Renegade
Title: Renegade
Author & Artist: blazon_paradox
Giftee: moonlettuce
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Leverage, Elison
Characters: Alec, Eliot, The Team, Dean and Sam Winchester
Genres: Angst, Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, ViolenceWarnings: Eliot/OMC, Violence
Word count: 3,452
Disclaimer: Myself and my insanity. Nothing more nothing less.
Leverage spoilers: Season One
Supernatural spoilers: Season One -Season Four, Episode Eighteen
CHAPTER TWO
Eliot slid the knife back into his boot, running the back of his hand across his forehead to catch the perspiration there. He ignored the fact that his hand came back with a lot more than that, wiping the blood and sweat on the back pocket of his jeans, sneering a little in the dark when he realized that he’d done nothing more than smudge more dirt across it.
He picked up his duffle and tucked his rosary into it, slinging the bag across his back and casting a careful glance over his shoulder.
He couldn’t seen anyone, nor any sign that he -or the scuffle- had been noticed, so he pulled out a book of matches, using one to light the entire thing on fire and then dropped it on the salt covered corpse. With a subtle whoosh it went up in flames.
Eliot couldn’t help the self-satisfied smirk that curled onto his face, and even if he could, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have anyway.
He hurried to his truck, a classic ’56 Ford, and tossed the duffle onto the passenger’s seat with one hand while twisting the key in the ignition with the other.
It growled to life, and he drove a little -at least twenty miles- over the speed limit, parking around the back of the motel he’d checked into earlier that week and climbed in through a back window so that no one would see him covered in grime, dirt, and blood.
As he washed in the shower, the first thing on his list of things to do, he took inventory of his new battle wounds.
He’d been brought here by way of noticing some classic haunting signs; turned out that was the least of his worries. Fuckin’ lich. The amulet had been a bitch to get, and the fucking head wound it gave him was a bitch. He was fine, he knew that, but still- Did the bastard have to go for the face?
The cut from the branch -and then rock that he’d landed on- were both along his hair line, so he’d just comb his hair foreword for a bit, he supposed.
He had a minor scratch on his left forearm and one on his right bicep, but other than that -and his scraped knuckles- it was pretty much just bruises.
Not bad, stupid undead sonuvabitch.
Destroy the phylactery -that word was just fucking stupid- Destroy the amulet, so it wasn’t linked to the world, and then destroy the body. And who was Eliot to be sloppy and careless?
Plus, fire? Fire is fun; very fun. As long as he isn’t the one burning, he’s a very big fan.
He dressed quickly, shoving his hands through his hair to comb it, and sent water droplets flying onto his shirt, dry and clean, wrinkled though it was. His jeans were slightly… Crunchy, as he was down to only two pairs and there wasn’t really an easy way to do laundry on the road.
He rolled up his sleeves and slid his two lucky bracelets on, out of habit mostly, before jamming his feet into his boots and heading back out the window (kinda hard to explain leaving a place no one saw you enter and he wasn’t very into being questioned) and his truck.
He drove down the road to the first bar he came across and parked, nodding appreciatively at the beauty next to his baby, a classic Impala, nice sheen to her black spotless paint job. Gorgeous.
He patted his baby lovingly, promising himself to get her a wash just as soon as he could, and headed into the bar. He really did need some new jeans, and he was ready to hustle.
He walked inside, breathing in deeply the smell of smoke and whiskey. He could almost feel it settle into his skin, as if it had never been washed away.
He cringed a little inside as he heard REO on the jukebox, and sneered a little at the guy walking away from it as he walked over and slid his own jumble of quarters in, selecting two songs, figuring on walking back over -if he had to- when his choices were up.
He snagged a bottle of Jack from the bar, flipping a shot glass over the top, and carrying it over to the pool tables.
REO boy was holding court at the table, having just won fifty from some angry bike guy, and Eliot smiled to himself. Anyone that played REO could not be that good at pool.
“I’ve got next,” Eliot said, and downed a shot.
REO looked him up and down, and Eliot did the same.
REO was older than he’d first though, not twenty more like twenty two. And he was pale, and his face was blank despite having just won fifty bucks. His eyes were dull, but there was anger and sadness buried there, buried deep there. Eliot was pretty sure that no one else would have been able to see it, but he’d had a lot of practice reading people, in seeing what the rest of the world missed.
REO’s body was hidden under a dirty denim jacket, but as he chalked his cue stick up, Eliot could see that that the jacket hid lean muscles.
As he leaned over to break, Eliot’s eyes landed on the charm on REO’s necklace. It… He recognized it somehow. The amulet… It was an Egyptian protection amulet, and not common at all. You had to know what it was to want one, and that meant…
He licked his lips, and leaned over to take a shot, letting his own turquoise Native American protection amulet fall foreword from under his shirt.
He kept his eyes locked on REO’s face, and saw his eyes widen with recognition as he realized what Eliot’s necklace was.
Neither was playing pool anymore, it was full out competition now, both eager to show their skills were better than the other hunter’s. REO won the first game, which Eliot blamed totally on the fact that some jackass bumped him and made him miss a shot earlier, and Eliot won the second game.
No words were exchanged until after the second game. Each of their fifties on the table. They each picked one up, tucking them back into their respective pockets. “I’m gonna hit the head,” REO said, “And then we tie break.”
Eliot nodded, and walked over to the jukebox, his songs had ended after Kashmir, Carry on my Wayward Son, and Back in Black. REO hadn’t played REO- Eliot could tell by the way he reacted to his real choices being played, because they were, you know, good songs.
Eliot shuffled through the collection of music, and was about to make a choice when a cop walked in. And clearly, he was looking for someone.
Eliot turned his head away subtly and glanced at the bathroom, where the other hunter was just stepping out.
He punched A7 quickly, and turned a little more, the other hunter’s eyes landing on him as the music started to play.
“Oh Mama, I'm in fear for my life from the long arm of the law.” The other hunter eyes widened and skated quickly over the crowd in the bar before landing on Eliot.
“Law man has put an end to my running and I'm so far from my home.” Eliot gave a sharp, but slight, nod of his head towards the cop, REO’s head turned quickly.
“Oh Mama, I can hear you a crying you're so scared and all alone.” The other hunter locked eyes with Eliot again and then tipped his head sharply back and then to the right, indicating that he was going to slip out the back and head to the alley.
“Hangman is coming down from the gallows and I don't have very long.” Eliot nodded once, and then they each turned away and headed out. The song leaked quietly out into the parking lot as Eliot slipped down the alley and met the other hunter at the back corner of the bar.
“They here for you, or are they here for me?” The other hunter murmured, looking around cautiously.
“Fuck if I know,” Eliot murmured, he leaned his head back against the wall.
“I’m at the Sycamore,” Eliot finally murmured.
“I’m down at the… Shit, I don’t know, something inn.” The other hunter whispered back.
“So, that leaves, what, the…?” Eliot ran over the town as best he could in his mind.
“The Cheshire Cat,” their tones were dull, flat. Oh fucking shit.
The other hunter bit his lower lip, and Eliot’s breath would have hitched if he were paying attention to that and not to the fact that he had no fucking place to go.
“There’s no way either of us can get in there,” the other hunter’s head fell back on the brick. “And I’m not fucking driving an hour to another town.”
“Yeah,” Eliot agreed. And then he had a light bulb moment. “But you were right. There’s no way either of us’ll be able to get a room- Alone.”
“And just what do you mean by that?” The other man’s eyes snapped open, dull hazel blazing a little.
Eliot shrugged, “I’m saying we team up, just for tonight, to get a room and a safe place to hang our hats.”
The other hunter studied him. “I don’t know you.”
“I don’t know you either,” Eliot agreed, “But I need you to survive just as much as you need me to survive.”
The other hunter gritted his teeth and nodded, “But I’m taking my car.”
“And I’m taking my truck,” Eliot shot back. No way was he trusting this guy. Not as far as he… Well, as far as a normal person could throw him.
“So, we meet up there, and what? Get a room together?”
Eliot shrugged, “Yeah. We’ll take shifts sleeping if you want. There just ain’t no way I’m driving tonight.”
The other hunter sighed and reluctantly nodded, holding out a hand, “John Panozzo.”
Eliot smirked, shaking his hand, “Chuck Panozzo.”
The other hunter smirked, nodding back.
When they checked in Eliot somehow zipping his lips against the envy and curses he wanted to spew at the other man for owning the Chevy.
Their room at the Cheshire was, as expecting, horrifying. There was floral wall paper with shiny shit in it.
He sneered at it, and slammed his duffle on the end of the bed; freakishly in unison with ‘John’.
“I hate the wall paper,” Eliot growled
“If wall paper could be possessed, this would be,” ‘John’ said easily, and then froze, eyes shifting awkwardly to Eliot’s.
“True,” Eliot forced his voice to be easy and carefree. “So… You’re a hunter.”
“And so are you.” Green eyes traced over him, landing on his necklace. “You in town for the haunting?”
“Mmm,” Eliot murmured in affirmation, “Had to take care of a nasty Lich beforehand though.”
“I hate Liches,” ‘John’ said, licking his lower lip.
With that simple action, Eliot felt his body react. All of a sudden the rush of adrenaline that came with a hunt well done, and, you know, escaping arrest… Again, swept through him and he reached for the younger man.
‘John’ came neatly into his arms, coming towards Eliot as Eliot came to him. They reached for each other in unison, and as their hips came together, Eliot could feel the same rush of adrenaline running through the younger man that ran through him.
Now that they were in the room, now that Eliot knew he was in for the night… God, there was something about a well done hunt that made Eliot more horny than just about anything else on the planet.
Every thump of his pulse felt like a heady beat, and he attacked ‘John’s’ lips, nipping and tugging on them before he was granted entrance, ‘John’s’ tongue slipping into his mouth and battling for dominance. But there was something in ‘John’ that made Eliot fight that much harder, hand carding through the younger man’s hair and clutching it tightly between strong fingers.
There was a sudden suffocating loneliness, the emptiness seeming to choke Eliot, even as he felt ‘John’ pressed against him. ‘John’ pulled him closer, cementing their bodies together from hip to chest. Eliot bent his leg, pressing it harshly between ‘John’s’ and ‘John’ let out a stuttering breath as a groan, rocking his hips against Eliot’s leg.
Eliot tore his lips away, pulling much needed oxygen into his lungs, unable to tear his eyes away from ‘John’s’ swollen and spit-slick lips. He felt rather than heard himself groan and pressed tightly back against those beautiful plump lips, biting them harshly, and felt ‘John’s’ teeth tear into his lips, tasting the sting of blood as their tongues tangled and couldn’t bring himself to care who’s it was.
‘John’s’ hands bit harshly into his shoulders, on hand dragging down and biting harshly into his spine.
Eliot tore his lips away with a groan, hands flying to ‘John’s’ belt fighting it open, unable to tear his eyes from that fucking mouth.
Just as ‘John’s’ pants belt hung open on his hips, revealing the button and zipper he’d yet to tackle, ‘John’s’ phone rang.
Sonuva-
Eliot couldn’t help the groan that escaped him, palming himself through his pants as he forced himself to leave ‘John’ to answer his call in peace.
“Yessir. Nosir. Yessir. Yessir. Yessir. Nosir. Yessir, I hear you, sir.” ‘John’ ended the call, eyes dimmer now, but glassier, too.
Who ever that had been had cut ‘John’ deep, something hurt within that short -and rather one sided- conversation.
‘John’ turned away from Eliot, emptying his pockets and then just stayed with his back turned, fists pressed to the top of the dresser.
“John,” Eliot murmured the pseudonym; the other man almost flinched at his attempt at a verbal caress.
Eliot moved behind him, hands toying with the denim waist band, harshly pulling the belt from the younger man’s hips, snapping the leather harshly against the dresser.
‘John’, other than regaining his balance, made no notice of Eliot’s actions. Eliot grabbed ‘John’s’ hands, curling the younger man’s fingers tightly around the lip of the dresser.
“Don’t move them,” he growled; some animalist part of him begging for total dominance. Whatever was on ‘John’s’ mind, he wanted it totally erased. If he was going to do this, he wasn’t going to waste some of his best moves on someone who wasn’t going to remember because he was too into his own head.
He sank his teeth harshly into the soft pliant skin of ‘John’s’ neck, the younger man’s chest jumped, and stilled as he took a deep breath and held it, letting his head fall to the other side, giving Eliot more access.
Eliot didn’t bother to hide the growl that boiled up in his throat, sliding his hands up ‘John’s’ chest and then back down. He stepped back, pulling his own jacket off, and then turned the younger man to face him, breaking his vice grip on the dresser.
He shoved the jacket and flannel shirt harshly from the younger man’s shoulders and grabbed the collar of his t-shirt tightly with both hands, dragging him close and kissing him brutally. He waited until ‘John’ was distracted by his tongue and teeth before pulling harshly.
He knew that the t-shirt must have dug painfully into his neck before it ripped, but right then he didn’t care.
The motion had brought a spark to ‘John’s’ eyes, something that had been oddly absent all evening.
Eliot leaned back, registering the tang of copper. ‘John’s’ pliant lips were torn slightly, as were his own.
He growled again, pushing the torn shirt from the man’s body. Eliot had been right; lean and hard muscle’s twitched under his calloused hands.
The more Eliot refused to treat ‘John’ as a gentle, fragile being, the more fire lit in the younger man’s eyes.
Rough and biting kisses were exchanged, ‘John’ taking whatever Eliot felt the need to dole out; a sharp hint of copper on his tongue after a particularly violent bite on his right shoulder.
No matter how uneven or loud their breathing got, not a single word was exchanged, murmur uttered; nothing more than a grunt, groan, or growl- And the occasional whimper, he supposed, in retrospect.
‘John’ was submissive; yielding to Eliot’s every whim; allowing Eliot to do whatever he pleased.
Eliot growled loudly, shoving the younger man to the bed, throwing his boots across the room and dragging the denim from his hips, as well as the boxers.
‘John’s’ cock was a deep red, thick and angry as it wept, ignored cruelly.
Eliot pulled his shirt over his head, back muscles rippling as he didn’t want to waste time unbuttoning what had suddenly become a million tiny little buttons. He pushed the denim from his own hips, shucking his own boots as he undid his belt.
‘John’s’ eyes were locked on the ceiling, staunchly refusing to become a participant.
Eliot pushed farther, bit harder, bent farther, begging without words for ‘John’ to become a part of this, or he would push him until he was about to break and then he would fucking leave. This wasn’t what he expected and certainly not how he wanted this to go.
The younger man was gorgeous, Eliot had to give him that, but that didn’t mean he didn’t encounter a million other beautiful people willing to spread their legs for him on his travels; he was sure that the same was true of the younger man. That’s why this made no sense- ‘John’ was a hunter, soft and pliant he shouldn’t be.
Something- someone- had made him this way. And something in Eliot was telling him to fix that.
Eliot pulled back, teeth locked on his flesh. ‘John’ grunted loudly as the flesh snapped back into place.
Somehow, as soon as the phone rang; shit, as soon as he saved the younger hunter from possible arrest… Somehow he’d gotten attached.
He kissed ‘John’ deeply, his last ditch effort to get the younger man involved, his entire body pressed against the hard length below him.
Just as he was about to give up, get dressed and walk out with possibly the worst case of blue balls ever, ‘John’s’ hips canted against him and he moved his arm, hand curling around Eliot’s neck and holding him in place.
Eliot groaned in relief, pushing his hips down, pinning the younger man to the bed.
‘John’s’ legs opened, invitation clear; shocking Eliot to his core.
Hunters didn’t trust easily and so much as sitting in a room with another hunter lowered the guard more than one would risk…
But this…
Eliot groaned, lowering his head to lie on the younger man’s shoulder.
And then ‘John’s’ lips and teeth descended onto his shoulder, even as his hips rocked up.
There was no stopping them-this-now.
Eliot’s caught ‘John’s’ attention, keeping him distracted even as he lifted his legs, spreading them wider.
‘John’s’ body was tense, every molecule on edge.
That wouldn’t work.
He released ‘John’s’ legs, one arm supporting his weight, the other bending, hand curled around the younger hunter’s cock. ‘John’s’ body arched into the touch, his lungs emptying at the touch.
It was a mere two tugs before ‘John’s’ entire body stuttered as he erupted between them. Eliot smirked, biting down on the younger hunter’s shoulder and gently milking him for all he was worth before scooping the sticky mess onto his fingers and using it as makeshift lube, too fucking horny to get his ass of the bed and find his own.
‘John’s’ body was relaxed, post-orgasm, easily stretching around his fingers, and yet still tight as a fucking vice around him as he pushed in.
Eliot grunted, holding himself in place, begging his body not to react like he was 14 again. He took a deep breath as ‘John’ bent one leg, wrapping the other around his hips, arching to meet his every thrust.
It wouldn’t be long, not at all.
‘John’ was hard between them again, hands fisted in the covers they were fucking on.
Eliot leaned to capture ‘John’s’ lips with a bite of his own, but the younger hunter turned away, cheeks burning an even brighter red as he did.
It stung.
Eliot hated to admit it, but it burned - Knowing that ‘John’ was clearly thinking of someone else.
He sank his teeth into the younger hunter’s shoulder, needing to leave his mark, as his body betrayed him and he came.
When he woke up, ‘John’ was gone.
Eliot pretended it didn’t hurt.
Author & Artist: blazon_paradox
Giftee: moonlettuce
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Leverage, Elison
Characters: Alec, Eliot, The Team, Dean and Sam Winchester
Genres: Angst, Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, ViolenceWarnings: Eliot/OMC, Violence
Word count: 3,452
Disclaimer: Myself and my insanity. Nothing more nothing less.
Leverage spoilers: Season One
Supernatural spoilers: Season One -Season Four, Episode Eighteen
CHAPTER TWO
Eliot slid the knife back into his boot, running the back of his hand across his forehead to catch the perspiration there. He ignored the fact that his hand came back with a lot more than that, wiping the blood and sweat on the back pocket of his jeans, sneering a little in the dark when he realized that he’d done nothing more than smudge more dirt across it.
He picked up his duffle and tucked his rosary into it, slinging the bag across his back and casting a careful glance over his shoulder.
He couldn’t seen anyone, nor any sign that he -or the scuffle- had been noticed, so he pulled out a book of matches, using one to light the entire thing on fire and then dropped it on the salt covered corpse. With a subtle whoosh it went up in flames.
Eliot couldn’t help the self-satisfied smirk that curled onto his face, and even if he could, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have anyway.
He hurried to his truck, a classic ’56 Ford, and tossed the duffle onto the passenger’s seat with one hand while twisting the key in the ignition with the other.
It growled to life, and he drove a little -at least twenty miles- over the speed limit, parking around the back of the motel he’d checked into earlier that week and climbed in through a back window so that no one would see him covered in grime, dirt, and blood.
As he washed in the shower, the first thing on his list of things to do, he took inventory of his new battle wounds.
He’d been brought here by way of noticing some classic haunting signs; turned out that was the least of his worries. Fuckin’ lich. The amulet had been a bitch to get, and the fucking head wound it gave him was a bitch. He was fine, he knew that, but still- Did the bastard have to go for the face?
The cut from the branch -and then rock that he’d landed on- were both along his hair line, so he’d just comb his hair foreword for a bit, he supposed.
He had a minor scratch on his left forearm and one on his right bicep, but other than that -and his scraped knuckles- it was pretty much just bruises.
Not bad, stupid undead sonuvabitch.
Destroy the phylactery -that word was just fucking stupid- Destroy the amulet, so it wasn’t linked to the world, and then destroy the body. And who was Eliot to be sloppy and careless?
Plus, fire? Fire is fun; very fun. As long as he isn’t the one burning, he’s a very big fan.
He dressed quickly, shoving his hands through his hair to comb it, and sent water droplets flying onto his shirt, dry and clean, wrinkled though it was. His jeans were slightly… Crunchy, as he was down to only two pairs and there wasn’t really an easy way to do laundry on the road.
He rolled up his sleeves and slid his two lucky bracelets on, out of habit mostly, before jamming his feet into his boots and heading back out the window (kinda hard to explain leaving a place no one saw you enter and he wasn’t very into being questioned) and his truck.
He drove down the road to the first bar he came across and parked, nodding appreciatively at the beauty next to his baby, a classic Impala, nice sheen to her black spotless paint job. Gorgeous.
He patted his baby lovingly, promising himself to get her a wash just as soon as he could, and headed into the bar. He really did need some new jeans, and he was ready to hustle.
He walked inside, breathing in deeply the smell of smoke and whiskey. He could almost feel it settle into his skin, as if it had never been washed away.
He cringed a little inside as he heard REO on the jukebox, and sneered a little at the guy walking away from it as he walked over and slid his own jumble of quarters in, selecting two songs, figuring on walking back over -if he had to- when his choices were up.
He snagged a bottle of Jack from the bar, flipping a shot glass over the top, and carrying it over to the pool tables.
REO boy was holding court at the table, having just won fifty from some angry bike guy, and Eliot smiled to himself. Anyone that played REO could not be that good at pool.
“I’ve got next,” Eliot said, and downed a shot.
REO looked him up and down, and Eliot did the same.
REO was older than he’d first though, not twenty more like twenty two. And he was pale, and his face was blank despite having just won fifty bucks. His eyes were dull, but there was anger and sadness buried there, buried deep there. Eliot was pretty sure that no one else would have been able to see it, but he’d had a lot of practice reading people, in seeing what the rest of the world missed.
REO’s body was hidden under a dirty denim jacket, but as he chalked his cue stick up, Eliot could see that that the jacket hid lean muscles.
As he leaned over to break, Eliot’s eyes landed on the charm on REO’s necklace. It… He recognized it somehow. The amulet… It was an Egyptian protection amulet, and not common at all. You had to know what it was to want one, and that meant…
He licked his lips, and leaned over to take a shot, letting his own turquoise Native American protection amulet fall foreword from under his shirt.
He kept his eyes locked on REO’s face, and saw his eyes widen with recognition as he realized what Eliot’s necklace was.
Neither was playing pool anymore, it was full out competition now, both eager to show their skills were better than the other hunter’s. REO won the first game, which Eliot blamed totally on the fact that some jackass bumped him and made him miss a shot earlier, and Eliot won the second game.
No words were exchanged until after the second game. Each of their fifties on the table. They each picked one up, tucking them back into their respective pockets. “I’m gonna hit the head,” REO said, “And then we tie break.”
Eliot nodded, and walked over to the jukebox, his songs had ended after Kashmir, Carry on my Wayward Son, and Back in Black. REO hadn’t played REO- Eliot could tell by the way he reacted to his real choices being played, because they were, you know, good songs.
Eliot shuffled through the collection of music, and was about to make a choice when a cop walked in. And clearly, he was looking for someone.
Eliot turned his head away subtly and glanced at the bathroom, where the other hunter was just stepping out.
He punched A7 quickly, and turned a little more, the other hunter’s eyes landing on him as the music started to play.
“Oh Mama, I'm in fear for my life from the long arm of the law.” The other hunter eyes widened and skated quickly over the crowd in the bar before landing on Eliot.
“Law man has put an end to my running and I'm so far from my home.” Eliot gave a sharp, but slight, nod of his head towards the cop, REO’s head turned quickly.
“Oh Mama, I can hear you a crying you're so scared and all alone.” The other hunter locked eyes with Eliot again and then tipped his head sharply back and then to the right, indicating that he was going to slip out the back and head to the alley.
“Hangman is coming down from the gallows and I don't have very long.” Eliot nodded once, and then they each turned away and headed out. The song leaked quietly out into the parking lot as Eliot slipped down the alley and met the other hunter at the back corner of the bar.
“They here for you, or are they here for me?” The other hunter murmured, looking around cautiously.
“Fuck if I know,” Eliot murmured, he leaned his head back against the wall.
“I’m at the Sycamore,” Eliot finally murmured.
“I’m down at the… Shit, I don’t know, something inn.” The other hunter whispered back.
“So, that leaves, what, the…?” Eliot ran over the town as best he could in his mind.
“The Cheshire Cat,” their tones were dull, flat. Oh fucking shit.
The other hunter bit his lower lip, and Eliot’s breath would have hitched if he were paying attention to that and not to the fact that he had no fucking place to go.
“There’s no way either of us can get in there,” the other hunter’s head fell back on the brick. “And I’m not fucking driving an hour to another town.”
“Yeah,” Eliot agreed. And then he had a light bulb moment. “But you were right. There’s no way either of us’ll be able to get a room- Alone.”
“And just what do you mean by that?” The other man’s eyes snapped open, dull hazel blazing a little.
Eliot shrugged, “I’m saying we team up, just for tonight, to get a room and a safe place to hang our hats.”
The other hunter studied him. “I don’t know you.”
“I don’t know you either,” Eliot agreed, “But I need you to survive just as much as you need me to survive.”
The other hunter gritted his teeth and nodded, “But I’m taking my car.”
“And I’m taking my truck,” Eliot shot back. No way was he trusting this guy. Not as far as he… Well, as far as a normal person could throw him.
“So, we meet up there, and what? Get a room together?”
Eliot shrugged, “Yeah. We’ll take shifts sleeping if you want. There just ain’t no way I’m driving tonight.”
The other hunter sighed and reluctantly nodded, holding out a hand, “John Panozzo.”
Eliot smirked, shaking his hand, “Chuck Panozzo.”
The other hunter smirked, nodding back.
When they checked in Eliot somehow zipping his lips against the envy and curses he wanted to spew at the other man for owning the Chevy.
Their room at the Cheshire was, as expecting, horrifying. There was floral wall paper with shiny shit in it.
He sneered at it, and slammed his duffle on the end of the bed; freakishly in unison with ‘John’.
“I hate the wall paper,” Eliot growled
“If wall paper could be possessed, this would be,” ‘John’ said easily, and then froze, eyes shifting awkwardly to Eliot’s.
“True,” Eliot forced his voice to be easy and carefree. “So… You’re a hunter.”
“And so are you.” Green eyes traced over him, landing on his necklace. “You in town for the haunting?”
“Mmm,” Eliot murmured in affirmation, “Had to take care of a nasty Lich beforehand though.”
“I hate Liches,” ‘John’ said, licking his lower lip.
With that simple action, Eliot felt his body react. All of a sudden the rush of adrenaline that came with a hunt well done, and, you know, escaping arrest… Again, swept through him and he reached for the younger man.
‘John’ came neatly into his arms, coming towards Eliot as Eliot came to him. They reached for each other in unison, and as their hips came together, Eliot could feel the same rush of adrenaline running through the younger man that ran through him.
Now that they were in the room, now that Eliot knew he was in for the night… God, there was something about a well done hunt that made Eliot more horny than just about anything else on the planet.
Every thump of his pulse felt like a heady beat, and he attacked ‘John’s’ lips, nipping and tugging on them before he was granted entrance, ‘John’s’ tongue slipping into his mouth and battling for dominance. But there was something in ‘John’ that made Eliot fight that much harder, hand carding through the younger man’s hair and clutching it tightly between strong fingers.
There was a sudden suffocating loneliness, the emptiness seeming to choke Eliot, even as he felt ‘John’ pressed against him. ‘John’ pulled him closer, cementing their bodies together from hip to chest. Eliot bent his leg, pressing it harshly between ‘John’s’ and ‘John’ let out a stuttering breath as a groan, rocking his hips against Eliot’s leg.
Eliot tore his lips away, pulling much needed oxygen into his lungs, unable to tear his eyes away from ‘John’s’ swollen and spit-slick lips. He felt rather than heard himself groan and pressed tightly back against those beautiful plump lips, biting them harshly, and felt ‘John’s’ teeth tear into his lips, tasting the sting of blood as their tongues tangled and couldn’t bring himself to care who’s it was.
‘John’s’ hands bit harshly into his shoulders, on hand dragging down and biting harshly into his spine.
Eliot tore his lips away with a groan, hands flying to ‘John’s’ belt fighting it open, unable to tear his eyes from that fucking mouth.
Just as ‘John’s’ pants belt hung open on his hips, revealing the button and zipper he’d yet to tackle, ‘John’s’ phone rang.
Sonuva-
Eliot couldn’t help the groan that escaped him, palming himself through his pants as he forced himself to leave ‘John’ to answer his call in peace.
“Yessir. Nosir. Yessir. Yessir. Yessir. Nosir. Yessir, I hear you, sir.” ‘John’ ended the call, eyes dimmer now, but glassier, too.
Who ever that had been had cut ‘John’ deep, something hurt within that short -and rather one sided- conversation.
‘John’ turned away from Eliot, emptying his pockets and then just stayed with his back turned, fists pressed to the top of the dresser.
“John,” Eliot murmured the pseudonym; the other man almost flinched at his attempt at a verbal caress.
Eliot moved behind him, hands toying with the denim waist band, harshly pulling the belt from the younger man’s hips, snapping the leather harshly against the dresser.
‘John’, other than regaining his balance, made no notice of Eliot’s actions. Eliot grabbed ‘John’s’ hands, curling the younger man’s fingers tightly around the lip of the dresser.
“Don’t move them,” he growled; some animalist part of him begging for total dominance. Whatever was on ‘John’s’ mind, he wanted it totally erased. If he was going to do this, he wasn’t going to waste some of his best moves on someone who wasn’t going to remember because he was too into his own head.
He sank his teeth harshly into the soft pliant skin of ‘John’s’ neck, the younger man’s chest jumped, and stilled as he took a deep breath and held it, letting his head fall to the other side, giving Eliot more access.
Eliot didn’t bother to hide the growl that boiled up in his throat, sliding his hands up ‘John’s’ chest and then back down. He stepped back, pulling his own jacket off, and then turned the younger man to face him, breaking his vice grip on the dresser.
He shoved the jacket and flannel shirt harshly from the younger man’s shoulders and grabbed the collar of his t-shirt tightly with both hands, dragging him close and kissing him brutally. He waited until ‘John’ was distracted by his tongue and teeth before pulling harshly.
He knew that the t-shirt must have dug painfully into his neck before it ripped, but right then he didn’t care.
The motion had brought a spark to ‘John’s’ eyes, something that had been oddly absent all evening.
Eliot leaned back, registering the tang of copper. ‘John’s’ pliant lips were torn slightly, as were his own.
He growled again, pushing the torn shirt from the man’s body. Eliot had been right; lean and hard muscle’s twitched under his calloused hands.
The more Eliot refused to treat ‘John’ as a gentle, fragile being, the more fire lit in the younger man’s eyes.
Rough and biting kisses were exchanged, ‘John’ taking whatever Eliot felt the need to dole out; a sharp hint of copper on his tongue after a particularly violent bite on his right shoulder.
No matter how uneven or loud their breathing got, not a single word was exchanged, murmur uttered; nothing more than a grunt, groan, or growl- And the occasional whimper, he supposed, in retrospect.
‘John’ was submissive; yielding to Eliot’s every whim; allowing Eliot to do whatever he pleased.
Eliot growled loudly, shoving the younger man to the bed, throwing his boots across the room and dragging the denim from his hips, as well as the boxers.
‘John’s’ cock was a deep red, thick and angry as it wept, ignored cruelly.
Eliot pulled his shirt over his head, back muscles rippling as he didn’t want to waste time unbuttoning what had suddenly become a million tiny little buttons. He pushed the denim from his own hips, shucking his own boots as he undid his belt.
‘John’s’ eyes were locked on the ceiling, staunchly refusing to become a participant.
Eliot pushed farther, bit harder, bent farther, begging without words for ‘John’ to become a part of this, or he would push him until he was about to break and then he would fucking leave. This wasn’t what he expected and certainly not how he wanted this to go.
The younger man was gorgeous, Eliot had to give him that, but that didn’t mean he didn’t encounter a million other beautiful people willing to spread their legs for him on his travels; he was sure that the same was true of the younger man. That’s why this made no sense- ‘John’ was a hunter, soft and pliant he shouldn’t be.
Something- someone- had made him this way. And something in Eliot was telling him to fix that.
Eliot pulled back, teeth locked on his flesh. ‘John’ grunted loudly as the flesh snapped back into place.
Somehow, as soon as the phone rang; shit, as soon as he saved the younger hunter from possible arrest… Somehow he’d gotten attached.
He kissed ‘John’ deeply, his last ditch effort to get the younger man involved, his entire body pressed against the hard length below him.
Just as he was about to give up, get dressed and walk out with possibly the worst case of blue balls ever, ‘John’s’ hips canted against him and he moved his arm, hand curling around Eliot’s neck and holding him in place.
Eliot groaned in relief, pushing his hips down, pinning the younger man to the bed.
‘John’s’ legs opened, invitation clear; shocking Eliot to his core.
Hunters didn’t trust easily and so much as sitting in a room with another hunter lowered the guard more than one would risk…
But this…
Eliot groaned, lowering his head to lie on the younger man’s shoulder.
And then ‘John’s’ lips and teeth descended onto his shoulder, even as his hips rocked up.
There was no stopping them-this-now.
Eliot’s caught ‘John’s’ attention, keeping him distracted even as he lifted his legs, spreading them wider.
‘John’s’ body was tense, every molecule on edge.
That wouldn’t work.
He released ‘John’s’ legs, one arm supporting his weight, the other bending, hand curled around the younger hunter’s cock. ‘John’s’ body arched into the touch, his lungs emptying at the touch.
It was a mere two tugs before ‘John’s’ entire body stuttered as he erupted between them. Eliot smirked, biting down on the younger hunter’s shoulder and gently milking him for all he was worth before scooping the sticky mess onto his fingers and using it as makeshift lube, too fucking horny to get his ass of the bed and find his own.
‘John’s’ body was relaxed, post-orgasm, easily stretching around his fingers, and yet still tight as a fucking vice around him as he pushed in.
Eliot grunted, holding himself in place, begging his body not to react like he was 14 again. He took a deep breath as ‘John’ bent one leg, wrapping the other around his hips, arching to meet his every thrust.
It wouldn’t be long, not at all.
‘John’ was hard between them again, hands fisted in the covers they were fucking on.
Eliot leaned to capture ‘John’s’ lips with a bite of his own, but the younger hunter turned away, cheeks burning an even brighter red as he did.
It stung.
Eliot hated to admit it, but it burned - Knowing that ‘John’ was clearly thinking of someone else.
He sank his teeth into the younger hunter’s shoulder, needing to leave his mark, as his body betrayed him and he came.
When he woke up, ‘John’ was gone.
Eliot pretended it didn’t hurt.