Bring it On (Leverage, Alec/Eliot, 1/1)
Title: Bring It On
Fandom/Pairing: Leverage; Alec Hardison/Eliot Spencer
Rating: PG
Summary: "Eliot/Any, Bring it on." Written for lmx_v3point3 !
A/N: Title and idea based off the song of the same name by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, though the video, I feel like I must point out, has nothing to do with the story.
The garden's finally established itself, even along the southern fence. Looks like he might get some lemons off those trees that shouldn't have made it in this soil. Even though the sun hasn't been out in weeks.
How they got this far, Eliot's not even sure.
It's been a good run. Nate and Sophie are going to be parents, soon, and yeah, that came out of nowhere, but there are a lot of other ways this could've played out, a lot of bad ways this could've gone. Four and a half years isn't anything to scoff at. Funny, cause he'd meant to be gone before the second week.
He's always had an eye on the door, but he doesn't remember when it was, exactly, that he stopped keeping one foot out the door. And now that it's time to start thinking about it again, he's kneeling here in the garden instead, pulling up weeds.
He's surprised when he hears the Ferrari long before it curves up into the driveway out front, but doesn't go to around meet it. However this is going to play out, it'll happen soon enough. Hardison knows where to find him. Always has, he just never really bothered.
Ain't like it's all his fault, though.
He wonders how the rest of the conversation went down. If Hardison's still insisting that they can keep going without Sophie and Nate, if Parker's still trying to drag him off to test out the Louvre's new security systems, some quick fix that she's hoping might stick. Like a honeymoon, or something. 'Cause maybe those two haven't actually cooled off like he'd been-
"Hey." Hardison's coming up around the side of the house, hands in the pockets of his cardigan, kicking a stray pebble back off the grass.
"Hey." He reaches into the mulch, yanks out a few shoots of that grass he's never bothered to identify.
"So. You took off quick."
He shrugs, then stands, turning around to find Hardison already looking disappointed. "One show only, huh? No encores?"
"Something like that." Eliot brushes the dirt off his knees, drops the weeds in the pile at his feet. "How'd the rest of it go?"
"Parker's on the next flight out. Said she'd call."
He feels himself nodding, honestly, he's got no idea why. It's not like Hardison's expression isn't so shuttered that Eliot knows if he's looking for a reaction. "What about you?"
"Me?" Hardison's regard lands on him for a moment before sliding past, over to the herb garden by the back steps. "I'm here. Dunno." He shrugs it off, swivels his head back. "You? You gonna sell this place, or what?"
Eliot's been back and forth so many times over it, he can't remember where he landed last.
"I haven't decided yet. I mean, it's been good, not moving all the time, but. I'm not really one for putting down roots, you know?"
Hardison blinks, then, down at the weeds at Eliot's feet, and no, the symbolism or the irony or whatever isn't lost on him, either, but it's ungainly and awkward and Hardison's going to say it anyway.
"Yeah, well. Looks like maybe that was coming along." There's something like hope in his voice, or maybe it's Eliot who's hoping it's there. "It was all just dead grass when you moved in here, you remember?" He winces, then, like he knows it's a bit too much, and the conversation stalls out on Eliot's answering nod. There's more lambsquarters setting up shop over by the beans, best to get it out before the rain comes. Not that it'll matter if he's gone, but if he doesn't get them out now, whoever buys this place next is going to have a nightmare on their hands.
And suddenly, he's tired of it. Of thinking this way. Sixty three stitches, seven cracked ribs, a broken toe and two fingers, and four years of waking up sore. More concussions than he wants to think about, and a broken arm. The strains and sprains and bruises and scrapes were never worth counting. These past four years, he's worked his ass off for everyone else's sake. Like he's forgotten how to be selfish. Or something.
Hardison's watching him when he looks up. Eliot doesn't know why they're still staring at each other even now, but it's probable that Hardison's just bored with the scenery. And it's not like he hasn't taken a few blows today, too. Maybe he's just tired. He really doesn't need to be jerked around by the crap Eliot's trying not to think about.
Like how Parker's on her way to the airport, and how Hardison's not with her. Or how clear Hardison's eyes are, even when his expression's this blank. Or how he bites the corner of his lip sometimes and scowls a bit before he speaks.
Like he's doing now.
"Hey, ah. El?"
He hasn't stopped yet.
"Yeah?"
Hardison snorts, shaking his head as he swivels his eyes to look out, back towards the road this time. He's amused at something that's not funny. It's bitter, like lightening getting ready to strike. "I'm guessing this really ain't going to matter if I'm wrong, so. Gotta ask. You been sending out vibes?"
"What?" He's thinking about electrical currents, now, trying to track his own tangent into Hardison's head, but it's just twice as confusing, now. "What d'you mean?" Because it really is a strange question. It's perfectly valid, then, to be so suddenly on edge. Worried like this.
Only Hardison's looking mortified, too, getting his hackles up, and this is all starting to make sense. It shouldn't- Hardison and him, they should never be on the same page- but here they are.
"You mean, like. Me," he waves at the empty air between them. "You?"
"Yeah, like. Every now and again, you know? Been wondering." Hardison's gotten better at the grift, but he'll never be great at it. But it makes it a lot easier to answer the question.
"Every now and again," he says, mostly for symmetry's sake.
Hardison's fighting a grin, but defeats it quickly. This is what they've been working for, maybe for a while now. "So, ah. What about now?"
"Now?" He's smirking, almost without realizing it, but apparently he hasn't forgotten how to be selfish, not entirely. It's half a step to get there, and he only has to reach out a little bit to grab Hardison's arm. His mouth doesn't taste like anything in particular, not closed like this. He pulls back just a bit, scanning for any hesitation, but Hardison's staring at Eliot's mouth. "And again."
Hardison, it turns out, tastes like Hardison's supposed to taste. Like he thought he might. It's more familiar than thrilling, though his urgency's one hell of a kick, and the hands on his hips are a slow-winding shock, and now Eliot's getting all that talk about vibes.
Hardison's grinning when he pulls back, like he used to do at Parker. It feels entirely different now, though, directed at him. He's grabbing tighter, though, stopping Eliot from moving too far.
"So what say you?"
"About?"
"About, I don't know." He's shaking his head at himself. "Sticking around a while, see where this is going? I mean, I don't know, but the tomatoes look like they're almost ready, and-"
He's making it easy for Eliot to wind his arms past Hardison's waist and around his back. And they'll be kissing again, here, in a second, but just in case it's not enough, though, he should probably spell it out.
"Bring it on."
Fandom/Pairing: Leverage; Alec Hardison/Eliot Spencer
Rating: PG
Summary: "Eliot/Any, Bring it on." Written for lmx_v3point3 !
A/N: Title and idea based off the song of the same name by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, though the video, I feel like I must point out, has nothing to do with the story.
The garden's finally established itself, even along the southern fence. Looks like he might get some lemons off those trees that shouldn't have made it in this soil. Even though the sun hasn't been out in weeks.
How they got this far, Eliot's not even sure.
It's been a good run. Nate and Sophie are going to be parents, soon, and yeah, that came out of nowhere, but there are a lot of other ways this could've played out, a lot of bad ways this could've gone. Four and a half years isn't anything to scoff at. Funny, cause he'd meant to be gone before the second week.
He's always had an eye on the door, but he doesn't remember when it was, exactly, that he stopped keeping one foot out the door. And now that it's time to start thinking about it again, he's kneeling here in the garden instead, pulling up weeds.
He's surprised when he hears the Ferrari long before it curves up into the driveway out front, but doesn't go to around meet it. However this is going to play out, it'll happen soon enough. Hardison knows where to find him. Always has, he just never really bothered.
Ain't like it's all his fault, though.
He wonders how the rest of the conversation went down. If Hardison's still insisting that they can keep going without Sophie and Nate, if Parker's still trying to drag him off to test out the Louvre's new security systems, some quick fix that she's hoping might stick. Like a honeymoon, or something. 'Cause maybe those two haven't actually cooled off like he'd been-
"Hey." Hardison's coming up around the side of the house, hands in the pockets of his cardigan, kicking a stray pebble back off the grass.
"Hey." He reaches into the mulch, yanks out a few shoots of that grass he's never bothered to identify.
"So. You took off quick."
He shrugs, then stands, turning around to find Hardison already looking disappointed. "One show only, huh? No encores?"
"Something like that." Eliot brushes the dirt off his knees, drops the weeds in the pile at his feet. "How'd the rest of it go?"
"Parker's on the next flight out. Said she'd call."
He feels himself nodding, honestly, he's got no idea why. It's not like Hardison's expression isn't so shuttered that Eliot knows if he's looking for a reaction. "What about you?"
"Me?" Hardison's regard lands on him for a moment before sliding past, over to the herb garden by the back steps. "I'm here. Dunno." He shrugs it off, swivels his head back. "You? You gonna sell this place, or what?"
Eliot's been back and forth so many times over it, he can't remember where he landed last.
"I haven't decided yet. I mean, it's been good, not moving all the time, but. I'm not really one for putting down roots, you know?"
Hardison blinks, then, down at the weeds at Eliot's feet, and no, the symbolism or the irony or whatever isn't lost on him, either, but it's ungainly and awkward and Hardison's going to say it anyway.
"Yeah, well. Looks like maybe that was coming along." There's something like hope in his voice, or maybe it's Eliot who's hoping it's there. "It was all just dead grass when you moved in here, you remember?" He winces, then, like he knows it's a bit too much, and the conversation stalls out on Eliot's answering nod. There's more lambsquarters setting up shop over by the beans, best to get it out before the rain comes. Not that it'll matter if he's gone, but if he doesn't get them out now, whoever buys this place next is going to have a nightmare on their hands.
And suddenly, he's tired of it. Of thinking this way. Sixty three stitches, seven cracked ribs, a broken toe and two fingers, and four years of waking up sore. More concussions than he wants to think about, and a broken arm. The strains and sprains and bruises and scrapes were never worth counting. These past four years, he's worked his ass off for everyone else's sake. Like he's forgotten how to be selfish. Or something.
Hardison's watching him when he looks up. Eliot doesn't know why they're still staring at each other even now, but it's probable that Hardison's just bored with the scenery. And it's not like he hasn't taken a few blows today, too. Maybe he's just tired. He really doesn't need to be jerked around by the crap Eliot's trying not to think about.
Like how Parker's on her way to the airport, and how Hardison's not with her. Or how clear Hardison's eyes are, even when his expression's this blank. Or how he bites the corner of his lip sometimes and scowls a bit before he speaks.
Like he's doing now.
"Hey, ah. El?"
He hasn't stopped yet.
"Yeah?"
Hardison snorts, shaking his head as he swivels his eyes to look out, back towards the road this time. He's amused at something that's not funny. It's bitter, like lightening getting ready to strike. "I'm guessing this really ain't going to matter if I'm wrong, so. Gotta ask. You been sending out vibes?"
"What?" He's thinking about electrical currents, now, trying to track his own tangent into Hardison's head, but it's just twice as confusing, now. "What d'you mean?" Because it really is a strange question. It's perfectly valid, then, to be so suddenly on edge. Worried like this.
Only Hardison's looking mortified, too, getting his hackles up, and this is all starting to make sense. It shouldn't- Hardison and him, they should never be on the same page- but here they are.
"You mean, like. Me," he waves at the empty air between them. "You?"
"Yeah, like. Every now and again, you know? Been wondering." Hardison's gotten better at the grift, but he'll never be great at it. But it makes it a lot easier to answer the question.
"Every now and again," he says, mostly for symmetry's sake.
Hardison's fighting a grin, but defeats it quickly. This is what they've been working for, maybe for a while now. "So, ah. What about now?"
"Now?" He's smirking, almost without realizing it, but apparently he hasn't forgotten how to be selfish, not entirely. It's half a step to get there, and he only has to reach out a little bit to grab Hardison's arm. His mouth doesn't taste like anything in particular, not closed like this. He pulls back just a bit, scanning for any hesitation, but Hardison's staring at Eliot's mouth. "And again."
Hardison, it turns out, tastes like Hardison's supposed to taste. Like he thought he might. It's more familiar than thrilling, though his urgency's one hell of a kick, and the hands on his hips are a slow-winding shock, and now Eliot's getting all that talk about vibes.
Hardison's grinning when he pulls back, like he used to do at Parker. It feels entirely different now, though, directed at him. He's grabbing tighter, though, stopping Eliot from moving too far.
"So what say you?"
"About?"
"About, I don't know." He's shaking his head at himself. "Sticking around a while, see where this is going? I mean, I don't know, but the tomatoes look like they're almost ready, and-"
He's making it easy for Eliot to wind his arms past Hardison's waist and around his back. And they'll be kissing again, here, in a second, but just in case it's not enough, though, he should probably spell it out.
"Bring it on."