[Fanfic] - Leverage - The Art of Taking Dangerous People to Bed (1/1)
Fandom: Leverage
Character(s): Eliot/Quinn
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 2,850
Summary: Eliot has one ground rule: no weapons in the bedroom. Quinn’s not completely sold on this, but he’s willing to be convinced.
Written for comment_fic for the prompt: Leverage, Eliot/Quinn, ground rules
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The door closed with a muffled click, and before Eliot could hit the lights he was forcibly pinned against the wall of his own hallway. He was already thinking of the knife hidden inside the small side table nearby when a warm mouth descended on his neck, licking a path all the way to the corner of his jaw.
“You invite me home and you’re already thinking of pulling a weapon on me? Not very nice, Eliot.”
The amused tone of Quinn’s voice sounded right in his ear. Eliot could feel the vibration in his chest where their bodies pressed up against each other.
Right. Not that kind of fight, Eliot reminded himself. Carefully, he tucked away the instinct to attack, letting himself relax into the hold. After a beat, he unballed his fists to grab at the hips pressing up against him, grinding them against his own and swallowing a grunt as the drag of friction hit exactly where he needed it most.
Running into Quinn hadn’t been the plan when he’d set out on a rare ingredient run for the Brewpub earlier that morning. Neither had getting dragged into the clusterfuck that Quinn called a job. But as Quinn’s hands slid down his shoulders and over his chest, Eliot couldn’t say he minded the turn of events.
“Yeah, well, maybe you should be a more considerate houseguest,” he finally replied.
“Oh, I’m very considerate.” A heavy breath ghosted along the side of his neck. Quinn’s mouth followed, eagerly nipping at the exposed skin of Eliot’s collarbone.
Patience snapping, Eliot hauled him up by his hair and brought their mouths together. He’d been wanting to do that all damn day and fuck if it wasn’t just as good as he’d imagined. Better, even. Quinn’s mouth opened against his, eager and hungry as Eliot adjusted his grip to cup the back of his neck and drag him closer.
They came up for air at the same moment, breathing heavily against each other as they stumbled deeper into the darkened house. Light from the street poured in around the edges of the blinds, briefly giving Quinn’s skin and hair a golden glow.
Eliot brought them to a halt at the center of the living room with a hand on Quinn’s chest. “Ground rules. No weapons in the bedroom.”
In response, Quinn glanced down at Eliot’s crotch and raised an eyebrow.
Eliot couldn’t help the laugh the bubbled up in his chest. “Real cute, Quinn, but I’m serious. No weapons or no deal.”
A muscle tightened at the corner of Quinn’s jaw. It was the only warning Eliot got before his legs were swept out from under him. A hand on his chest sent him sprawling onto his back to land on the couch behind them.
In an instant Quinn was on top of him, straddling his hips in a way that was more distracting than threatening. Strong hands burrowed under the hem of his henley, rucking the shirt up as they raked over his stomach and chest. Eliot arched his back in response, straining to push himself further into the touch.
Quinn leaned over him until their lips were almost touching. Tendrils of his hair brushed against Eliot’s face where they’d escaped from their habitual ponytail. “If I wanted to shoot you I’d have done it already.”
An amused huff escaped Eliot’s lips. “You’d have tried. Your track record of taking me down ain’t that hot.”
Quinn raised an eyebrow, looking between them as if to say, What the hell do you call this? While he was distracted Eliot took the opportunity to yank at his tie and pull him down for another kiss. “It doesn’t count when I’m not fighting back.”
“I hope your other attributes are as big as your ego.” Quinn teased. Then he paused, letting the silence draw out until the easy banter gave way to something more serious. Mouth pressed into a tight line, Quinn nodded before speaking again. “Fine, no weapons. But I have a rule, too.”
“Alright, fair’s fair,” Eliot said, waiting for him to continue.
He knew better than to push. Asking a man like Quinn to drop his weapons was no small matter. True, they were on good terms at the moment-very good terms, if the hardness poking into his hip was any indication-and Eliot hadn’t hesitated in lending his aid when they’d unexpectedly crossed paths earlier that day. But there was a whole world of difference between trust on the job, armed with your wits and your weapons, and the kind that involved sweat and skin and being as physically vulnerable as you could be with another person.
Quinn fixed him with a cold stare. “You turn on me out there,” he gestured with his chin towards the covered window and the world outside “that’s fine. Business is business. I get that. But you turn against me in here and I’ll show you exactly how I earned my reputation.”
“I don’t turn on people I like, Quinn. In here or out there.”
Quinn straightened until he was once again sitting astride Eliot’s hips. A small smile played at the edges of his lips. “You saying you like me? I’m touched.”
Eliot ground his hips up into Quinn’s ass, enjoying the flare of heat the movement caused. A return to Quinn’s usual bitchy sarcasm was a good sign. “Couldn’t you tell already? Now can we get on with this or you wanna keep talking about feelings all night?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” With that, Quinn rolled off the couch to his feet, and reached for the concealed holster under his jacket.
Eliot was up just as quickly, stopping him with a hand curled round his wrist. Not hard enough to restrain. Just enough to catch his attention.
Quinn’s eyes snapped briefly down to their joined hands before flicking back to Eliot, questioning.
“Wait,” Eliot said. “Let me.”
A teasing grin lit up the corners of Quinn’s eyes. “I suppose it’s only fair to make you do all the work. Especially considering who did all the heavy lifting to save our asses earlier.”
Eliot popped open the two buttons of Quinn’s suit jacket and slipped both his hands inside. “Excuse me? Did you forget the part where I disarmed the bomb? And took care of all the guards.”
“You must have taken a harder hit to the head than I thought.” Quinn bit his lips as Eliot raked fingernails lightly up his sides. Swallowing hard, he pressed on. “Because I clearly remember it was me who found the bomb in the first place. And took out the sniper.”
“Whatever, man.” His left hand found the telltale bulge of a shoulder holster under Quinn’s arm that he was looking for. A flick of his thumb released the safety catch and then the gun was in his hand.
Disarming the weapon was as natural as breathing and in an instant both gun and magazine were set aside on the nearby coffee table. He didn’t miss the way Quinn’s eyes darkened as he watched Eliot work.
“What else you carrying?” Eliot asked.
With a careless shrug, Quinn slipped out of his jacket and crossed the room to drop it onto one of the leather side chairs. The empty shoulder holster followed. Another gun was visible at the small of his back and Quinn unclipped it from his belt with quick, precise motions.
He moved with the same easy grace he did when he fought and Eliot was tempted to say to hell with it and drag him to bed right then and there. But the last time he’d thrown that particular rule to the wind he ended the night with a nasty surprise, and so he held himself in check. Rules were rules for a reason. And even if they weren’t, there was another, more personal reason Eliot didn’t like weapons in his bed. Violence was a necessary tool of the job and he picked up weapons to use as needed. But when he was sharing himself like this, he didn’t think it was too much to ask to want some space from the job. To be able to be his own person, even if it was just for a couple hours.
And on the plus side, he couldn’t say he wasn’t enjoying the show.
Making his way back, Quinn deposited the holstered firearm on the coffee table with its mate, his gaze never straying from Eliot’s. “If you want the rest, you’ll have to work for it,” he said.
Eliot knew an invitation when he heard one. He stepped closer, deliberately invading Quinn’s personal space. “I can live with that.”
He rested both hands on Quinn’s hips, let them sit there for a moment before sliding them around to his lower back and up along either side of his spine. Not finding anything, he repeated the move in the front, sliding eager hands over Quinn’s ribs and the hard planes of his chest. Felt the muscle shifting under his hands beneath the thin fabric of his dress shirt. “Better take off that fancy shirt of yours.”
“Since you asked so nicely.” Quinn flashed him a wink before deftly unknotting his tie, setting it aside along with the tiny cufflinks at each of his wrists. His shirt followed, and then he stood there, stripped to the waist save for the knife strapped to his left forearm and the coil of thin black wire disguised as a bracelet wrapped around his opposite wrist.
Obligingly, he offered both arms out to Eliot.
The garrote was first, and Eliot made sure to brush his thumb against the inside of Quinn’s wrist with every turn as he unwound the deadly weapon. He knew full well that Quinn didn’t have to let him do this. Could walk out that door and not look back. Instead, he was trusting Eliot enough to let his guard down, to let Eliot strip the weapons from him that he depended on to keep him alive.
He could feel the heartbeat jump erratically under his hands, and felt an answering thrum building low in his stomach, taut like a cable about to snap. Quinn was a dangerous man, with or without the arsenal, and seeing him with like this, arms outstretched like some of kind of goddamned offering, was doing things to his self-control. It took every ounce of training and self-control to get a grip on himself and keep going.
The coil of wire was placed on the coffee table and the knife soon followed. Once it was done, Quinn lowered his arms to rest on his hips, bringing Eliot’s attention down to the light dusting of fine blond hair that started below his navel and disappeared into the waistband of his slacks.
“Satisfied?” Quinn asked.
“Not even close.”
In the dimness, it was almost easy to miss the way Quinn’s face flushed just slightly or the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips.
Eliot dragged a finger down the middle of Quinn’s chest. “Like this, do you? Didn’t take you for the kind of guy who’d enjoy being disarmed.”
“Maybe I just like seeing you handle my weapons.”
“Handle your weapons, huh?” It’d be a crime to let an opening like that go to waste, and really Quinn deserved some kind of reward for being so obliging. With a grin, Eliot dropped to his knees. “Thought you’d never ask.”
A humming sound of approval came from above followed by a pair of hands in his hair, encouraging him forward. Eliot gladly went with it, leaning in to nose against the growing bulge there. It twitched under the light teasing and Eliot smiled against the thin fabric. The hands in his hair tightened and he let out a low growl of approval.
Immediately they loosened, and Eliot growled again, this time in frustration. Somehow or other, Quinn was actually able to tell the difference. Eliot didn’t much care how, just that his fingers were once against buried tight in Eliot’s hair. They tugged harder, forcing his head up.
Quinn’s smirking face greeted him. “Like that, do you?”
“Yeah, real funny guy you are. Why’d I take you home again?”
“Clearly it was my irresistible charm.”
“Irresistible pain in my ass, you mean.”
“Oh, that can be arranged.” Before Eliot could form a response, Quinn continued. “We were in the middle of something fairly important, if I recall.”
Eliot let the corner of his mouth turn up. “Yeah, you got a point there.” It turned into a full blown shit eating grin. “I was searching you for weapons. The real kind.”
Quinn groaned and tipped his head back. A beam of dusty light caught the column of his throat. “Your timing could use some improvement. But fine, your house your rules. ”
Reluctantly, Eliot pulled away. There’d be plenty of time for that kind of fun later. Slowly, he ran his hands up and down each of Quinn’s legs, one then the other. And found a knife and gun strapped to his ankle and thigh, judging by the size and feel. Only one way to find out for sure.
He brought his attention back upwards. Unfastened Quinn’s belt and slowly pulled the zipper down.
A hand fisted in Eliot’s hair, unexpectedly hauling him to his feet and bringing them together in a heated kiss. Scalp stringing, he responded harder than he might otherwise have, fisting a hand in the flyaway strands at the nape of Quinn’s neck and holding him still while he opened his mouth into the kiss. His other hand settled on the warmth of Quinn’s waist, fingers digging into skin hard enough to bruise.
Quinn moaned into the kiss, pushing past Eliot’s tongue to lick into his mouth like he was trying to devour Eliot whole. If that was how he wanted to play it, Eliot sure as hell wasn’t going to complain. They stayed like that, hands and mouths scrabbling for purchase against each other until they were both dizzy and breathless with it.
When they finally broke apart and took a moment to catch their breath, Quinn rolled his shoulders and stepped out of the slacks, kicking them away along with his shoes and socks. It left him in only a pair of snug boxer briefs, the dark fabric stark against his pale skin through the yellowed light of the streets outside.
Eliot took care to admire the view. Quinn favored loose fitting suits he could fight in, which was a damn shame because Eliot could see with new appreciation exactly what they were hiding. His eyes lingered on the broad, tight slope of Quinn’s shoulders and the long, muscular lines of his stomach and thighs. Eliot swallowed, throat suddenly going dry.
Crouching back down, he brushed fingers down the newly bared skin. The knife strapped high on the outside of Quinn’s thigh was a simple thing, too short and flat to be much good in a prolonged fight. Eliot raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t seem much use to this thing unless you’re planning to switch to a skirt suit.”
“I happen to look delightful in a skirt.” Despite the glib words, he guided Eliot’s hand to the handle of the knife. “Hole in my pants pocket. Easy access without the skirt. Saved my life more than a few times.”
Eliot gave the weapon the respect it was due, carefully unfastening the straps holding the sheath in place and placing a kiss to the hard muscle underneath. The rig joined the impressive pile on the coffee table.
The gun holster at Quinn’s ankle was the next to go.
Quinn glanced down at the collection before turning back to Eliot with a smirk. Without a word, he hooked his fingers under the waistband of his underwear and pulled it down in one slow motion.
He was completely naked now-clothes and weapons both gone - and if he was uncomfortable at being the only one undressed, he didn’t show any sign of it. “So, you going to strip search me every time I come to your place? Doesn’t seem very hospitable.” His tongue darted out to lick his lips.
He had a habit of doing that, Eliot realized. The thought fled as soon as it came, lost to building heat in his stomach as Quinn stepped forward, all loose limbed grace. He curved two fingers into the waistband of Eliot’s jeans and pulled them flush together.
Eliot guided one of Quinn’s hands to rest of the top button of his fly. “How ‘bout I let you return the favor. Fair’s fair and all.”
Quinn grabbed the hem of Eliot’s shirt and tugged it up over his head. “I can live with that.”
Eliot lifted his arms without prompting, watching as the shirt was tossed it to the other side of the room with a flourish. “Just don’t be disappointed when you see I’m not packing anything.”
A bare thigh pressed hard between his legs, followed by Quinn’s voice low in his ear answering, “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” as they stumbled together towards the bedroom.
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End note: I feel like I should apologize for all the dick jokes, but I'm not actually sorry...
Character(s): Eliot/Quinn
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 2,850
Summary: Eliot has one ground rule: no weapons in the bedroom. Quinn’s not completely sold on this, but he’s willing to be convinced.
Written for comment_fic for the prompt: Leverage, Eliot/Quinn, ground rules
---
The door closed with a muffled click, and before Eliot could hit the lights he was forcibly pinned against the wall of his own hallway. He was already thinking of the knife hidden inside the small side table nearby when a warm mouth descended on his neck, licking a path all the way to the corner of his jaw.
“You invite me home and you’re already thinking of pulling a weapon on me? Not very nice, Eliot.”
The amused tone of Quinn’s voice sounded right in his ear. Eliot could feel the vibration in his chest where their bodies pressed up against each other.
Right. Not that kind of fight, Eliot reminded himself. Carefully, he tucked away the instinct to attack, letting himself relax into the hold. After a beat, he unballed his fists to grab at the hips pressing up against him, grinding them against his own and swallowing a grunt as the drag of friction hit exactly where he needed it most.
Running into Quinn hadn’t been the plan when he’d set out on a rare ingredient run for the Brewpub earlier that morning. Neither had getting dragged into the clusterfuck that Quinn called a job. But as Quinn’s hands slid down his shoulders and over his chest, Eliot couldn’t say he minded the turn of events.
“Yeah, well, maybe you should be a more considerate houseguest,” he finally replied.
“Oh, I’m very considerate.” A heavy breath ghosted along the side of his neck. Quinn’s mouth followed, eagerly nipping at the exposed skin of Eliot’s collarbone.
Patience snapping, Eliot hauled him up by his hair and brought their mouths together. He’d been wanting to do that all damn day and fuck if it wasn’t just as good as he’d imagined. Better, even. Quinn’s mouth opened against his, eager and hungry as Eliot adjusted his grip to cup the back of his neck and drag him closer.
They came up for air at the same moment, breathing heavily against each other as they stumbled deeper into the darkened house. Light from the street poured in around the edges of the blinds, briefly giving Quinn’s skin and hair a golden glow.
Eliot brought them to a halt at the center of the living room with a hand on Quinn’s chest. “Ground rules. No weapons in the bedroom.”
In response, Quinn glanced down at Eliot’s crotch and raised an eyebrow.
Eliot couldn’t help the laugh the bubbled up in his chest. “Real cute, Quinn, but I’m serious. No weapons or no deal.”
A muscle tightened at the corner of Quinn’s jaw. It was the only warning Eliot got before his legs were swept out from under him. A hand on his chest sent him sprawling onto his back to land on the couch behind them.
In an instant Quinn was on top of him, straddling his hips in a way that was more distracting than threatening. Strong hands burrowed under the hem of his henley, rucking the shirt up as they raked over his stomach and chest. Eliot arched his back in response, straining to push himself further into the touch.
Quinn leaned over him until their lips were almost touching. Tendrils of his hair brushed against Eliot’s face where they’d escaped from their habitual ponytail. “If I wanted to shoot you I’d have done it already.”
An amused huff escaped Eliot’s lips. “You’d have tried. Your track record of taking me down ain’t that hot.”
Quinn raised an eyebrow, looking between them as if to say, What the hell do you call this? While he was distracted Eliot took the opportunity to yank at his tie and pull him down for another kiss. “It doesn’t count when I’m not fighting back.”
“I hope your other attributes are as big as your ego.” Quinn teased. Then he paused, letting the silence draw out until the easy banter gave way to something more serious. Mouth pressed into a tight line, Quinn nodded before speaking again. “Fine, no weapons. But I have a rule, too.”
“Alright, fair’s fair,” Eliot said, waiting for him to continue.
He knew better than to push. Asking a man like Quinn to drop his weapons was no small matter. True, they were on good terms at the moment-very good terms, if the hardness poking into his hip was any indication-and Eliot hadn’t hesitated in lending his aid when they’d unexpectedly crossed paths earlier that day. But there was a whole world of difference between trust on the job, armed with your wits and your weapons, and the kind that involved sweat and skin and being as physically vulnerable as you could be with another person.
Quinn fixed him with a cold stare. “You turn on me out there,” he gestured with his chin towards the covered window and the world outside “that’s fine. Business is business. I get that. But you turn against me in here and I’ll show you exactly how I earned my reputation.”
“I don’t turn on people I like, Quinn. In here or out there.”
Quinn straightened until he was once again sitting astride Eliot’s hips. A small smile played at the edges of his lips. “You saying you like me? I’m touched.”
Eliot ground his hips up into Quinn’s ass, enjoying the flare of heat the movement caused. A return to Quinn’s usual bitchy sarcasm was a good sign. “Couldn’t you tell already? Now can we get on with this or you wanna keep talking about feelings all night?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” With that, Quinn rolled off the couch to his feet, and reached for the concealed holster under his jacket.
Eliot was up just as quickly, stopping him with a hand curled round his wrist. Not hard enough to restrain. Just enough to catch his attention.
Quinn’s eyes snapped briefly down to their joined hands before flicking back to Eliot, questioning.
“Wait,” Eliot said. “Let me.”
A teasing grin lit up the corners of Quinn’s eyes. “I suppose it’s only fair to make you do all the work. Especially considering who did all the heavy lifting to save our asses earlier.”
Eliot popped open the two buttons of Quinn’s suit jacket and slipped both his hands inside. “Excuse me? Did you forget the part where I disarmed the bomb? And took care of all the guards.”
“You must have taken a harder hit to the head than I thought.” Quinn bit his lips as Eliot raked fingernails lightly up his sides. Swallowing hard, he pressed on. “Because I clearly remember it was me who found the bomb in the first place. And took out the sniper.”
“Whatever, man.” His left hand found the telltale bulge of a shoulder holster under Quinn’s arm that he was looking for. A flick of his thumb released the safety catch and then the gun was in his hand.
Disarming the weapon was as natural as breathing and in an instant both gun and magazine were set aside on the nearby coffee table. He didn’t miss the way Quinn’s eyes darkened as he watched Eliot work.
“What else you carrying?” Eliot asked.
With a careless shrug, Quinn slipped out of his jacket and crossed the room to drop it onto one of the leather side chairs. The empty shoulder holster followed. Another gun was visible at the small of his back and Quinn unclipped it from his belt with quick, precise motions.
He moved with the same easy grace he did when he fought and Eliot was tempted to say to hell with it and drag him to bed right then and there. But the last time he’d thrown that particular rule to the wind he ended the night with a nasty surprise, and so he held himself in check. Rules were rules for a reason. And even if they weren’t, there was another, more personal reason Eliot didn’t like weapons in his bed. Violence was a necessary tool of the job and he picked up weapons to use as needed. But when he was sharing himself like this, he didn’t think it was too much to ask to want some space from the job. To be able to be his own person, even if it was just for a couple hours.
And on the plus side, he couldn’t say he wasn’t enjoying the show.
Making his way back, Quinn deposited the holstered firearm on the coffee table with its mate, his gaze never straying from Eliot’s. “If you want the rest, you’ll have to work for it,” he said.
Eliot knew an invitation when he heard one. He stepped closer, deliberately invading Quinn’s personal space. “I can live with that.”
He rested both hands on Quinn’s hips, let them sit there for a moment before sliding them around to his lower back and up along either side of his spine. Not finding anything, he repeated the move in the front, sliding eager hands over Quinn’s ribs and the hard planes of his chest. Felt the muscle shifting under his hands beneath the thin fabric of his dress shirt. “Better take off that fancy shirt of yours.”
“Since you asked so nicely.” Quinn flashed him a wink before deftly unknotting his tie, setting it aside along with the tiny cufflinks at each of his wrists. His shirt followed, and then he stood there, stripped to the waist save for the knife strapped to his left forearm and the coil of thin black wire disguised as a bracelet wrapped around his opposite wrist.
Obligingly, he offered both arms out to Eliot.
The garrote was first, and Eliot made sure to brush his thumb against the inside of Quinn’s wrist with every turn as he unwound the deadly weapon. He knew full well that Quinn didn’t have to let him do this. Could walk out that door and not look back. Instead, he was trusting Eliot enough to let his guard down, to let Eliot strip the weapons from him that he depended on to keep him alive.
He could feel the heartbeat jump erratically under his hands, and felt an answering thrum building low in his stomach, taut like a cable about to snap. Quinn was a dangerous man, with or without the arsenal, and seeing him with like this, arms outstretched like some of kind of goddamned offering, was doing things to his self-control. It took every ounce of training and self-control to get a grip on himself and keep going.
The coil of wire was placed on the coffee table and the knife soon followed. Once it was done, Quinn lowered his arms to rest on his hips, bringing Eliot’s attention down to the light dusting of fine blond hair that started below his navel and disappeared into the waistband of his slacks.
“Satisfied?” Quinn asked.
“Not even close.”
In the dimness, it was almost easy to miss the way Quinn’s face flushed just slightly or the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips.
Eliot dragged a finger down the middle of Quinn’s chest. “Like this, do you? Didn’t take you for the kind of guy who’d enjoy being disarmed.”
“Maybe I just like seeing you handle my weapons.”
“Handle your weapons, huh?” It’d be a crime to let an opening like that go to waste, and really Quinn deserved some kind of reward for being so obliging. With a grin, Eliot dropped to his knees. “Thought you’d never ask.”
A humming sound of approval came from above followed by a pair of hands in his hair, encouraging him forward. Eliot gladly went with it, leaning in to nose against the growing bulge there. It twitched under the light teasing and Eliot smiled against the thin fabric. The hands in his hair tightened and he let out a low growl of approval.
Immediately they loosened, and Eliot growled again, this time in frustration. Somehow or other, Quinn was actually able to tell the difference. Eliot didn’t much care how, just that his fingers were once against buried tight in Eliot’s hair. They tugged harder, forcing his head up.
Quinn’s smirking face greeted him. “Like that, do you?”
“Yeah, real funny guy you are. Why’d I take you home again?”
“Clearly it was my irresistible charm.”
“Irresistible pain in my ass, you mean.”
“Oh, that can be arranged.” Before Eliot could form a response, Quinn continued. “We were in the middle of something fairly important, if I recall.”
Eliot let the corner of his mouth turn up. “Yeah, you got a point there.” It turned into a full blown shit eating grin. “I was searching you for weapons. The real kind.”
Quinn groaned and tipped his head back. A beam of dusty light caught the column of his throat. “Your timing could use some improvement. But fine, your house your rules. ”
Reluctantly, Eliot pulled away. There’d be plenty of time for that kind of fun later. Slowly, he ran his hands up and down each of Quinn’s legs, one then the other. And found a knife and gun strapped to his ankle and thigh, judging by the size and feel. Only one way to find out for sure.
He brought his attention back upwards. Unfastened Quinn’s belt and slowly pulled the zipper down.
A hand fisted in Eliot’s hair, unexpectedly hauling him to his feet and bringing them together in a heated kiss. Scalp stringing, he responded harder than he might otherwise have, fisting a hand in the flyaway strands at the nape of Quinn’s neck and holding him still while he opened his mouth into the kiss. His other hand settled on the warmth of Quinn’s waist, fingers digging into skin hard enough to bruise.
Quinn moaned into the kiss, pushing past Eliot’s tongue to lick into his mouth like he was trying to devour Eliot whole. If that was how he wanted to play it, Eliot sure as hell wasn’t going to complain. They stayed like that, hands and mouths scrabbling for purchase against each other until they were both dizzy and breathless with it.
When they finally broke apart and took a moment to catch their breath, Quinn rolled his shoulders and stepped out of the slacks, kicking them away along with his shoes and socks. It left him in only a pair of snug boxer briefs, the dark fabric stark against his pale skin through the yellowed light of the streets outside.
Eliot took care to admire the view. Quinn favored loose fitting suits he could fight in, which was a damn shame because Eliot could see with new appreciation exactly what they were hiding. His eyes lingered on the broad, tight slope of Quinn’s shoulders and the long, muscular lines of his stomach and thighs. Eliot swallowed, throat suddenly going dry.
Crouching back down, he brushed fingers down the newly bared skin. The knife strapped high on the outside of Quinn’s thigh was a simple thing, too short and flat to be much good in a prolonged fight. Eliot raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t seem much use to this thing unless you’re planning to switch to a skirt suit.”
“I happen to look delightful in a skirt.” Despite the glib words, he guided Eliot’s hand to the handle of the knife. “Hole in my pants pocket. Easy access without the skirt. Saved my life more than a few times.”
Eliot gave the weapon the respect it was due, carefully unfastening the straps holding the sheath in place and placing a kiss to the hard muscle underneath. The rig joined the impressive pile on the coffee table.
The gun holster at Quinn’s ankle was the next to go.
Quinn glanced down at the collection before turning back to Eliot with a smirk. Without a word, he hooked his fingers under the waistband of his underwear and pulled it down in one slow motion.
He was completely naked now-clothes and weapons both gone - and if he was uncomfortable at being the only one undressed, he didn’t show any sign of it. “So, you going to strip search me every time I come to your place? Doesn’t seem very hospitable.” His tongue darted out to lick his lips.
He had a habit of doing that, Eliot realized. The thought fled as soon as it came, lost to building heat in his stomach as Quinn stepped forward, all loose limbed grace. He curved two fingers into the waistband of Eliot’s jeans and pulled them flush together.
Eliot guided one of Quinn’s hands to rest of the top button of his fly. “How ‘bout I let you return the favor. Fair’s fair and all.”
Quinn grabbed the hem of Eliot’s shirt and tugged it up over his head. “I can live with that.”
Eliot lifted his arms without prompting, watching as the shirt was tossed it to the other side of the room with a flourish. “Just don’t be disappointed when you see I’m not packing anything.”
A bare thigh pressed hard between his legs, followed by Quinn’s voice low in his ear answering, “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” as they stumbled together towards the bedroom.
---
End note: I feel like I should apologize for all the dick jokes, but I'm not actually sorry...