making this ok, and he didn't want to.
Then Hardison's eyes glinted with fire, just like the night before. "You've done this before?" he rasped, low and sexy, into Eliot's ear, hot breath tickling his earlobe. "Then show me." And his hands were heavy on Eliot's shoulders, guiding him down.
If time had disappeared on Eliot earlier it was making up for it now, slowing this one motion down until it seemed that Eliot had never been doing anything but sinking slowly, gracefully, to the floor, back straight, eyes tilted up to meet Hardison's, whilst his legs bent beneath that look, and Eliot thought he might never actually reach the ground, if only because he was so desperate to get there. He didn't so much as flinch when his knees hit the hardwood floors; his eyes stayed focused above him.
If fire had been under his skin before it was everywhere now, in his blood, rushing through his brain, settling low and heavy in his stomach. Time refused to speed up, so that it seemed to take an age to reach out and feel Hardison's smooth skin beneath his fingertips, lifetimes to grip the slim hips and feel the muscles shift impatiently. And then he took his eyes off Hardison's, leaned in, and sucked the tip of his dick into his mouth. And time stopped existing.
When Eliot fought the world descended into physics; angles and force, and time meant nothing to him at all, he simply followed his body as it drew patterns in the air, and punched them into people's skin. When Eliot made love the world stayed right where it was. When Eliot took Hardison's cock into his mouth, the world heightened until there was nothing left but sensation.
There were quivering jerks covered in smooth skin under the pads of his fingers. There was flesh, heavy and thick in his mouth, gliding over his tongue, salty taste flooding his mouth until it dripped with saliva. There was the smell of clean skin, still soapy from the shower Hardison had taken earlier, but strong here, filling Elliot's nostrils. As Eliot began to bob his head in an easy practiced motion he might have been surprised at if had been capable of thought (this wasn't exactly something he had done often) there was the feeling of being too full, taking too much inside himself, but it was just a sensation like all the rest not good or bad, just something to be revelled in.
Eliot felt greedy in a way he couldn't remember having experienced before; he felt starving, parched, so desperate to take more of Hardison in his mouth that he couldn't remember wanting anything else - he couldn't remember anything else being there to want. His entire life seemed to consist of flesh in and around him, of his head moving up and down, of Hardison threading his hands through Eliot's hair, moaning just a little as he flooded Eliot's mouth with thick, salty cum.
Eliot swallowed it all and keened in frustration as Hardison pulled away, trying to follow without actually moving his body until Hardison told him to stand. He pushed up from the balls of his feet, barely registering the short sharp intake of breath Hardison gave as he stood, cock thick and rosy and already dripping precome. Hardison was on him so quick that either time was playing tricks again or he could move faster than Eliot had ever thought. His hand was on Eliot's cock, stripping it hard and fast, so that he had to strain not to come, but Hardison didn't make it easy. "One day," he murmured, voice deep and powerful, "I'm going to make you beg. I'm going to lie you out on my bed and touch you until you can't think, until you can't even see. I'm going to have you begging for mercy before I even touch your dick."
Eliot moaned, dick jerking in Hardison's grip, his thighs trembling as he fought not to let go. "Not now though," Hardison continued. "You're so worked up already, just from sucking me off, that you don't even know who you are." His voice was thick and smug, and Eliot thought he should resent that, but the tone was making his stomach flip, and he was having a hard time remembering why it wasn't supposed to be a good thing. "One day I'll break you and have you begging," Hardison told him again. "But you've been so good tonight, Eliot. You don't have to hold on anymore. Come. Come for me. Now."
As he heard the permission his body had been waiting for Eliot let go, coming with a long groan into Hardison's hand. Just like last night, his body seemed to fall apart, released from the state of tension he usually kept it in, and just like before Hardison caught him, placed kisses and murmured sweet words into his skin, words Eliot didn't really register, but made an odd feeling swell in his chest, something like pride. Just like last night, Hardison held him until the world faded away.
Consciousness returned fairly quickly, but unlike that morning the real world seemed happy to stay away. Eliot drifted, cocooned in skin and warmth and contentment, letting his mind float over the events of the day. He'd never felt so relaxed, and just the memory of Hardison, solid and real in his mouth, was enough to keep the niggling thoughts of staying in control away. Eating in the diner, relaxed and friendly as they ever had been; walking back to Hardison's apartment, tension searing the air between them; being yanked into the elevator, clothes seeming to melt off of his skin.
Time skipping and slowing around him, stealing all awareness of his surroundings..... Eliot shot straight up, suddenly aware that he had been lying with his head on Hardison's thigh, almost cradled by his body.
"What the-" the other man was saying. "If this is gonna be a repeat of this morning you had better not hit me if I have to slap you again. I thought we went over this-"
"We did," Eliot cut in abruptly. He wanted to bark it, to sound in command, in control, but all the bite seemed to have been leeched from his voice, and instead it sounded thin and reedy. "We did, and I made a mistake. I don't want to do this. I have to leave. Now."
From the look on Hardison's face he thought that if he had sounded like himself he might have got away with it, but as it was, with his voice pleading and desperate, with his breath catching in his throat and almost refusing to meet his lungs there was no way he was going to get off that easy. And indeed Hardison was putting his hand on Eliot's shoulders - when had he stood up - trying to make Eliot look him in the eye, asking him. "What's the deal. Eliot, just talk to me, man. You wanted this not 10 minutes ago - I've never felt - you wanted this."
And Eliot had, had wanted to be with Hardison again so badly that he almost, almost gave in. But he had wanted it so badly that he had lost control, lost awareness of his surroundings, and in his line of work he could not afford to do it. It was stupid mistakes like that which got people killed, which could get Hardison killed and he.... He just didn't get that still peering anxiously at Eliot, waiting for a reason, some way to persuade him to stay. Eliot could not let that happen.
He wrenched himself away, forcing himself not to look at the eyes which seemed to burn his skin. "I have to go."
Hardison reached out to touch his shoulder but Eliot pulled all the anger he could feel at the very idea of Hardison being hurt - and turned on him, snarling. "I'm leaving." Hardison drew back, and it was almost as if it was the first time he had seen Eliot take someone out all over again. Almost.
"I don't understand," he said. It was so unlike Hardison that Eliot wanted to weep. "This was.....” he trailed off. "Eliot?"
He dressed quickly, feeling Hardison's eyes and miserable expression like lashes on his skin, before he turned and left without another word.
>>>><<<<
Hardison turned up at work the next morning with a smile on his face and a joke on his lips, wise cracking and silly as normal, flirting with Parker and letting Sophie mother him. He behaved no differently towards Eliot that he ever had; it was as if time had taken just the two of them back a few months, and Eliot told himself that he was relieved not to have the kid mooning after him.
The problem was that none of the excuses and reasoning which Eliot could come up with did anything to alleviate the itch which seemed to be crawling permanently beneath his skin. It was something he hadn't felt more than the beginning of in years; the feeling which used to drive him from Aimee's side back to whatever hell hole he could find a decent fight in, and it refused to go away. It didn't distract him, he told himself. It was certainly better than the moments he could recall of being blind to the whole world while his focus was centred on Hardison. And those moments would decrease any day now. He hoped.
And then Sophie almost died, was almost blown to pieces, and just maybe because Eliot was too distracted to be doing his job properly.
He stayed cool, calm and collected, gave the right advice, and it paid off, but he had never needed so badly to wind down, to get into the space in his head which a fight put him into. The bomb hadn't been his fault - he thought. He couldn't have predicted or stopped it, even with his recent distraction. He thought. He was so keyed up, too much adrenaline and nothing real to do with it: his skills seemed to be little in demand for the job they were doing at the moment, and the one time he thought he might finally get a good fight in Nate had pulled the plug.
He burned, whether for Hardison's touch on his skin or a fist flying at his face he didn't know, but he kept telling himself it was the latter. His nights suggested the former, but he wasn't going to think about that. Ever.
Eliot was very good at denial; it was an extremely useful defence mechanism which he had been employing for years. Unfortunately it came tumbling down in the face of a fight and a fuck with a gorgeous Israeli hitter, and Hardison's teasing smile as he realised what Eliot had done. Eliot had fought, Eliot had fucked, and although the itch was sated for a moment, from the moment Hardison smile at him, white teeth against black skin in his happy fucking face, it had flamed back to life again, stronger than ever.
Eliot needed control, needed release, needed something to do with all the adrenaline pumping through his veins, which never seemed to dissipate. He hung on by his fingernails, watching Hardison flirt with Parker and getting into a few easy bar fights.
Sophie left.
Eliot let go, dropped heavily to the ground, and for the first time in years, took on an outside job.
Author's Notes:
Well thank you if you ended up reading this far. I really hope you enjoyed. As always I would love to hear your thoughts. I'm still pretty new at this and any constructive criticism would be very welcome. Any reviews I get are a constant source of motivation and inspiration. That being said I do have to apologise once again for taking so long to post, and for this being shamelessly unbetaed. The reason for this being that it is currently almost four in the morning and I will very soon be leaving for Istanbul.
This brings me to the fact that I will be away for the next two months, travelling and living in a truck, and with very occasional access to the internet. I will definitely not be posting again until September. I'll do my bset to have a lot of it written by the time I get back though.
On the slim chance that any of you might be interested on the results of a historical tour of the Middle East, anyone is welcome to follow the blog I will be posting whenever I get internet access. I'm using LJ to do it, but as it will be read by friends (and my mother) I'm using another account, with the SN hetairoi11 (cookies for anyone who can tell me what the word means - forget about the 11). I'm sure you all have better things to do than follow my life, but I'd love to know that some FF people are following me around the world.
At any rate I'm sure that by this point you have had enough of my rambling to not want to be anywhere near something I've written, so let me just say thank you once more, and goodnight.
Thanks for reading.
Walmer92