Fanfiction || Forgotten || Eliot/Sophie
Title: Forgotten
Author: cuzimastripper
Fandom: Leverage
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Eliot/Sophie
Length: 7,140 words
Series: Part one of the Candy Covered Hearts Tainted By Masochistic Thoughts series
Prompt: Eliot/Sophie, angsty, one-time, no strings attached sex; Eliot wants to forgive her and Sophie just wants to forget. (Right around The First David Job and Second David job time frame) over at smallfandomfest
Warning: This is dirty, angsty, rough, angry, bordering on abusive sex, just so you all are aware. Very kink. Don’t read if it’s not your thing. If it’s any consolation… it didn’t start out that way. Ha. My mind just likes to wander to places filled lovely unconventional fetishes sometimes.
Neither of them knew how they got here.
Eliot’s sure to tell you that it’s Sophie’s fault; her and her goddamn inability to admit full out that she was wrong, that she’s sorry for being a selfish manipulative prick. Sophie will tell you that it’s Eliot’s fault; for him not leaving it be and just letting things rest. They’ll both tell you that they were angry, that there were words; loud, brash, and full of frustration. They’ll admit things were broken in the process of them putting things behind them; the lamp, the plaster, the fuckin’ coffee table. They’ll say it’s cause of their tempers, their lack of control when things get too out of hand.
But they won’t ever speak a word about this.
The heat of Eliot’s mouth collided with Sophie’s, making the grifter close her eyes and let out a quiet gasp that tickled his bottom lip. She feels her knees already start to give way just from the intensity; her chest heaving, her face flushed already from the anger. She reaches out to hold on to something, anything, and her fingertips brush something before she hears a very audible crash. Sophie’s hand connects with the mahogany end table, replacing where the lamp was previously, and she holds on, just to keep herself steady.
But Eliot pushes off of her, his own chest heaving, his pupils darkening from the sudden desire. He’s pissed, fuckin’ royally pissed. He’s so sick of all the bullshit, so sick of all the excuses. So sick of her fuckin’ caring about jack shit and thinking it’s alright. He didn’t mean to kiss her, it just kind of happened. She wouldn’t shut up, kept talking and not really saying anything. Never the right words, never what would make it better. All the empty hollow bullshit that she spews constantly; things that can’t ever really mean anything because even she doesn’t know who they’re coming from. She doesn’t even know who she is, what the real her would feel.
She’s like a blank slate: insert personality here.
“What the hell was that?” Sophie accuses, like he did something wrong. And he did, didn’t he? Making her breathless and vulnerable, if only for a second. Screwing with her perception of the world, of people. She knows people, she does. Studies them, they’re mannerisms, habit, their way of speech. This was off the bloody charts and onto a separate thing entirely; something she didn’t see coming from a mile away. The anger, the passion; she understands what that can do to some people, but she never saw it coming from Eliot, though she’s sure it’s been staring her in the face for quite some time now.
Eliot runs his fingers though his hair roughly, a scowl on his face. “Wouldn’t shut up,” he grumbles as an excuse, a reason. Just saying words because he thought they were probably needed, even though he’s pretty sure that they might not be one’s completely laced in truth. He feel the itch, the crawling sensation that’s making it’s way down his spine and eating him from the inside out. The need. It was there, loud and with no plans of leaving now that it’s made camp. Damnit all to hell.
Sophie’s staring at him, her hand still posed, holding onto the end table. Maybe it was for precaution, maybe it was just to make sure she can stand up. Maybe it was even because she was hoping that it would come again; a scary revelation that just infuriates her even more. “You can’t go around just kissing people, Eliot!” she yells, just because she needs to hear herself do it. “Not every woman falls to their knees around you, you know!”
She knows he’s used to that. His conquest list a mile long, give or take a few yards. Sophie see’s the way women look at him, like he’s this big strong knight in shining armor, and every single one of them want to ride that cowboy till dawn breaks. But Sophie knows his type; once the sun’s on the horizon he’s out the door, no names, no strings. No emotions. It makes her sick, makes her furious, make’s her want to fucking fix it, fix him. Sex was something that should mean something, even something little. Anything, just bloody something that makes the women feel like they’re something more than just a pair of tits. She never understood the appeal, the draw that he had, when she knows every single one of them knows that in the morning they’ll be waking up alone in the bed.
And she doesn’t want to admit that she’s starting to understand it now, in this moment. Even for a minute, she doesn’t want to voice that she gets it. But she does, and she hates that she does. Hate’s him because she does. Hates him because part of her wants it. To be used, forgotten. To forget everything herself.
Eliot smirks at her, just a bit shining through his mask of anger. “Right,” he says, but doesn’t sound like he’s agreeing with her. He’s pissed even more that she said that though, fucking assuming that he kissed her cause he wants to fuck her. Like he wants to fuck everyone and their goddamn mother. Like she would even be worth all the headaches it would cause at work if he just took her right where she stands. He has the urge, he does. Just fuck her, prove her wrong. Fuck, prove her right. Prove something. Just do it cause it needs to be done. Do it cause he’s angry, do it cause she needs to apologize and fucking make it up to him somehow. Do it cause she damn well owes him something if “I’m sorry” won’t ever fall from her lips.
But he won’t do it, because he’s not that kind of person. He wants to forgive her, fix all this shit, but not like that. He doesn’t just take things because they’re in front of him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, finally feeling well enough in her confidence to let go of the end table. She stands at full height, advancing on him. One step, two, until she’s in front of him, in his personal space. Pissed that he won’t just fucking let this go, but pissed even more that she can’t seem to either. She’s baiting him, trapping him, working his anger because she knows how. A puppet on strings.
“Fuckin’ figure it out.”
He doesn’t step away from her, refusing to back down to this challenge, whatever it was. He wasn’t going to let her win. Let her make him back down, move. She could be fucking on top of him for all he gives a shit, he just ain’t gonna let her win.
“I don’t want you,” Sophie tells him, ice in her voice. “Cocky bastard.”
Lying; she’s good at that. Manipulation; she’s even better at that. But she doesn’t want him, at least not all of him. Maybe she wants to have him, just for a second. Just to conquer the bastard and let him have a taste of his own medicine for once. Have him just to make all this rubbish go away. Maybe just conquer him before he conquers her. She knows it’s coming, she can see this, even though she wishes she had the strength to just walk out the door, and leave everything as it is. But she doesn’t move away. If anything, she gets closer.
She won’t let him win.
“Right, when you stuck your tongue down my throat I really got that impression.”
Eliot scoffs in her face, and it infuriates Sophie even more. She pushes him back then, and Eliot smiles through his anger, taking that as a sign of victory. But it enrages her even more, the cocky damn look on his face, and she pushes him back again, harder, hard enough to make him stumble. “Sod off!”
It was a reaction; a defense from being moved in what he thought was a stable position. His hands connect with her chest, and before he can stop himself he’s pushed her back, enough to make her stumble back and her body connect hard with the wall behind her. The winds knocked out of her, and the guilt hits him like a shit ton of bricks. Fuck. “Shit, Sophie, I’m sorr-”
But as he comes over to her, trying to apologize, trying to hop back over the line he should have never crossed, he’s interrupted by the slap that leaves his face stinging and his blood rush. “Bastard,” she spits out at him, and his anger boils. He has enough control to hit the wall next to her, flat handed but with enough force to make the plaster start to crumble beneath his fingers. But she doesn’t jump, isn’t frightened by his anger. She just stares him down, knowing he doesn’t have it in him to really hurt her.
Sophie’s trapped, her back against the wall and Eliot hovering over her. But she doesn’t shrink back, doesn’t back down. She just lets him hover there, furious, knowing that she isn’t playing into his emotions the way that he needs her to. If she was scared, he’d feel guilty. Fix it, make it better, like the man he is. If she started attacking him, he would restrain her, making sure to not hurt her. But this standoff, this coolness between them, the unspoken challenge that’s arisen… it does nothing for the man that he is. It leaves him in a position where he needs to make the next move, but he doesn’t have the strategy to proceed.
It leaves the power in Sophie’s hands, and it makes her cocky.
She smirks as she comes off from the wall, standing in front of him. They’re faces were a mere inch away from each other, too close for comfort. Tongue in cheek and with cocky arrogance of her own she asks him in a whisper, “Drives you crazy,” her lips brush by his, no connection, but enough to make him know that they were there. She looks up at him, her controlling gaze met with his angry one, and finishes, “…doesn’t it?”
“What?” he asks her in a growl, trying to not play into her little sick game she’s decided to form for her own amusement. But he feels her there, so close he can almost touch her. So close he can almost taste her. The monster inside of him growls, hungry. He fucking hates her for this, for whatever the hell she’s trying to do to him. Break him, own him.
Sophie’s smile, signifying her own victory, spreads across her face in almost amusement. She brushes her lips across his ear, feeling him tense. The muscles in his arm contract, and his hand is pressed firmer against the wall. It almost makes her laugh, but she suppresses it. “Not knowing what to do,” she tells him softly, her breath tickling the hair on the back of his neck.
She’s not trying to seduce him. Of course not. Taunt him, maybe. Get back at him for laying his hands on her, even though it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle, or wasn’t anything that she wasn’t even expecting. But she needs a reason for this, for what she’s doing, this little game she’s decided is more fun than trying to fix their little argument. She needs a reason to override the heat that’s beginning to form in the pit of her stomach.
She’s being a bitch, a bloody royal one at that. She knows it, but it doesn’t stop her. “Knowing what you want,” she continues in a heated whisper, and she lets her lips brush his neck now. She can feel him trying to control himself, and she lets out a quiet laugh as she steps away from him. She looks him in the eyes and says evenly, “But knowing you can’t have it, because it isn’t right.”
“You’re a sick fuck,” he tells her, infuriated. He takes his hand off the wall, giving himself the little push he needed to walk away from her. She’s so fucked in the head, makes her living manipulating people, controlling them, making them do what she wants. He’s not gonna have any part of her twisted life. Her sick little game.
He’s not gonna be her next victim.
“Don’t you walk away from me,” she tells him, stepping forward and grabbing his arm to make him face her. She will not just be dismissed like that. But he shrugs her arm off of him, and her face masks in anger before her hands connect with his chest again, pushing him back.
“Damnit, Sophie!” he yells, and pushes her back against the wall. But it isn’t hard; he isn’t doing it because he can’t control it. He’s doing it because he needs to trap her again, fucking get some god damn control back in the situation. “Do you want me to hit you, is that it?!”
“NO!”
“Then what the fuck do you want?!” he screams in her face, and she tries to push him back, away from her, out of her face, but he doesn’t move. He isn’t gonna fucking move for her anymore.
“What do you want?!” she counters angrily, frustrated that this isn’t going the way she planned it to. Whatever it was that she planned, she doesn’t know, she just knows it isn’t this. She wants the control back, needs it.
“I want you to apologize!” Eliot yells. That’s all he wants, all he fucking needs and he can just walk out of here and forget this whole thing even happened. Why can’t she just give him the one thing he needs? How fucking hard is it to say two little words?!
“And I just want to forget!” she yells, her delicate hands grasping his shirt, trying to push him away. But he doesn’t move. He can’t move. She’s getting desperate, needing this to go her way. Needing to have the ball in her court. Needing to be the narrator of this story.
She wants to grab him, fucking just take him and spit him back out again. Dominate, control, manipulate, all the things she’s good at doing. But nothing’s working, and it’s making her want to just scream in frustration, maybe even cry. She’s out of breath, still trying to push him away but she’s losing the strength, and as her arms go limp she still holds on to him. Their eyes connect, faces a breath away from each other. “I just want to forget…” she tells him, all the fight out of her, only leaving desperation.
“Then apologize,” he tells her quietly, evenly, trying to hold the anger. Trying to stand his ground, sure that this new angle is just another trick of hers. He just needs to hear it. But she’s looking up at him, so damn vulnerable, flushed, sexy, that it’s distracting. Her lips are so close, and he remembers what they felt like on his.
But she stays silent, and he’s just had it. Fuck it. Fuck all of it. He turns away from her, just wanting to leave. He’s done, she wins. Hands grasp his arm again and he’s turned around to face her, but he isn’t met with more words, just her lips. He pushes her back up against the wall in instinct, his body pressed firmly against hers. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, or hell, even what she’s doing, but he can’t stop it. She’s holding onto him like she’s afraid he’s just going to walk away again, but he just parts his lips as a response, letting her slip her tongue inside and just completely fucking devour him.
Fuck all of this.
It was within her last desperation that made her grab him, pull him to her. She needs to make him stay; she needs to make him fix this. She needs it to all go away, so why not have it go out with a bloody bang. She can’t handle it anymore, all the anger, the passion, the heat. She wants to be used, abused, tossed aside, and let him take that as her apology. Only then will she be able to move past all this, fucking forget it ever happened. Any of this.
Sophie wishes she could say the words. She’s tried so many times, but they choke up in her throat. She knows how to do so many things, has learned to do whatever it takes to get what she wants. But she’s never learned that one simple thing. One simple thing that’s so damn human that she fears that because she can’t that she’s not human herself. And apology; something so needed in this world that she can never bring herself to give.
Her hands are in his hair, almost tearing it from his scalp as she tries to force the heat, force the passion. She needs it to consume him, because if it doesn’t he’ll start to think. She tears her lips away from him and forces his head to her neck, and as he bites down with just the right amount of pain she lets out a sound that could pass for an animalistic moan. She’s tearing at his shirt, just trying to get it off of him. She wants to feel him, all of him. She wants to run her nails down his chest and make him cry out as they play with the line that separates pain and pleasure.
Eliot’s lips come up to her ear as he feels her trying to undress him, and he can’t help but let out a cocky laugh of his own. “You don’t want me, huh?” he taunts her. He doesn’t have to see it to know her eyes flash, and she pushes him off of her. They stand there, across from each other, chests heaving, eyes darkening from the lust.
“Fuck you,” she tells him, and pushes him back again. He tries to regain his footing, she doesn’t push him very far after all, but it catches on the one of the coffee table legs and he falls back with a crash, destroying the furniture. He wants to scream at her, swear at her, but she’s on top of him in a flash, the littered pieces of the wasted surface beneath them. Her lips collide with his again, and she pushes his shirt up roughly before clawing her way back down his skin and grabbing hold of his hips, grinding her center against his rapidly hardening cock.
Eliot knows this is like twelve layers of wrong, and probably the second circle of hell, but he can’t stop himself. He can’t stop her, and he sure as hell can’t stop his own dick. He can’t stop his hands from coming up and grabbing the hem of her shirt, tearing it a bit as he forces it off of her. He can’t stop the easy flick of his fingers that makes her bra fall to the floor, freeing her dark nipples to his gaze. And hell, he can’t fucking stop himself from forcefully rolling her over, away from the debris on the floor, as he hovers over her and his mouth claims one of those nipples as his own.
“God,” she gasps out, hands in his hair again, tangling enough to get the leverage to pull. She hears him growl beneath him, vibrating her nipple in a way that makes fire shoot right down to her core. She needs him to take her, right here on the floor like some kind of five dollar whore. Its crude, it’s disgusting, and at the same time so sexy that the mere thought of it consumes her whole, spitting her dignity out like it was never even there. He wants her to forget about her after this, treat her like nothing more than a quick fuck to get his rocks off. She wants to forget him, make it all about abuse and apology, lust and anger.
His hands are pulling down her skirt now, and she wants to reach down and help him, get the god forsaken material off of her, but she doesn’t want to stop touching him. Her hands have made it to his back, her nails digging in, breaking the skin but not enough to draw blood. He completely destroys her panties, ripping them off with one smooth motion that leaves her exposed and open beneath him. He sits up, looking down at what she has to offer him. It makes her feel dirty, used, and it scares her a little to realize how much that feeling turns her on. She spreads her legs for him, letting him view his little fucking prize, making the dirty feeling more predominant. She knows she’s dripping with her own desire, and she knows he can see it. Probably smell it. He’s looking at her like he could eat her alive, and it makes her feel sexy, like she finally has some control back since he became the one on top.
“Eat me,” she demands, the domination back in her voice. But Eliot just smirks at her, knowing exactly why she thinks she has control, and loving the fact he can rip it out from underneath her for once.
“Suck me,” he counters, and her eyes flash. He loves it. He loves her anger, loves her abuse and loves that she wants it in turn.
“With your pants on?” she asks, like he’s stupid for even countering her demand in the first place. His own eyes flash, and his hands fly to his zipper. As he pulls his pants off, his boxers coming next so quickly that it’s only a moment that passes, he tells her:
“Go to hell.”
“Fine, but I’m taking you with me,” she tells him, sitting up to be able to push him backwards so that she’s on top of him again. She’s pissed, more pissed that he won. She’s on top, she has control, but he still fucking won, because as her hands wrap around his cock she can’t help but think how much she wants it in her mouth.
And she’s pissed because she knows he knows it too.
“Do it,” he tells her, a challenge that’s met with a daring gaze. She narrows her eyes, her hand slipping down to grab hold of his balls. She squeezes; not hard, but hard enough to get her point across. He gasps, his body tensing, and he spits out breathlessly, “Bitch.”
“Bastard,” she responds, but it’s tinted with her amusement, knowing she at least won that round. Her head tilts down, her tongue snaking out to run tauntingly slow up his shaft. He groans beneath her, his turn for his hand to wrap around her dark locks and guide her where her wanted her, needed her. Her mouth wraps around the tip, but she doesn’t slide down. She can taste his salty precum, hear him gasp at the feeling, feel him strain his hips up towards her face. But she takes her time, taunting him, teasing him. Flicking her tongue just gently over the tip as she starts to massage his balls that still lie in her hand softly, she waits, wanting to make him beg.
But the asshole doesn’t beg, he just takes whatever she has in store for him, and it frustrates her. She looks up at him, her dark hair tumbling down to frame her strong features, and their eyes meet. She sees something behind them, something she doesn’t want to see in his eyes, can’t see, so when she turns back down she wraps her mouth around him again, only this time consuming him whole.
Eliot groans and lies his head back against the hard wood beneath him, forgetting for a moment that he almost made this whole thing stop. Forgetting for a moment that he just realized it’s Sophie with his dick in his hand. That it’s Sophie that’s servicing him, Sophie who he’s about to fuck the hell out of till she screams his name and holds onto him like she’ll die if she lets go. Sophie…
Sophie.
Shit. But fuck, it just felt so good. So damn wrong that it felt so right. So dirty that it felt sexy. Sophie, the woman who follows Nate around like some god damn puppy. Sophie, who’s like a mother figure to Parker and Hardison. Sophie, the one thing he was never supposed to touch. The one thing that was completely off limits… is now sucking his dick in the middle of one of the damn (what was this, a sitting room? Whatever) of Hardison’s fucking mansion while the rest of the team waits two floors down for them to work out their differences. Work out shit so they can go take down IYS, fucking work out all this crap out so everything can be better again.
Eliot’s not sure if this counts, but fuck, he’s gonna take it.
Eliot groans again, low in the back of his throat it’s almost like a snarl as Sophie gently rakes her teeth up his cock, playing with that fucking little line again. But he ain’t gonna pretend he doesn’t like it, that he doesn’t like that she wants to hurt him. Eliot knows how she wants this, how she needs it. She wants to be abused, taken, treated like shit as she tries to struggle with control. It’s all a game.
Everything is always a game with Sophie.
Sophie lifts her head up, and their eyes meet again. This time she doesn’t see the hesitation anymore, and it makes her smile. She continues to work on him with her hand, as her eyes dart around the room. Finally resting on what she was looking for, she gets up, and walks away from him.
“Where the fuck are you-?!” Eliot starts to say, apparently thinking she was just done, and that’s how her sick little game was going to end. He wouldn’t put it past her. But he stops yelling at her as soon as she grabs something out of her purse and throws it at him. He catches it with one hand, and doesn’t even have to look at it to know what it is.
Right. That could be important.
She smirks at him, but Eliot doesn’t even care. He’s too busy letting his eyes roam her form, taking in every curve, every damn detail. He knows this will be the one and only time he’ll ever see her like this, so he might as well burn it into his memory. “Put it on,” she tells him. She cocks her head at him, as if anticipating his reaction to her next words, and wanting to study it, “Then take me as hard as you can on the fucking floor.”
Eliot’s pupils dilate from her words, something that sounded so wrong coming from someone so posed, so sophisticated. So damn British. But this isn’t her game anymore.
He picks himself off of the floor, and starts to walk over to her, and she watches him cautiously, trying to anticipate what’s coming next, but she can’t seem to figure it out. Then suddenly her back collides with the wall behind her and she gasps from surprise. Eliot’s pressed up against her, and she can feel the hardness of his cock against her stomach. She tries to swallow, but is finding it hard. He smirks at her, all up in her space and asks quietly:
“What would you say if I wanted to fuck you against this wall instead?”
She wants to tell him that it doesn’t matter, that nothing fucking matters as long as he’s inside of her. But she can’t. The game is not yet won, and she refuses for him to be the victor. She starts to say something; starts to toy with him as he’s unwrapping the condom, like he knows he’s not gonna listen to her either way. “I’d say that a gentleman does what a lady asks,” she tells him, a little mock in her own voice because she knows how much Eliot tries to be a gentleman. Well, at least, in some senses.
But he doesn’t bite. He just smirks at her, unrolling the condom down around his cock and says, “Oh yeah? Well you haven’t been acting like you want me to exactly be a gentleman about this.”
Sophie pauses, words escaping her for a moment. He’s right, damn him to hell he’s actually right, but she doesn’t want him to know that. If he knows how bad she wants him to just violate her, then he’s the one with the upper hand. But that moment of hesitation is too long, because suddenly he’s picked her up, and her first instinct is to wrap her legs around him and hold on. It’s so sudden that he’s inside of her, and the feeling rips through Sophie, making her cry out and dig her nails into his back again. Everything else was gone, the only thing left was the need waiting to be satisfied. It was over, the games, the taunts. She couldn’t think, could barely even speak.
He had won.
“Oh fuck, Eliot! Yes!” she cries, the only thing that would will it’s way out of her mouth, and she tries to keep her grip firm as he thrusts into her, filling her so deep and so completely that she wishes she didn’t prologue this experience. He keeps hitting her in all the right places, making her gasp and beg for more, so quickly making her feel infinite. But with one more thrust he stops, keeping her back flat against the wall and his eyes burning into hers.
“Tell me what you want,” he tells her in a low voice, like he knows more than what he’s saying. She just looks at him, flushed and desperate, and she knows he wants her to tell him. Let him know just how dirty she wants to be taken, and she hates that she’s making him do this. Hates him so much because he knows that she’s going to tell him. “Tell me what you want,” he repeats, that cocky little smirk on his face, “And I’ll give it to you.”
Sophie’s breathless, trying to fight with the part of herself that just wants to spit it out. Eliot can see the internal struggle pass across her features, before she admits, like she hates herself, and hates him for admitting it, “I want you to use me, Eliot. Take me, abuse me. Rough me up, fuck me and forget about me. Treat me like a… like a…”
“Like a what?” he asks, knowing he’s gonna make her say it.
Her eyes flash, but she doesn’t break contact from him as she finishes, “Like a whore.” She hates the smile of victory that forms over his face, and she says evenly, honestly, “Take it as an apology.”
Eliot knows she’s screwed up, and he knows he’s screwed up even more for going along with this, for wanting this. It’s sick on so many levels, but yet sexy on all the same. No woman has ever let him, hell, has wanted him to just fucking… violate them like that. And here Sophie was, begging for it, needing for him to just treat her like just a body. It was so unlike her; but then again, he’s never known the real her.
He lets her go, withdrawing from her, and she gasps in surprises as her feet hit the floor. She’s confused, but he’ll make it clear in a second. If this is what she wants, then fucking fine. He grabs her hair and she lets out a moan at his domination as he forces her to her knees in front of him. She goes without a fight, letting him take total control as he forces her face towards his crotch.
Part of him feels bad, the logical sane part that says that this is wrong. That he shouldn’t do this to Sophie even if she wants it, but its gone just as soon as he mouth wraps around his cock again, doing whatever he wants just because he wants it. It’s intoxicating, controlling someone like Sophie who’s always so keen on being the one in control. She wanted to be nothing beneath him, nothing tohim, and he couldn’t say no.
Maybe she was still the one in control after all.
He’s guiding her head forcefully, and she’s loving every minute of it. He’s almost afraid he’s giving her more than she can swallow, but she surprises him as she takes every inch without so much as a cough. “Fuck,” he swears, his eyes closing. “Suck it, you filthy little bitch.”
Sophie moans in response, vibrating him in a way that drives him crazy. He’s still trying to test the waters, see what she’ll allow. Hell, he’s surprised she even let him talk to her like that. But with everything he does it only seems to turn her on more, and he’s so close to just saying fuck it and doing whatever he wants to her. She seems to take everything he’ll dish out, even though he hasn’t come close to his line. And yes, he does have a line. A very firmly drawn line that he will never step over. As long as she wants it, she’ll do it. The first “no” or “stop” that he gets, it’s fucking over. He’ll take her forcefully as long as she wants it, but he ain’t gonna rape her.
Sophie has no idea what’s making her want this. It wasn’t right, having sex like this. Sex like this was for perverted little wankers who get themselves off to their porn collection every night. But she doesn’t have a porn collection; she barely even masturbates, which come to think of it, might be the reason behind this whole thing anyway. So repressed, so angry, waiting for Nate who’s never gonna come and sweep her off her feet. She needs to physically feel how she feels inside. It’s fucked up, it’s twisted, but she needs it. Hell, maybe it’ll help her work through it.
She’s jerked away from his dick by her hair, and she cries out from the shock, but not from the pain. He pretty much throws her to the ground and as he hovers over her, she sees this little smile that she can’t help but love, only because she knows he’s gonna do it. He’s gonna fuck her like she wants, and he isn’t having second thoughts. “You get your wish about the floor,” he tells her venomously, though she knows he’s play acting the anger and the hate now only because she wants it. “Cause whores deserved to be fucked on the floor like nothing but trash.”
His hand runs up to cup her center and she moans, needing for him to just take her. But it runs up further, smearing her juices across her stomach. Dirtying her, making her feel like nothing. God, she loved it. He presses firmly against her clit and she gasps, spreading her legs for him as wide as he body would let her. But then his hand is off of her, and he grabs her hip, rolling her over on her stomach forcefully. “Get up,” he tells her. “Get on your hands and knees.”
She scrambles up to do what he says, her whole body burning with desire. She can feel her wetness start to drip down her thighs, but she isn’t ashamed. If anything, she wants him to see it. She needs him to see what he’s doing to her, how much she enjoys being treated like a little tramp. God, there will be no turning back from herself after this. She’s more than likely going to have to take a good long look at herself in the mirror tomorrow morning.
His face is buried between her thighs almost instantly and Sophie moans, pushing her hips back into him. He’s devouring every part of her, every single drop that’s made it’s way out of her, and it felt bloody amazing. But then she moans again, a surprised, what-the-hell-was-that? kind of moan as she suddenly feels his tongue going higher, teasing her asshole.
Oh. My. God.
Sophie’s never done that. She’s never let anyone get anywhere near that part of her body, always thinking it was, once again, for those little perverted wankers. But she was surprised by how good it felt, and how nasty it made the whole thing seem, and she relished in it. His tongue enters her and she cries out, “Eliot!” She leans down, her head lying on the floor as she reaches back with her hands to open herself up more for him.
Eliot growls as he sees Sophie very literally open herself up for his taking. She did end up turning into quite the dirty little slut, but he’s read somewhere that that’s what happens to people who are so repressed. It almost amuses him, but he doesn’t laugh. He just takes what she gives to him, knowing in his gut this will be the one and only time, and needs to savor every minute for what its worth. He spits on her, watching it pool into her crevice as he slides his fingers into his mouth. He has no idea if she’s done this before, and hell, its rare he ever gets to, but he’s gonna try anyway. If she says no then he’ll just stop.
He waits for it, but she doesn’t object, even though he’s sure she knows by now what he’s planning to do. She just continues to spread herself for him, waiting. He smirks before giving in, sliding his finger deep inside of her. She cries out, clenching around him, and moans his name again, “Eliot… god, Eliot…”
“You like that?” he asks teasingly, sliding his finger in and out of her slowly. She whimpers in response, pushing her hips back into him. But she’s tight, so tight that he knows that this hasn’t been an area she’s explored before. He continues to taunt her, “Tell me how it feels, me violating your tight virgin ass.”
“God,” she gasps out, and he watches her fingers grasp the hardwood floor, trying to hold on to something. “Like you can take whatever you want from me, shit, like you already are… ugghhfff fuck, Eliot… please…” Her eyes are closed, she’s begging now, and it just makes him want to take all of her. He continues to stimulate her while his other hand checks the condom, making sure it’s still intact.
When he finds that it is, he withdraws his finger, and Sophie groans from the lack of contact. But he’s rough with her, just how she wants it, as he grabs her by the hair again and forces her back up so that she’s positioned right where he needs her to be. She whimpers in his grasp, the desperation and anticipation nearly killing her, and when he forces her back one more time it’s onto his cock, and she cries out as he fills her. “Uggff! Fuck me!” she screams at him, her hands bracing the floor for what’s about to come.
Sophie’s posed, ready. She knows Eliot’s strength, and knows he’s gonna knock her into next fucking year. And as he barrels into her, she screams again, her body thrusting forward, trying to contain her balance as each thrust is more powerful than the last. His hand is still firmly in her hair, yanking her neck back so much she’s sure it’s supposed to hurt. But all she can feel right now is what he’s doing to her, taking her roughly and without any remorse, hitting everything all at the right time in all the right places.
Her arms weaken as she feels the slow burn in the pit of her stomach, indicating her forthcoming orgasm, and her top half falls to the floor. But he pulls back on her hair, forcing her back up onto her hands. “Get up!” he orders her, and she does. She tries so hard to keep herself steady, but it’s almost like torture. But she doesn’t think all the torture in the world would make her tell him to stop, so she holds herself up, her arms shaking, her pants and his grunts composing the soundtrack for this encounter.
“Don’t stop!” she screams, desperate as she’s nearing the edge. She knows he has control, knows that he knows that she wants to be abused, but she can’t handle not having an orgasm. Not know, not after everything. “Please don’t’ stop Eliot, please!” she begs him, crying out as he penetrates her deeper, harder, faster.
“Tell me you’re a whore!” Eliot demands, knowing now he can get her to do almost anything at this point. “Tell me what a dirty little slut you are!”
“Fuck!” Sophie screams, the pleasure clouding her mind. She’s desperate, needs it, and can’t have him stop so she tells him between moans and gasps, “I’m a slut, I’m a whore, a piece of bloody trash, your toy, fuck, anything, anything you want me to be, just please don’t stop!”
“Say my name!”
“Eliot!” she screams out, and then feels her inner walls start to contract. Her grip slips again and she falls, but she keeps saying his name as she’s starting to fall over the edge, “Eliot! Eliot! I’m…. FUCK!”
It’s like an explosion for her, tearing her to shreds and ripping her apart from the inside out. It’s ecstasy, its forbidden, its dirty, it’s wrong, its so fucking sexy that she doesn’t think she can handle it. Her mind is in a haze, her vision is foggy, and the only thing she can hear is his sounds of his own pleasure as he cums hard, claiming her as his own, even if only in this moment.
When he withdraws from her, she collapses, spent, lying on the floor. He turns her over roughly, and she opens her eyes just soon enough to see him throw the used condom on her stomach. Trash, just like she told him she wanted. It makes her smile a little, hazy, satisfied.
“Apology accepted,” he tells her in a low voice, before rising to his feet. He gets his clothes, and she doesn’t move as she watches him dress. They don’t say anything to each other afterwards because they both already know it’s over. She’s still lying there as she watches him walk out the door, without even a glance back at her, and she closes her eyes.
Forgotten, just as it should be.
THE END
Author: cuzimastripper
Fandom: Leverage
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Eliot/Sophie
Length: 7,140 words
Series: Part one of the Candy Covered Hearts Tainted By Masochistic Thoughts series
Prompt: Eliot/Sophie, angsty, one-time, no strings attached sex; Eliot wants to forgive her and Sophie just wants to forget. (Right around The First David Job and Second David job time frame) over at smallfandomfest
Warning: This is dirty, angsty, rough, angry, bordering on abusive sex, just so you all are aware. Very kink. Don’t read if it’s not your thing. If it’s any consolation… it didn’t start out that way. Ha. My mind just likes to wander to places filled lovely unconventional fetishes sometimes.
Neither of them knew how they got here.
Eliot’s sure to tell you that it’s Sophie’s fault; her and her goddamn inability to admit full out that she was wrong, that she’s sorry for being a selfish manipulative prick. Sophie will tell you that it’s Eliot’s fault; for him not leaving it be and just letting things rest. They’ll both tell you that they were angry, that there were words; loud, brash, and full of frustration. They’ll admit things were broken in the process of them putting things behind them; the lamp, the plaster, the fuckin’ coffee table. They’ll say it’s cause of their tempers, their lack of control when things get too out of hand.
But they won’t ever speak a word about this.
The heat of Eliot’s mouth collided with Sophie’s, making the grifter close her eyes and let out a quiet gasp that tickled his bottom lip. She feels her knees already start to give way just from the intensity; her chest heaving, her face flushed already from the anger. She reaches out to hold on to something, anything, and her fingertips brush something before she hears a very audible crash. Sophie’s hand connects with the mahogany end table, replacing where the lamp was previously, and she holds on, just to keep herself steady.
But Eliot pushes off of her, his own chest heaving, his pupils darkening from the sudden desire. He’s pissed, fuckin’ royally pissed. He’s so sick of all the bullshit, so sick of all the excuses. So sick of her fuckin’ caring about jack shit and thinking it’s alright. He didn’t mean to kiss her, it just kind of happened. She wouldn’t shut up, kept talking and not really saying anything. Never the right words, never what would make it better. All the empty hollow bullshit that she spews constantly; things that can’t ever really mean anything because even she doesn’t know who they’re coming from. She doesn’t even know who she is, what the real her would feel.
She’s like a blank slate: insert personality here.
“What the hell was that?” Sophie accuses, like he did something wrong. And he did, didn’t he? Making her breathless and vulnerable, if only for a second. Screwing with her perception of the world, of people. She knows people, she does. Studies them, they’re mannerisms, habit, their way of speech. This was off the bloody charts and onto a separate thing entirely; something she didn’t see coming from a mile away. The anger, the passion; she understands what that can do to some people, but she never saw it coming from Eliot, though she’s sure it’s been staring her in the face for quite some time now.
Eliot runs his fingers though his hair roughly, a scowl on his face. “Wouldn’t shut up,” he grumbles as an excuse, a reason. Just saying words because he thought they were probably needed, even though he’s pretty sure that they might not be one’s completely laced in truth. He feel the itch, the crawling sensation that’s making it’s way down his spine and eating him from the inside out. The need. It was there, loud and with no plans of leaving now that it’s made camp. Damnit all to hell.
Sophie’s staring at him, her hand still posed, holding onto the end table. Maybe it was for precaution, maybe it was just to make sure she can stand up. Maybe it was even because she was hoping that it would come again; a scary revelation that just infuriates her even more. “You can’t go around just kissing people, Eliot!” she yells, just because she needs to hear herself do it. “Not every woman falls to their knees around you, you know!”
She knows he’s used to that. His conquest list a mile long, give or take a few yards. Sophie see’s the way women look at him, like he’s this big strong knight in shining armor, and every single one of them want to ride that cowboy till dawn breaks. But Sophie knows his type; once the sun’s on the horizon he’s out the door, no names, no strings. No emotions. It makes her sick, makes her furious, make’s her want to fucking fix it, fix him. Sex was something that should mean something, even something little. Anything, just bloody something that makes the women feel like they’re something more than just a pair of tits. She never understood the appeal, the draw that he had, when she knows every single one of them knows that in the morning they’ll be waking up alone in the bed.
And she doesn’t want to admit that she’s starting to understand it now, in this moment. Even for a minute, she doesn’t want to voice that she gets it. But she does, and she hates that she does. Hate’s him because she does. Hates him because part of her wants it. To be used, forgotten. To forget everything herself.
Eliot smirks at her, just a bit shining through his mask of anger. “Right,” he says, but doesn’t sound like he’s agreeing with her. He’s pissed even more that she said that though, fucking assuming that he kissed her cause he wants to fuck her. Like he wants to fuck everyone and their goddamn mother. Like she would even be worth all the headaches it would cause at work if he just took her right where she stands. He has the urge, he does. Just fuck her, prove her wrong. Fuck, prove her right. Prove something. Just do it cause it needs to be done. Do it cause he’s angry, do it cause she needs to apologize and fucking make it up to him somehow. Do it cause she damn well owes him something if “I’m sorry” won’t ever fall from her lips.
But he won’t do it, because he’s not that kind of person. He wants to forgive her, fix all this shit, but not like that. He doesn’t just take things because they’re in front of him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, finally feeling well enough in her confidence to let go of the end table. She stands at full height, advancing on him. One step, two, until she’s in front of him, in his personal space. Pissed that he won’t just fucking let this go, but pissed even more that she can’t seem to either. She’s baiting him, trapping him, working his anger because she knows how. A puppet on strings.
“Fuckin’ figure it out.”
He doesn’t step away from her, refusing to back down to this challenge, whatever it was. He wasn’t going to let her win. Let her make him back down, move. She could be fucking on top of him for all he gives a shit, he just ain’t gonna let her win.
“I don’t want you,” Sophie tells him, ice in her voice. “Cocky bastard.”
Lying; she’s good at that. Manipulation; she’s even better at that. But she doesn’t want him, at least not all of him. Maybe she wants to have him, just for a second. Just to conquer the bastard and let him have a taste of his own medicine for once. Have him just to make all this rubbish go away. Maybe just conquer him before he conquers her. She knows it’s coming, she can see this, even though she wishes she had the strength to just walk out the door, and leave everything as it is. But she doesn’t move away. If anything, she gets closer.
She won’t let him win.
“Right, when you stuck your tongue down my throat I really got that impression.”
Eliot scoffs in her face, and it infuriates Sophie even more. She pushes him back then, and Eliot smiles through his anger, taking that as a sign of victory. But it enrages her even more, the cocky damn look on his face, and she pushes him back again, harder, hard enough to make him stumble. “Sod off!”
It was a reaction; a defense from being moved in what he thought was a stable position. His hands connect with her chest, and before he can stop himself he’s pushed her back, enough to make her stumble back and her body connect hard with the wall behind her. The winds knocked out of her, and the guilt hits him like a shit ton of bricks. Fuck. “Shit, Sophie, I’m sorr-”
But as he comes over to her, trying to apologize, trying to hop back over the line he should have never crossed, he’s interrupted by the slap that leaves his face stinging and his blood rush. “Bastard,” she spits out at him, and his anger boils. He has enough control to hit the wall next to her, flat handed but with enough force to make the plaster start to crumble beneath his fingers. But she doesn’t jump, isn’t frightened by his anger. She just stares him down, knowing he doesn’t have it in him to really hurt her.
Sophie’s trapped, her back against the wall and Eliot hovering over her. But she doesn’t shrink back, doesn’t back down. She just lets him hover there, furious, knowing that she isn’t playing into his emotions the way that he needs her to. If she was scared, he’d feel guilty. Fix it, make it better, like the man he is. If she started attacking him, he would restrain her, making sure to not hurt her. But this standoff, this coolness between them, the unspoken challenge that’s arisen… it does nothing for the man that he is. It leaves him in a position where he needs to make the next move, but he doesn’t have the strategy to proceed.
It leaves the power in Sophie’s hands, and it makes her cocky.
She smirks as she comes off from the wall, standing in front of him. They’re faces were a mere inch away from each other, too close for comfort. Tongue in cheek and with cocky arrogance of her own she asks him in a whisper, “Drives you crazy,” her lips brush by his, no connection, but enough to make him know that they were there. She looks up at him, her controlling gaze met with his angry one, and finishes, “…doesn’t it?”
“What?” he asks her in a growl, trying to not play into her little sick game she’s decided to form for her own amusement. But he feels her there, so close he can almost touch her. So close he can almost taste her. The monster inside of him growls, hungry. He fucking hates her for this, for whatever the hell she’s trying to do to him. Break him, own him.
Sophie’s smile, signifying her own victory, spreads across her face in almost amusement. She brushes her lips across his ear, feeling him tense. The muscles in his arm contract, and his hand is pressed firmer against the wall. It almost makes her laugh, but she suppresses it. “Not knowing what to do,” she tells him softly, her breath tickling the hair on the back of his neck.
She’s not trying to seduce him. Of course not. Taunt him, maybe. Get back at him for laying his hands on her, even though it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle, or wasn’t anything that she wasn’t even expecting. But she needs a reason for this, for what she’s doing, this little game she’s decided is more fun than trying to fix their little argument. She needs a reason to override the heat that’s beginning to form in the pit of her stomach.
She’s being a bitch, a bloody royal one at that. She knows it, but it doesn’t stop her. “Knowing what you want,” she continues in a heated whisper, and she lets her lips brush his neck now. She can feel him trying to control himself, and she lets out a quiet laugh as she steps away from him. She looks him in the eyes and says evenly, “But knowing you can’t have it, because it isn’t right.”
“You’re a sick fuck,” he tells her, infuriated. He takes his hand off the wall, giving himself the little push he needed to walk away from her. She’s so fucked in the head, makes her living manipulating people, controlling them, making them do what she wants. He’s not gonna have any part of her twisted life. Her sick little game.
He’s not gonna be her next victim.
“Don’t you walk away from me,” she tells him, stepping forward and grabbing his arm to make him face her. She will not just be dismissed like that. But he shrugs her arm off of him, and her face masks in anger before her hands connect with his chest again, pushing him back.
“Damnit, Sophie!” he yells, and pushes her back against the wall. But it isn’t hard; he isn’t doing it because he can’t control it. He’s doing it because he needs to trap her again, fucking get some god damn control back in the situation. “Do you want me to hit you, is that it?!”
“NO!”
“Then what the fuck do you want?!” he screams in her face, and she tries to push him back, away from her, out of her face, but he doesn’t move. He isn’t gonna fucking move for her anymore.
“What do you want?!” she counters angrily, frustrated that this isn’t going the way she planned it to. Whatever it was that she planned, she doesn’t know, she just knows it isn’t this. She wants the control back, needs it.
“I want you to apologize!” Eliot yells. That’s all he wants, all he fucking needs and he can just walk out of here and forget this whole thing even happened. Why can’t she just give him the one thing he needs? How fucking hard is it to say two little words?!
“And I just want to forget!” she yells, her delicate hands grasping his shirt, trying to push him away. But he doesn’t move. He can’t move. She’s getting desperate, needing this to go her way. Needing to have the ball in her court. Needing to be the narrator of this story.
She wants to grab him, fucking just take him and spit him back out again. Dominate, control, manipulate, all the things she’s good at doing. But nothing’s working, and it’s making her want to just scream in frustration, maybe even cry. She’s out of breath, still trying to push him away but she’s losing the strength, and as her arms go limp she still holds on to him. Their eyes connect, faces a breath away from each other. “I just want to forget…” she tells him, all the fight out of her, only leaving desperation.
“Then apologize,” he tells her quietly, evenly, trying to hold the anger. Trying to stand his ground, sure that this new angle is just another trick of hers. He just needs to hear it. But she’s looking up at him, so damn vulnerable, flushed, sexy, that it’s distracting. Her lips are so close, and he remembers what they felt like on his.
But she stays silent, and he’s just had it. Fuck it. Fuck all of it. He turns away from her, just wanting to leave. He’s done, she wins. Hands grasp his arm again and he’s turned around to face her, but he isn’t met with more words, just her lips. He pushes her back up against the wall in instinct, his body pressed firmly against hers. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, or hell, even what she’s doing, but he can’t stop it. She’s holding onto him like she’s afraid he’s just going to walk away again, but he just parts his lips as a response, letting her slip her tongue inside and just completely fucking devour him.
Fuck all of this.
It was within her last desperation that made her grab him, pull him to her. She needs to make him stay; she needs to make him fix this. She needs it to all go away, so why not have it go out with a bloody bang. She can’t handle it anymore, all the anger, the passion, the heat. She wants to be used, abused, tossed aside, and let him take that as her apology. Only then will she be able to move past all this, fucking forget it ever happened. Any of this.
Sophie wishes she could say the words. She’s tried so many times, but they choke up in her throat. She knows how to do so many things, has learned to do whatever it takes to get what she wants. But she’s never learned that one simple thing. One simple thing that’s so damn human that she fears that because she can’t that she’s not human herself. And apology; something so needed in this world that she can never bring herself to give.
Her hands are in his hair, almost tearing it from his scalp as she tries to force the heat, force the passion. She needs it to consume him, because if it doesn’t he’ll start to think. She tears her lips away from him and forces his head to her neck, and as he bites down with just the right amount of pain she lets out a sound that could pass for an animalistic moan. She’s tearing at his shirt, just trying to get it off of him. She wants to feel him, all of him. She wants to run her nails down his chest and make him cry out as they play with the line that separates pain and pleasure.
Eliot’s lips come up to her ear as he feels her trying to undress him, and he can’t help but let out a cocky laugh of his own. “You don’t want me, huh?” he taunts her. He doesn’t have to see it to know her eyes flash, and she pushes him off of her. They stand there, across from each other, chests heaving, eyes darkening from the lust.
“Fuck you,” she tells him, and pushes him back again. He tries to regain his footing, she doesn’t push him very far after all, but it catches on the one of the coffee table legs and he falls back with a crash, destroying the furniture. He wants to scream at her, swear at her, but she’s on top of him in a flash, the littered pieces of the wasted surface beneath them. Her lips collide with his again, and she pushes his shirt up roughly before clawing her way back down his skin and grabbing hold of his hips, grinding her center against his rapidly hardening cock.
Eliot knows this is like twelve layers of wrong, and probably the second circle of hell, but he can’t stop himself. He can’t stop her, and he sure as hell can’t stop his own dick. He can’t stop his hands from coming up and grabbing the hem of her shirt, tearing it a bit as he forces it off of her. He can’t stop the easy flick of his fingers that makes her bra fall to the floor, freeing her dark nipples to his gaze. And hell, he can’t fucking stop himself from forcefully rolling her over, away from the debris on the floor, as he hovers over her and his mouth claims one of those nipples as his own.
“God,” she gasps out, hands in his hair again, tangling enough to get the leverage to pull. She hears him growl beneath him, vibrating her nipple in a way that makes fire shoot right down to her core. She needs him to take her, right here on the floor like some kind of five dollar whore. Its crude, it’s disgusting, and at the same time so sexy that the mere thought of it consumes her whole, spitting her dignity out like it was never even there. He wants her to forget about her after this, treat her like nothing more than a quick fuck to get his rocks off. She wants to forget him, make it all about abuse and apology, lust and anger.
His hands are pulling down her skirt now, and she wants to reach down and help him, get the god forsaken material off of her, but she doesn’t want to stop touching him. Her hands have made it to his back, her nails digging in, breaking the skin but not enough to draw blood. He completely destroys her panties, ripping them off with one smooth motion that leaves her exposed and open beneath him. He sits up, looking down at what she has to offer him. It makes her feel dirty, used, and it scares her a little to realize how much that feeling turns her on. She spreads her legs for him, letting him view his little fucking prize, making the dirty feeling more predominant. She knows she’s dripping with her own desire, and she knows he can see it. Probably smell it. He’s looking at her like he could eat her alive, and it makes her feel sexy, like she finally has some control back since he became the one on top.
“Eat me,” she demands, the domination back in her voice. But Eliot just smirks at her, knowing exactly why she thinks she has control, and loving the fact he can rip it out from underneath her for once.
“Suck me,” he counters, and her eyes flash. He loves it. He loves her anger, loves her abuse and loves that she wants it in turn.
“With your pants on?” she asks, like he’s stupid for even countering her demand in the first place. His own eyes flash, and his hands fly to his zipper. As he pulls his pants off, his boxers coming next so quickly that it’s only a moment that passes, he tells her:
“Go to hell.”
“Fine, but I’m taking you with me,” she tells him, sitting up to be able to push him backwards so that she’s on top of him again. She’s pissed, more pissed that he won. She’s on top, she has control, but he still fucking won, because as her hands wrap around his cock she can’t help but think how much she wants it in her mouth.
And she’s pissed because she knows he knows it too.
“Do it,” he tells her, a challenge that’s met with a daring gaze. She narrows her eyes, her hand slipping down to grab hold of his balls. She squeezes; not hard, but hard enough to get her point across. He gasps, his body tensing, and he spits out breathlessly, “Bitch.”
“Bastard,” she responds, but it’s tinted with her amusement, knowing she at least won that round. Her head tilts down, her tongue snaking out to run tauntingly slow up his shaft. He groans beneath her, his turn for his hand to wrap around her dark locks and guide her where her wanted her, needed her. Her mouth wraps around the tip, but she doesn’t slide down. She can taste his salty precum, hear him gasp at the feeling, feel him strain his hips up towards her face. But she takes her time, taunting him, teasing him. Flicking her tongue just gently over the tip as she starts to massage his balls that still lie in her hand softly, she waits, wanting to make him beg.
But the asshole doesn’t beg, he just takes whatever she has in store for him, and it frustrates her. She looks up at him, her dark hair tumbling down to frame her strong features, and their eyes meet. She sees something behind them, something she doesn’t want to see in his eyes, can’t see, so when she turns back down she wraps her mouth around him again, only this time consuming him whole.
Eliot groans and lies his head back against the hard wood beneath him, forgetting for a moment that he almost made this whole thing stop. Forgetting for a moment that he just realized it’s Sophie with his dick in his hand. That it’s Sophie that’s servicing him, Sophie who he’s about to fuck the hell out of till she screams his name and holds onto him like she’ll die if she lets go. Sophie…
Sophie.
Shit. But fuck, it just felt so good. So damn wrong that it felt so right. So dirty that it felt sexy. Sophie, the woman who follows Nate around like some god damn puppy. Sophie, who’s like a mother figure to Parker and Hardison. Sophie, the one thing he was never supposed to touch. The one thing that was completely off limits… is now sucking his dick in the middle of one of the damn (what was this, a sitting room? Whatever) of Hardison’s fucking mansion while the rest of the team waits two floors down for them to work out their differences. Work out shit so they can go take down IYS, fucking work out all this crap out so everything can be better again.
Eliot’s not sure if this counts, but fuck, he’s gonna take it.
Eliot groans again, low in the back of his throat it’s almost like a snarl as Sophie gently rakes her teeth up his cock, playing with that fucking little line again. But he ain’t gonna pretend he doesn’t like it, that he doesn’t like that she wants to hurt him. Eliot knows how she wants this, how she needs it. She wants to be abused, taken, treated like shit as she tries to struggle with control. It’s all a game.
Everything is always a game with Sophie.
Sophie lifts her head up, and their eyes meet again. This time she doesn’t see the hesitation anymore, and it makes her smile. She continues to work on him with her hand, as her eyes dart around the room. Finally resting on what she was looking for, she gets up, and walks away from him.
“Where the fuck are you-?!” Eliot starts to say, apparently thinking she was just done, and that’s how her sick little game was going to end. He wouldn’t put it past her. But he stops yelling at her as soon as she grabs something out of her purse and throws it at him. He catches it with one hand, and doesn’t even have to look at it to know what it is.
Right. That could be important.
She smirks at him, but Eliot doesn’t even care. He’s too busy letting his eyes roam her form, taking in every curve, every damn detail. He knows this will be the one and only time he’ll ever see her like this, so he might as well burn it into his memory. “Put it on,” she tells him. She cocks her head at him, as if anticipating his reaction to her next words, and wanting to study it, “Then take me as hard as you can on the fucking floor.”
Eliot’s pupils dilate from her words, something that sounded so wrong coming from someone so posed, so sophisticated. So damn British. But this isn’t her game anymore.
He picks himself off of the floor, and starts to walk over to her, and she watches him cautiously, trying to anticipate what’s coming next, but she can’t seem to figure it out. Then suddenly her back collides with the wall behind her and she gasps from surprise. Eliot’s pressed up against her, and she can feel the hardness of his cock against her stomach. She tries to swallow, but is finding it hard. He smirks at her, all up in her space and asks quietly:
“What would you say if I wanted to fuck you against this wall instead?”
She wants to tell him that it doesn’t matter, that nothing fucking matters as long as he’s inside of her. But she can’t. The game is not yet won, and she refuses for him to be the victor. She starts to say something; starts to toy with him as he’s unwrapping the condom, like he knows he’s not gonna listen to her either way. “I’d say that a gentleman does what a lady asks,” she tells him, a little mock in her own voice because she knows how much Eliot tries to be a gentleman. Well, at least, in some senses.
But he doesn’t bite. He just smirks at her, unrolling the condom down around his cock and says, “Oh yeah? Well you haven’t been acting like you want me to exactly be a gentleman about this.”
Sophie pauses, words escaping her for a moment. He’s right, damn him to hell he’s actually right, but she doesn’t want him to know that. If he knows how bad she wants him to just violate her, then he’s the one with the upper hand. But that moment of hesitation is too long, because suddenly he’s picked her up, and her first instinct is to wrap her legs around him and hold on. It’s so sudden that he’s inside of her, and the feeling rips through Sophie, making her cry out and dig her nails into his back again. Everything else was gone, the only thing left was the need waiting to be satisfied. It was over, the games, the taunts. She couldn’t think, could barely even speak.
He had won.
“Oh fuck, Eliot! Yes!” she cries, the only thing that would will it’s way out of her mouth, and she tries to keep her grip firm as he thrusts into her, filling her so deep and so completely that she wishes she didn’t prologue this experience. He keeps hitting her in all the right places, making her gasp and beg for more, so quickly making her feel infinite. But with one more thrust he stops, keeping her back flat against the wall and his eyes burning into hers.
“Tell me what you want,” he tells her in a low voice, like he knows more than what he’s saying. She just looks at him, flushed and desperate, and she knows he wants her to tell him. Let him know just how dirty she wants to be taken, and she hates that she’s making him do this. Hates him so much because he knows that she’s going to tell him. “Tell me what you want,” he repeats, that cocky little smirk on his face, “And I’ll give it to you.”
Sophie’s breathless, trying to fight with the part of herself that just wants to spit it out. Eliot can see the internal struggle pass across her features, before she admits, like she hates herself, and hates him for admitting it, “I want you to use me, Eliot. Take me, abuse me. Rough me up, fuck me and forget about me. Treat me like a… like a…”
“Like a what?” he asks, knowing he’s gonna make her say it.
Her eyes flash, but she doesn’t break contact from him as she finishes, “Like a whore.” She hates the smile of victory that forms over his face, and she says evenly, honestly, “Take it as an apology.”
Eliot knows she’s screwed up, and he knows he’s screwed up even more for going along with this, for wanting this. It’s sick on so many levels, but yet sexy on all the same. No woman has ever let him, hell, has wanted him to just fucking… violate them like that. And here Sophie was, begging for it, needing for him to just treat her like just a body. It was so unlike her; but then again, he’s never known the real her.
He lets her go, withdrawing from her, and she gasps in surprises as her feet hit the floor. She’s confused, but he’ll make it clear in a second. If this is what she wants, then fucking fine. He grabs her hair and she lets out a moan at his domination as he forces her to her knees in front of him. She goes without a fight, letting him take total control as he forces her face towards his crotch.
Part of him feels bad, the logical sane part that says that this is wrong. That he shouldn’t do this to Sophie even if she wants it, but its gone just as soon as he mouth wraps around his cock again, doing whatever he wants just because he wants it. It’s intoxicating, controlling someone like Sophie who’s always so keen on being the one in control. She wanted to be nothing beneath him, nothing tohim, and he couldn’t say no.
Maybe she was still the one in control after all.
He’s guiding her head forcefully, and she’s loving every minute of it. He’s almost afraid he’s giving her more than she can swallow, but she surprises him as she takes every inch without so much as a cough. “Fuck,” he swears, his eyes closing. “Suck it, you filthy little bitch.”
Sophie moans in response, vibrating him in a way that drives him crazy. He’s still trying to test the waters, see what she’ll allow. Hell, he’s surprised she even let him talk to her like that. But with everything he does it only seems to turn her on more, and he’s so close to just saying fuck it and doing whatever he wants to her. She seems to take everything he’ll dish out, even though he hasn’t come close to his line. And yes, he does have a line. A very firmly drawn line that he will never step over. As long as she wants it, she’ll do it. The first “no” or “stop” that he gets, it’s fucking over. He’ll take her forcefully as long as she wants it, but he ain’t gonna rape her.
Sophie has no idea what’s making her want this. It wasn’t right, having sex like this. Sex like this was for perverted little wankers who get themselves off to their porn collection every night. But she doesn’t have a porn collection; she barely even masturbates, which come to think of it, might be the reason behind this whole thing anyway. So repressed, so angry, waiting for Nate who’s never gonna come and sweep her off her feet. She needs to physically feel how she feels inside. It’s fucked up, it’s twisted, but she needs it. Hell, maybe it’ll help her work through it.
She’s jerked away from his dick by her hair, and she cries out from the shock, but not from the pain. He pretty much throws her to the ground and as he hovers over her, she sees this little smile that she can’t help but love, only because she knows he’s gonna do it. He’s gonna fuck her like she wants, and he isn’t having second thoughts. “You get your wish about the floor,” he tells her venomously, though she knows he’s play acting the anger and the hate now only because she wants it. “Cause whores deserved to be fucked on the floor like nothing but trash.”
His hand runs up to cup her center and she moans, needing for him to just take her. But it runs up further, smearing her juices across her stomach. Dirtying her, making her feel like nothing. God, she loved it. He presses firmly against her clit and she gasps, spreading her legs for him as wide as he body would let her. But then his hand is off of her, and he grabs her hip, rolling her over on her stomach forcefully. “Get up,” he tells her. “Get on your hands and knees.”
She scrambles up to do what he says, her whole body burning with desire. She can feel her wetness start to drip down her thighs, but she isn’t ashamed. If anything, she wants him to see it. She needs him to see what he’s doing to her, how much she enjoys being treated like a little tramp. God, there will be no turning back from herself after this. She’s more than likely going to have to take a good long look at herself in the mirror tomorrow morning.
His face is buried between her thighs almost instantly and Sophie moans, pushing her hips back into him. He’s devouring every part of her, every single drop that’s made it’s way out of her, and it felt bloody amazing. But then she moans again, a surprised, what-the-hell-was-that? kind of moan as she suddenly feels his tongue going higher, teasing her asshole.
Oh. My. God.
Sophie’s never done that. She’s never let anyone get anywhere near that part of her body, always thinking it was, once again, for those little perverted wankers. But she was surprised by how good it felt, and how nasty it made the whole thing seem, and she relished in it. His tongue enters her and she cries out, “Eliot!” She leans down, her head lying on the floor as she reaches back with her hands to open herself up more for him.
Eliot growls as he sees Sophie very literally open herself up for his taking. She did end up turning into quite the dirty little slut, but he’s read somewhere that that’s what happens to people who are so repressed. It almost amuses him, but he doesn’t laugh. He just takes what she gives to him, knowing in his gut this will be the one and only time, and needs to savor every minute for what its worth. He spits on her, watching it pool into her crevice as he slides his fingers into his mouth. He has no idea if she’s done this before, and hell, its rare he ever gets to, but he’s gonna try anyway. If she says no then he’ll just stop.
He waits for it, but she doesn’t object, even though he’s sure she knows by now what he’s planning to do. She just continues to spread herself for him, waiting. He smirks before giving in, sliding his finger deep inside of her. She cries out, clenching around him, and moans his name again, “Eliot… god, Eliot…”
“You like that?” he asks teasingly, sliding his finger in and out of her slowly. She whimpers in response, pushing her hips back into him. But she’s tight, so tight that he knows that this hasn’t been an area she’s explored before. He continues to taunt her, “Tell me how it feels, me violating your tight virgin ass.”
“God,” she gasps out, and he watches her fingers grasp the hardwood floor, trying to hold on to something. “Like you can take whatever you want from me, shit, like you already are… ugghhfff fuck, Eliot… please…” Her eyes are closed, she’s begging now, and it just makes him want to take all of her. He continues to stimulate her while his other hand checks the condom, making sure it’s still intact.
When he finds that it is, he withdraws his finger, and Sophie groans from the lack of contact. But he’s rough with her, just how she wants it, as he grabs her by the hair again and forces her back up so that she’s positioned right where he needs her to be. She whimpers in his grasp, the desperation and anticipation nearly killing her, and when he forces her back one more time it’s onto his cock, and she cries out as he fills her. “Uggff! Fuck me!” she screams at him, her hands bracing the floor for what’s about to come.
Sophie’s posed, ready. She knows Eliot’s strength, and knows he’s gonna knock her into next fucking year. And as he barrels into her, she screams again, her body thrusting forward, trying to contain her balance as each thrust is more powerful than the last. His hand is still firmly in her hair, yanking her neck back so much she’s sure it’s supposed to hurt. But all she can feel right now is what he’s doing to her, taking her roughly and without any remorse, hitting everything all at the right time in all the right places.
Her arms weaken as she feels the slow burn in the pit of her stomach, indicating her forthcoming orgasm, and her top half falls to the floor. But he pulls back on her hair, forcing her back up onto her hands. “Get up!” he orders her, and she does. She tries so hard to keep herself steady, but it’s almost like torture. But she doesn’t think all the torture in the world would make her tell him to stop, so she holds herself up, her arms shaking, her pants and his grunts composing the soundtrack for this encounter.
“Don’t stop!” she screams, desperate as she’s nearing the edge. She knows he has control, knows that he knows that she wants to be abused, but she can’t handle not having an orgasm. Not know, not after everything. “Please don’t’ stop Eliot, please!” she begs him, crying out as he penetrates her deeper, harder, faster.
“Tell me you’re a whore!” Eliot demands, knowing now he can get her to do almost anything at this point. “Tell me what a dirty little slut you are!”
“Fuck!” Sophie screams, the pleasure clouding her mind. She’s desperate, needs it, and can’t have him stop so she tells him between moans and gasps, “I’m a slut, I’m a whore, a piece of bloody trash, your toy, fuck, anything, anything you want me to be, just please don’t stop!”
“Say my name!”
“Eliot!” she screams out, and then feels her inner walls start to contract. Her grip slips again and she falls, but she keeps saying his name as she’s starting to fall over the edge, “Eliot! Eliot! I’m…. FUCK!”
It’s like an explosion for her, tearing her to shreds and ripping her apart from the inside out. It’s ecstasy, its forbidden, its dirty, it’s wrong, its so fucking sexy that she doesn’t think she can handle it. Her mind is in a haze, her vision is foggy, and the only thing she can hear is his sounds of his own pleasure as he cums hard, claiming her as his own, even if only in this moment.
When he withdraws from her, she collapses, spent, lying on the floor. He turns her over roughly, and she opens her eyes just soon enough to see him throw the used condom on her stomach. Trash, just like she told him she wanted. It makes her smile a little, hazy, satisfied.
“Apology accepted,” he tells her in a low voice, before rising to his feet. He gets his clothes, and she doesn’t move as she watches him dress. They don’t say anything to each other afterwards because they both already know it’s over. She’s still lying there as she watches him walk out the door, without even a glance back at her, and she closes her eyes.
Forgotten, just as it should be.
THE END