Comment fic - Dean/Eliot - bruises
Supernatural/Leverage - Dean/Eliot - bruises
Eliot loved women, he always had. There was something so perfect about the smell of an inviting perfume, the feel of a women’s skin, the sounds of the whimpers and moans that only a girl could make. But girls…they were easily bruised. Oh, there was nothing wrong with gentle caresses and sweet talk, but sometimes Eliot needed someone he could push who would push back. When his head met with the wall, Eliot thought he might’ve found the guy he was looking for.
He was almost ridiculously pretty, and reluctantly gave his name as Dean. He was nursing a beer and looked like he had something to prove. So Eliot called him on it.
Dean might have been angry, or frustrated or whatever - there wasn’t the time or inclination for small talk - but that didn’t make him clumsy. Dean moved in with the focus of a hunter, but Eliot made it known he wouldn’t be easy prey. Their dance was a two-step of unexpectedly equal leads. Dean didn’t break when Eliot pushed; and Eliot surprised himself with his desire to bend.
Hands fumbled at shirts, belts, zippers. Lips and teeth and tongues did a dance of their own. In the end, they were both panting and breathless each with a few new bruises in places only they would know.
Eliot loved women, he always had. There was something so perfect about the smell of an inviting perfume, the feel of a women’s skin, the sounds of the whimpers and moans that only a girl could make. But girls…they were easily bruised. Oh, there was nothing wrong with gentle caresses and sweet talk, but sometimes Eliot needed someone he could push who would push back. When his head met with the wall, Eliot thought he might’ve found the guy he was looking for.
He was almost ridiculously pretty, and reluctantly gave his name as Dean. He was nursing a beer and looked like he had something to prove. So Eliot called him on it.
Dean might have been angry, or frustrated or whatever - there wasn’t the time or inclination for small talk - but that didn’t make him clumsy. Dean moved in with the focus of a hunter, but Eliot made it known he wouldn’t be easy prey. Their dance was a two-step of unexpectedly equal leads. Dean didn’t break when Eliot pushed; and Eliot surprised himself with his desire to bend.
Hands fumbled at shirts, belts, zippers. Lips and teeth and tongues did a dance of their own. In the end, they were both panting and breathless each with a few new bruises in places only they would know.