Mod Gift #4 - For Ruquas
Title: Controlling the Beast
Author: telaryn
Giftee: ruquas
Rating: Extremely hard R, edging into NC-17 territory
Characters/Pairing: Eliot/Moreau, Nate, Parker
Word Count: 1522
Spoilers: Set during S3 but no spoilers
Warnings: Language, m/m, emotional abuse of a team member (Eliot).
Disclaimer: No money made, no ownership implied.
Summary: Even though he knows it's wrong, Eliot gave Damien Moreau the keys to his soul years ago and he doesn't know how to take them back.
Notes: For ruquas with thanks for your participation in this year's Leverage Exchange.
He was trapped. He’d waited too long, gotten too comfortable, and now it was too damn late.
”Did you think you were a normal man?” Moreau’s voice in his head, hours after their meeting, whispering to the darkness inside him. ”Did you think that you could walk around in the daylight and no one would see that stain on your soul?” Elegant, practiced fingers slid along his jawline, threading into his hair.
”You’re an animal, Eliot. Majestic and deadly and mine.” Short, hard tug, awareness of a leash that wouldn’t ever be slipped.
His hands were shaking as he sorted through the photos Moreau had left behind. Surveillance photos - kill shots every one of them, and no awareness from his teammates that they were being followed. ”You know the drill,” Moreau had said when Eliot had first flipped through the stack. ”No warnings, or I will order each one dead in turn.” His fingertips had lingered on a close up of Parker. ”Except this one. She looks like she could be fun.”
Eliot managed to swallow the threat he was ready to spit in defense of Parker, but he couldn’t stop his body betraying him. It was a small tensing of his shoulders, an involuntary clenching of his fists, but Eliot knew Moreau had seen and catalogued it all.
”What do you want, Damien?”
”Nothing that isn't already mine to do with as I wish.”
Eliot had been left with orders to present himself in Moreau's hotel room at midnight. ”I'm having one of my small get togethers. Very exclusive.” The words he'd chosen were neutral, but Eliot understood the subtext all too well. He'd been to more than a few of these types of parties when he'd worked with Moreau.
You can do this, he reminded himself, picking up a picture of Nate. He would do worse to protect his family.
****************
It was a small gathering, even by Moreau's standards. Twenty or so people, ranged around the million dollar suite, laughing and talking. Some were eating and drinking, and a couple were pressed into different corners of the room, kissing and groping each other in twos and threes. Damien was standing at the fireplace, an expensive robe thrown over loose-fitting silk pants. A beautiful woman was draped over his arm, trying to draw his attention away from the heavily armed man he was talking to.
Eliot stopped a few feet away from Moreau, standing at ease and waiting for the man to acknowledge him.
He was in no hurry.
Neither was Moreau, it seemed. The man finished his conversation with his guard, then turned to the woman - kissing her thoroughly while he took his time unbuttoning her blouse with his free hand. She wasn't wearing a bra underneath the thin silk material.
“Do you like her?”
It took Eliot a moment to realize that Moreau had addressed him directly. “She's beautiful,” he said, keeping his voice low and neutral even though his mind was already racing ahead trying to determine the reason for the question. There had been a reason - there was no doubt in his mind about that.
Moreau turned the girl in his arms until she was looking at Eliot. “How about you, sweetheart? Do you like him?” He pressed a kiss to her hair.
Alcohol, Eliot thought, studying her expression, or drugs. Either way she wouldn't have been his first or even his fiftieth choice of a sex partner.
“He's not as pretty as you,” the girl purred, leaning harder into Moreau. “But I like him.”
Now Moreau did look at him, meeting Eliot's eyes. “Would you like to see him suck my cock?”
********************
The messages started coming three days after the party. Each one was a job uniquely suited to Eliot's abilities - some retrieval, others straight up assasinations. Whoever sent the text seemed to know an uncomfortable amount of information about the team's regular activities. None of the jobs conflicted with any of the work he did for the team, which lent credence to Moreau's assertion that he could take any of the others at will.
The stress of keeping something like this from the team - and Nate in particular - wore on him at first, but as he sank deeper into Moreau's thrall the conflicted emotions gradually began to fade. Following orders got easier once he stopped thinking about who was giving them and why.
“You need me,” Moreau murmured as they lay together in his bed one night. He combed his fingers through Eliot's tangled hair. “I'm the only one who knows how to control you - to keep you in check.”
Eliot didn't respond, and didn't resist as Moreau kissed him. He was already half-hard when Moreau reached down to grip the shaft of his cock and stroke him; his body's response was automatic at this point. He'd given Damien Moreau the keys to his soul decades earlier - there was no point struggling against something he'd willingly allowed the other man to do to him.
The next contact he had was a week later from Moreau himself - a phone call, an address at the docks. “I want to make a show of force,” he said. “You will stand at my side and show my enemies the folly of standing against me.”
It never occurred to Eliot to question his instructions. He dressed all in black, the way Moreau liked him, and headed out in plenty of time to make the rendezvous - pausing only to glance one final time at the stack of photos still lying on his table.
He tried to convince himself as he locked the apartment door that there hadn't been an accusation in Nate's eyes.
*************************
The scene was painfully familiar. Moreau in a high-priced folding chair, placed there by one of his people. Twenty of his best men in a circle around two kneeling, hooded figures. The best shots in the organization after Eliot were positioned behind the prisoners, a pistol pressed to each skull.
Eliot was behind Moreau and to the right as ordered; arms crossed over his chest, trying to ignore the feel of a shoulder holster across his back and the weight of the Sig Sauer under his arm. “This isn't about what you would prefer,” Moreau had said when Eliot had protested carrying the weapon. “I want you to carry it - that's all you need to know.”
He'd slapped Eliot then, one sharp crack across the face. Eliot had rolled with the blow, but the urge to hit back was only fleeting. I'm the only one who knows how to control you. It was getting easier and easier to give in and accept what he was being told.
“You all know what we do to people who come against me,” Moreau said - speaking to his men now. “Some of them prove themselves honorable. Those we grant a quick death.” He mimed putting a gun to his head. “One quick shot and it's all over.”
“Others,” he continued, getting up and beginning to pace, “need to be taught their place before they die. They need to understand the folly of coming against me.”
Beatings...rape...torture... Moreau's prefered methods of educating his enemies were nothing if not consistent, and Eliot had seen them all in action. He had a moment to wonder which of them the two poor bastards in the center of the circle were in for, when Moreau signalled the guards and the hoods were pulled off.
Nate and Parker.
Eliot cringed, but before he could see their reactions to his presence among Moreau's people, Moreau himself turned to face Eliot - drawing his attention. “The choice will be yours, Eliot. One of these two will have a quick death. The other will be taught their proper place.” Moreau smiled. “No one will dare question your loyalty to me after this.”
He stepped aside, gesturing Eliot forward.
No matter how horrible, Eliot had made it a point of pride never to run from anything he'd done. Now, faced with twin looks of betrayal from two of the most important people in his life, Eliot wanted nothing more than to turn and run.
“Choose,” Moreau said; Eliot flinched at the sound of his voice. “Shoot one - the other will be given to your comrades in arms.”
A muscle twitched in Nate's cheek. His expression had shifted; Eliot imagined his leader was trying to silently urge him to spare Parker. The thief didn't appear to understand everything that was going on - there was nothing but horrified betrayal in her eyes as she watched Eliot.
Looking down, he drew his weapon and chambered a round. Choose. Raising the gun, he aimed in Parker's direction.
Three shots fired, less than a second apart. Parker's guard dropped first, followed by Nate's. Before any of Moreau's men could react, mastermind and thief were running for cover.
Eliot had already pivoted to put his final shot right between Moreau's eyes.
Author: telaryn
Giftee: ruquas
Rating: Extremely hard R, edging into NC-17 territory
Characters/Pairing: Eliot/Moreau, Nate, Parker
Word Count: 1522
Spoilers: Set during S3 but no spoilers
Warnings: Language, m/m, emotional abuse of a team member (Eliot).
Disclaimer: No money made, no ownership implied.
Summary: Even though he knows it's wrong, Eliot gave Damien Moreau the keys to his soul years ago and he doesn't know how to take them back.
Notes: For ruquas with thanks for your participation in this year's Leverage Exchange.
He was trapped. He’d waited too long, gotten too comfortable, and now it was too damn late.
”Did you think you were a normal man?” Moreau’s voice in his head, hours after their meeting, whispering to the darkness inside him. ”Did you think that you could walk around in the daylight and no one would see that stain on your soul?” Elegant, practiced fingers slid along his jawline, threading into his hair.
”You’re an animal, Eliot. Majestic and deadly and mine.” Short, hard tug, awareness of a leash that wouldn’t ever be slipped.
His hands were shaking as he sorted through the photos Moreau had left behind. Surveillance photos - kill shots every one of them, and no awareness from his teammates that they were being followed. ”You know the drill,” Moreau had said when Eliot had first flipped through the stack. ”No warnings, or I will order each one dead in turn.” His fingertips had lingered on a close up of Parker. ”Except this one. She looks like she could be fun.”
Eliot managed to swallow the threat he was ready to spit in defense of Parker, but he couldn’t stop his body betraying him. It was a small tensing of his shoulders, an involuntary clenching of his fists, but Eliot knew Moreau had seen and catalogued it all.
”What do you want, Damien?”
”Nothing that isn't already mine to do with as I wish.”
Eliot had been left with orders to present himself in Moreau's hotel room at midnight. ”I'm having one of my small get togethers. Very exclusive.” The words he'd chosen were neutral, but Eliot understood the subtext all too well. He'd been to more than a few of these types of parties when he'd worked with Moreau.
You can do this, he reminded himself, picking up a picture of Nate. He would do worse to protect his family.
****************
It was a small gathering, even by Moreau's standards. Twenty or so people, ranged around the million dollar suite, laughing and talking. Some were eating and drinking, and a couple were pressed into different corners of the room, kissing and groping each other in twos and threes. Damien was standing at the fireplace, an expensive robe thrown over loose-fitting silk pants. A beautiful woman was draped over his arm, trying to draw his attention away from the heavily armed man he was talking to.
Eliot stopped a few feet away from Moreau, standing at ease and waiting for the man to acknowledge him.
He was in no hurry.
Neither was Moreau, it seemed. The man finished his conversation with his guard, then turned to the woman - kissing her thoroughly while he took his time unbuttoning her blouse with his free hand. She wasn't wearing a bra underneath the thin silk material.
“Do you like her?”
It took Eliot a moment to realize that Moreau had addressed him directly. “She's beautiful,” he said, keeping his voice low and neutral even though his mind was already racing ahead trying to determine the reason for the question. There had been a reason - there was no doubt in his mind about that.
Moreau turned the girl in his arms until she was looking at Eliot. “How about you, sweetheart? Do you like him?” He pressed a kiss to her hair.
Alcohol, Eliot thought, studying her expression, or drugs. Either way she wouldn't have been his first or even his fiftieth choice of a sex partner.
“He's not as pretty as you,” the girl purred, leaning harder into Moreau. “But I like him.”
Now Moreau did look at him, meeting Eliot's eyes. “Would you like to see him suck my cock?”
********************
The messages started coming three days after the party. Each one was a job uniquely suited to Eliot's abilities - some retrieval, others straight up assasinations. Whoever sent the text seemed to know an uncomfortable amount of information about the team's regular activities. None of the jobs conflicted with any of the work he did for the team, which lent credence to Moreau's assertion that he could take any of the others at will.
The stress of keeping something like this from the team - and Nate in particular - wore on him at first, but as he sank deeper into Moreau's thrall the conflicted emotions gradually began to fade. Following orders got easier once he stopped thinking about who was giving them and why.
“You need me,” Moreau murmured as they lay together in his bed one night. He combed his fingers through Eliot's tangled hair. “I'm the only one who knows how to control you - to keep you in check.”
Eliot didn't respond, and didn't resist as Moreau kissed him. He was already half-hard when Moreau reached down to grip the shaft of his cock and stroke him; his body's response was automatic at this point. He'd given Damien Moreau the keys to his soul decades earlier - there was no point struggling against something he'd willingly allowed the other man to do to him.
The next contact he had was a week later from Moreau himself - a phone call, an address at the docks. “I want to make a show of force,” he said. “You will stand at my side and show my enemies the folly of standing against me.”
It never occurred to Eliot to question his instructions. He dressed all in black, the way Moreau liked him, and headed out in plenty of time to make the rendezvous - pausing only to glance one final time at the stack of photos still lying on his table.
He tried to convince himself as he locked the apartment door that there hadn't been an accusation in Nate's eyes.
*************************
The scene was painfully familiar. Moreau in a high-priced folding chair, placed there by one of his people. Twenty of his best men in a circle around two kneeling, hooded figures. The best shots in the organization after Eliot were positioned behind the prisoners, a pistol pressed to each skull.
Eliot was behind Moreau and to the right as ordered; arms crossed over his chest, trying to ignore the feel of a shoulder holster across his back and the weight of the Sig Sauer under his arm. “This isn't about what you would prefer,” Moreau had said when Eliot had protested carrying the weapon. “I want you to carry it - that's all you need to know.”
He'd slapped Eliot then, one sharp crack across the face. Eliot had rolled with the blow, but the urge to hit back was only fleeting. I'm the only one who knows how to control you. It was getting easier and easier to give in and accept what he was being told.
“You all know what we do to people who come against me,” Moreau said - speaking to his men now. “Some of them prove themselves honorable. Those we grant a quick death.” He mimed putting a gun to his head. “One quick shot and it's all over.”
“Others,” he continued, getting up and beginning to pace, “need to be taught their place before they die. They need to understand the folly of coming against me.”
Beatings...rape...torture... Moreau's prefered methods of educating his enemies were nothing if not consistent, and Eliot had seen them all in action. He had a moment to wonder which of them the two poor bastards in the center of the circle were in for, when Moreau signalled the guards and the hoods were pulled off.
Nate and Parker.
Eliot cringed, but before he could see their reactions to his presence among Moreau's people, Moreau himself turned to face Eliot - drawing his attention. “The choice will be yours, Eliot. One of these two will have a quick death. The other will be taught their proper place.” Moreau smiled. “No one will dare question your loyalty to me after this.”
He stepped aside, gesturing Eliot forward.
No matter how horrible, Eliot had made it a point of pride never to run from anything he'd done. Now, faced with twin looks of betrayal from two of the most important people in his life, Eliot wanted nothing more than to turn and run.
“Choose,” Moreau said; Eliot flinched at the sound of his voice. “Shoot one - the other will be given to your comrades in arms.”
A muscle twitched in Nate's cheek. His expression had shifted; Eliot imagined his leader was trying to silently urge him to spare Parker. The thief didn't appear to understand everything that was going on - there was nothing but horrified betrayal in her eyes as she watched Eliot.
Looking down, he drew his weapon and chambered a round. Choose. Raising the gun, he aimed in Parker's direction.
Three shots fired, less than a second apart. Parker's guard dropped first, followed by Nate's. Before any of Moreau's men could react, mastermind and thief were running for cover.
Eliot had already pivoted to put his final shot right between Moreau's eyes.