silverfoxflower (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
silverfoxflower) wrote2011-08-28 10:39 pm
silverfoxflower) wrote2011-08-28 10:39 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: The Roundabout Seduction Job (Eliot/Hardison, R)
Title: The Roundabout Seduction Job
Fandom: Leverage
Genre: Slash, Humor
Word Count: ~1400
Pairing: Eliot/Hardison
Rating: R
Warnings: Nongraphic referenses to mastrubation and sex
Notes: Fills the single line extra (Domestic/Tradesman, Penance/Punishment, Oral Fixation, Pictures, Crossdressing) on my![[info]](https://silverfoxflower.livejournal.com/img/community.gif?v=3)
kink_bingo.
Summary: “Eliot Spencer, you are one oblivious son of a bitch.” Hardison stared at the camera condescendingly. “Do you know how hard it is to seduce your ass?”
Disclaimer: No ownership was claimed in the making of this porn.
.01
Eliot hated being stuck in the van. First of all, it was tiny, barely enough room to stretch out an arm or twist in his chair without knocking into something full of wires and metal. Second, it was boring. He could only stand about twenty minutes of staring at grainy video or blips on a screen before the urge to punch things began to overwhelm him.
Third, Hardison.
The kid was a fucking annoyance. He bitched, he bragged, he wore weird shirts and kept action figures Eliot was not allowed to touch. He always smelled sticky sweet, like the orange soda he chugged by the gallon.
God knows why Eliot still wanted to fuck him.
Deep Texas, mid-summer. The mark was primed and the job was running smoothly, which somehow translated into Eliot getting Van Duty. Kid couldn’t stand the heat, set the AC so high it was like he couldn’t burn through the gas fast enough. Eliot was tracking beads of sweat down the back of Hardison’s neck and violently resisting the urge to lean over for a taste.
This always happened when he was in the van. The slow burn, starting at the bottom of his stomach and pooling downwards. His fingers itched and he shifted on his chair every five seconds, unable to find a comfortable position. After getting snapped at for the fifth time, Hardison finally got the hint to quit talking. After that, the only sounds in the van were the quiet hum of the monitor and the crisp noises of the keyboard as Hardison’s fingers flew over it.
Eliot cracked his neck and thought of bending Hardison over his own desk, sending thousands of dollars’ worth of computer equipment smashing to the floor as they fucked so hard the van started rocking like a bad porno-
“… want one?”
“What?” Eliot asked, more sharply than he intended. Hardison was sticking something in his face and he batted it away irritably.
“Dude, chill. Literally.” Hardison tore the wrapper off of an orange popsicle, shoving the other into Eliot’s face again.
“No. And where did you get those from?” Eliot said.
“Minifridge.” Hardison opened it with his foot and threw the refused popsicle inside. “Didn’t know you had such a grudge against delicious frozen treats.”
Eliot’s brain was too focused on the drop of orange sliding down Hardison’s chin to think of a witter come-back than, “Shut up.”
“Mmmmmm … it sure is tasty.” Hardison glanced at Eliot out of the corner of his eye. “Cold and refreshing.” He licked a slow line up the popsicle, pausing to swirl his tongue around the top. The noises he made were obscene. “Bet you wish you had one.” Then he pulled it into his mouth and sucked.
Eliot swallowed reflexively, and saw the exact second when triumph lit in Hardison’s eyes.
“Dammit, Hardison! Quit screwing around!” Eliot pushed his way out of the van, uncaring of how much equipment he tripped over. He’d take his chances with the blazing Texas sun.
.02
Hardison wore a waiter costume for a job and it was cute. Eliot managed to hold off until everyone was out of danger to slam into his bedroom, his fingers attacking the zipper of his jeans. He jacked himself furiously to the thought of Hardison in his crisp white shirt and black pants, the slim apron tied around his waist as he awaited Eliot’s order.
Blowjob with a side of face-fucking, hold the teeth? Right away, sir.
But then he walked into the headquarters to find Hardison in costume the next day, too. Parker was teaching him how to balance a full tray of glasses in one hand while pickpocketing with the other.
“What’re you wearing that for?” Eliot asked, fingers digging into his folded arms to keep from ripping the buttons off of Hardison’s shirt and tying his hands above his head with his own. Damn. Apron.
“Why not?” Hardison glanced at him challengingly before Nate walked by and took a glass from his tray.
Eliot tried not to glean a savage enjoyment from Hardison’s frantic little dance to keep the overbalanced tray from tipping over. Nate filled his glass with whiskey.
.03
Red satin panties with black lace trim peeking out from Hardison’s back pocket.
Eliot, who allowed himself a few casual glances at Hardison’s ass each briefing, found that he was unable to look away from the bright scrap of material. None of the others said anything.
The next day, it was purple zebra print, and hanging from Hardison’s beltloop, tied there like a fucking beacon: this got laid.
Well that was fucking great for Hardison. Eliot wondered how he had time for a girlfriend when he was with the team sixty hours a week and purportedly spent his free time designing fiddley little gadgets he would later brag endlessly over.
Eliot did not wonder what kind of girl wore such garish underwear and was apparently okay with Hardison parading them around. He also did not imagine her long legs around Hardison’s waist and feel a helpless sense of jealousy. Probably a hooker.
The third day it was a lime-green g-string. And Hardison was twirling it around his finger as he spoke.
“Okay, Hardison, we’re all proud of your conquests,” Nate said finally, “Now put away the toys. They’re distracting the class.”
Hardison shrugged, not looking nearly contrite enough, and stuffed the panties in his pocket with no explanation.
The fourth day, Eliot didn’t know whether to feel relief or disappointment as he scanned Hardison’s ass and found nothing suspicious. But then, Hardison bent over to retrieve a dropped remote and Eliot saw a flash of blue lace above the waistband of Hardison’s jeans.
Before he knew it, Eliot had spent the rest of the day casually stalking Hardison, just waiting for him to bend over again.
.04
“Com’on. Hit me.”
“I’m not going to hit you, Hardison.” Eliot was clenching his fists to prevent himself from doing just that. He sped up his stride, but Hardison and his freakishly long legs easily kept pace.
“Dude, Eliot. I know you’ve always wanted to.” Hardison said, and Eliot had to admit that he was pretty convincing. “And this time I actually deserve it.”
Eliot stopped abruptly,spinning around. Hardison flinched. “Why’re you so persistent about this?”
“’Cause I want things to be cool between us,” Hardison’s usual smirk seemed a shade tentative. “Com’on, isn’t this the way guys handle things? Punch me and we’ll never have to talk about it again.”
Eliot looked down at his fist, which had already gotten the message. “Y’ can’t take me, Hardison.” The double meaning of that statement hung in the air between them for an uncomfortable moment.
“Eliot,” Hardison smiled in the irritatingly smug way he had whenever he thought he had come out superior. “You don’t even know.”
Eliot popped him a clean one on the jaw, a bit more forcefully than he had intended, but still made sure there was no crunch of bone under his knuckles. The kid crumpled like wet newspaper, but surprisingly wasn’t even that big of a whiny bitch about it, so Eliot felt no guilt about masturbating to thoughts of the deep purple bruise that swelled on Hardison’s face the day after.
.05
Eliot sank into the couch, feeling every muscle in his body begin to slowly relax. He ran a hand over the back of his neck, squeezing the soreness away as he took a slow swig of his beer. Grabbing the remote, he turned on the TV just in time to see about ten seconds of the game he intended to catch before Hardison’s face popped up on the big screen.
All relaxation instantly vanished. “Dammit, Hardison!” Eliot growled, sitting up.
“Eliot Spencer, you are one oblivious son of a bitch.” Hardison stared at the camera condescendingly. “Do you know how hard it is to seduce your ass?”
“What?” Eliot shook his head abruptly, his eyes narrowing.
“Yeah, yeah, I recorded your football game. It’s called Tivo. And if you’re nice, I may even show you how to use it.”
“I know how to use Tivo, Hardison!”
“Eliot, I’m going to make this really clear to you.” Hardison picked something up from off-camera and brought it close to the screen. It was a pink bottle. “This is lube.” His other hand rose, holding a white box. “These are condoms.” Hardison stepped backwards, until his entire upper body was in the shot. “I am naked!” His face loomed large in the camera again, smirking. “Come find me Mr. Retrieval Specialist.”
By the time the screen turned dark, Eliot was already out the door.
Fandom: Leverage
Genre: Slash, Humor
Word Count: ~1400
Pairing: Eliot/Hardison
Rating: R
Warnings: Nongraphic referenses to mastrubation and sex
Notes: Fills the single line extra (Domestic/Tradesman, Penance/Punishment, Oral Fixation, Pictures, Crossdressing) on my
kink_bingo.Summary: “Eliot Spencer, you are one oblivious son of a bitch.” Hardison stared at the camera condescendingly. “Do you know how hard it is to seduce your ass?”
Disclaimer: No ownership was claimed in the making of this porn.
.01
Eliot hated being stuck in the van. First of all, it was tiny, barely enough room to stretch out an arm or twist in his chair without knocking into something full of wires and metal. Second, it was boring. He could only stand about twenty minutes of staring at grainy video or blips on a screen before the urge to punch things began to overwhelm him.
Third, Hardison.
The kid was a fucking annoyance. He bitched, he bragged, he wore weird shirts and kept action figures Eliot was not allowed to touch. He always smelled sticky sweet, like the orange soda he chugged by the gallon.
God knows why Eliot still wanted to fuck him.
Deep Texas, mid-summer. The mark was primed and the job was running smoothly, which somehow translated into Eliot getting Van Duty. Kid couldn’t stand the heat, set the AC so high it was like he couldn’t burn through the gas fast enough. Eliot was tracking beads of sweat down the back of Hardison’s neck and violently resisting the urge to lean over for a taste.
This always happened when he was in the van. The slow burn, starting at the bottom of his stomach and pooling downwards. His fingers itched and he shifted on his chair every five seconds, unable to find a comfortable position. After getting snapped at for the fifth time, Hardison finally got the hint to quit talking. After that, the only sounds in the van were the quiet hum of the monitor and the crisp noises of the keyboard as Hardison’s fingers flew over it.
Eliot cracked his neck and thought of bending Hardison over his own desk, sending thousands of dollars’ worth of computer equipment smashing to the floor as they fucked so hard the van started rocking like a bad porno-
“… want one?”
“What?” Eliot asked, more sharply than he intended. Hardison was sticking something in his face and he batted it away irritably.
“Dude, chill. Literally.” Hardison tore the wrapper off of an orange popsicle, shoving the other into Eliot’s face again.
“No. And where did you get those from?” Eliot said.
“Minifridge.” Hardison opened it with his foot and threw the refused popsicle inside. “Didn’t know you had such a grudge against delicious frozen treats.”
Eliot’s brain was too focused on the drop of orange sliding down Hardison’s chin to think of a witter come-back than, “Shut up.”
“Mmmmmm … it sure is tasty.” Hardison glanced at Eliot out of the corner of his eye. “Cold and refreshing.” He licked a slow line up the popsicle, pausing to swirl his tongue around the top. The noises he made were obscene. “Bet you wish you had one.” Then he pulled it into his mouth and sucked.
Eliot swallowed reflexively, and saw the exact second when triumph lit in Hardison’s eyes.
“Dammit, Hardison! Quit screwing around!” Eliot pushed his way out of the van, uncaring of how much equipment he tripped over. He’d take his chances with the blazing Texas sun.
.02
Hardison wore a waiter costume for a job and it was cute. Eliot managed to hold off until everyone was out of danger to slam into his bedroom, his fingers attacking the zipper of his jeans. He jacked himself furiously to the thought of Hardison in his crisp white shirt and black pants, the slim apron tied around his waist as he awaited Eliot’s order.
Blowjob with a side of face-fucking, hold the teeth? Right away, sir.
But then he walked into the headquarters to find Hardison in costume the next day, too. Parker was teaching him how to balance a full tray of glasses in one hand while pickpocketing with the other.
“What’re you wearing that for?” Eliot asked, fingers digging into his folded arms to keep from ripping the buttons off of Hardison’s shirt and tying his hands above his head with his own. Damn. Apron.
“Why not?” Hardison glanced at him challengingly before Nate walked by and took a glass from his tray.
Eliot tried not to glean a savage enjoyment from Hardison’s frantic little dance to keep the overbalanced tray from tipping over. Nate filled his glass with whiskey.
.03
Red satin panties with black lace trim peeking out from Hardison’s back pocket.
Eliot, who allowed himself a few casual glances at Hardison’s ass each briefing, found that he was unable to look away from the bright scrap of material. None of the others said anything.
The next day, it was purple zebra print, and hanging from Hardison’s beltloop, tied there like a fucking beacon: this got laid.
Well that was fucking great for Hardison. Eliot wondered how he had time for a girlfriend when he was with the team sixty hours a week and purportedly spent his free time designing fiddley little gadgets he would later brag endlessly over.
Eliot did not wonder what kind of girl wore such garish underwear and was apparently okay with Hardison parading them around. He also did not imagine her long legs around Hardison’s waist and feel a helpless sense of jealousy. Probably a hooker.
The third day it was a lime-green g-string. And Hardison was twirling it around his finger as he spoke.
“Okay, Hardison, we’re all proud of your conquests,” Nate said finally, “Now put away the toys. They’re distracting the class.”
Hardison shrugged, not looking nearly contrite enough, and stuffed the panties in his pocket with no explanation.
The fourth day, Eliot didn’t know whether to feel relief or disappointment as he scanned Hardison’s ass and found nothing suspicious. But then, Hardison bent over to retrieve a dropped remote and Eliot saw a flash of blue lace above the waistband of Hardison’s jeans.
Before he knew it, Eliot had spent the rest of the day casually stalking Hardison, just waiting for him to bend over again.
.04
“Com’on. Hit me.”
“I’m not going to hit you, Hardison.” Eliot was clenching his fists to prevent himself from doing just that. He sped up his stride, but Hardison and his freakishly long legs easily kept pace.
“Dude, Eliot. I know you’ve always wanted to.” Hardison said, and Eliot had to admit that he was pretty convincing. “And this time I actually deserve it.”
Eliot stopped abruptly,spinning around. Hardison flinched. “Why’re you so persistent about this?”
“’Cause I want things to be cool between us,” Hardison’s usual smirk seemed a shade tentative. “Com’on, isn’t this the way guys handle things? Punch me and we’ll never have to talk about it again.”
Eliot looked down at his fist, which had already gotten the message. “Y’ can’t take me, Hardison.” The double meaning of that statement hung in the air between them for an uncomfortable moment.
“Eliot,” Hardison smiled in the irritatingly smug way he had whenever he thought he had come out superior. “You don’t even know.”
Eliot popped him a clean one on the jaw, a bit more forcefully than he had intended, but still made sure there was no crunch of bone under his knuckles. The kid crumpled like wet newspaper, but surprisingly wasn’t even that big of a whiny bitch about it, so Eliot felt no guilt about masturbating to thoughts of the deep purple bruise that swelled on Hardison’s face the day after.
.05
Eliot sank into the couch, feeling every muscle in his body begin to slowly relax. He ran a hand over the back of his neck, squeezing the soreness away as he took a slow swig of his beer. Grabbing the remote, he turned on the TV just in time to see about ten seconds of the game he intended to catch before Hardison’s face popped up on the big screen.
All relaxation instantly vanished. “Dammit, Hardison!” Eliot growled, sitting up.
“Eliot Spencer, you are one oblivious son of a bitch.” Hardison stared at the camera condescendingly. “Do you know how hard it is to seduce your ass?”
“What?” Eliot shook his head abruptly, his eyes narrowing.
“Yeah, yeah, I recorded your football game. It’s called Tivo. And if you’re nice, I may even show you how to use it.”
“I know how to use Tivo, Hardison!”
“Eliot, I’m going to make this really clear to you.” Hardison picked something up from off-camera and brought it close to the screen. It was a pink bottle. “This is lube.” His other hand rose, holding a white box. “These are condoms.” Hardison stepped backwards, until his entire upper body was in the shot. “I am naked!” His face loomed large in the camera again, smirking. “Come find me Mr. Retrieval Specialist.”
By the time the screen turned dark, Eliot was already out the door.