It’s not that Eliot Spencer cuddles after sex.
“Whoa, hey. Whoa! What are you doing?”
Eliot looked at Hardison the way he always does when Hardison says something Eliot finds appalling, like ‘why can’t I drink orange soda with my filet mignon’ or ‘yeah, I had to borrow your paring knife to strip a cable’ and shifted slightly.
‘“I’m enjoying the afterglow.”
He just likes to take a moment to savour the feeling of being close to someone in a way that doesn’t later require a body bag. It’s only polite.
“Enjoying the afterglow? You’re cuddling me.” Hardison tried to point an accusing finger at Eliot’s face, which was difficult when said face was pressed in to Hardison’s neck. “You’re a cuddler!”
Eliot pushed himself up on to his elbows, frowning. “It’s not... it’s not a disease, Hardison.”
“It could be. How would I know? You could be an evil clone Eliot. You could be a cylon. Are you a cylon?”
“Yes I’m a cylon. A cylon whose master plan involves relaxing in a warm, comfortable bed. Or you could apparently be perfectly on board with my cock in your mouth, but freaking out at the idea of me not being an asshole after sex.”
Hardison considered this. “Let’s check you’re not a clone first. Tell me something only the real Eliot would know.”
Eliot did that thing with his eyes where he suddenly looks like the very worst kind of axe murderer and grinned. “I still haven’t paid you back for spilling slushy in my car. But I will.”
Hardison shrank back in to the pillows. “I believe you’re the real Eliot. I also fear for my life. You shouldn’t make that face when you’re cuddling someone. I’m traumatised now. I’m never going to be able to accept affection from you again without shaking.”
Hardison likes the acknowledgement, he really does. He puts a lot of work in to scrambling Eliot’s brains and he likes that his efforts are appreciated. It’s just…
Eliot stirred and grunted something that could’ve been ‘what’ or could’ve been ‘I don’t need to be conscious to kill you.’ Eliot had very expressive grumbles.
“Eliot, you’re not asleep, my stomach is crusty and if you don’t move soon I am going to pee all over your ridiculously comfortable sheets.”
It’s just sometimes Eliot doesn’t take so much a moment as the rest of the night. It’s not Hardison’s fault if sometimes he just wishes Eliot would celebrate the glory of two people connecting through their genitals or whatever by washing the jizz off his chest and going to make a man a sandwich.
“Dude, did you… did you just purr?”
“Shut up, Hardison.”
And sometimes Hardison just ignores the slowly congealing mess on his stomach and lets Eliot get his limpet on.
Eliot Spencer is always the little spoon.
“Door. Me. You.”
(It’s the only way he can face the door, and still be between anything that comes through it and Hardison.)
“Kick ass security system installed by none other than yours truly. Door. Us. You know, you really need to get this paranoia thing looked at, Eliot, it’s not healthy.”
Eliot was still looking dubious. “I see. Can it be cracked?”
“Can it be…” Hardison backed away from Eliot. “Oh. Nuh huh. Man, I don’t even want to share a bed with you now. Can it be cracked? Man, who do you think you’re talking to?”
Eliot rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath that Hardison pointedly made the effort to miss. “Hardison. All the hackers you know. The best of the best. With enough time, enough funding, enough dumb luck… can your ‘kick ass’ security system be cracked?”
“First, the sarcastic jazz hands? Really not necessary. Second, aside from Parker?”
“Aside from Parker.”
“Then maybe… MAYBE, there’s a handful who could do it. If they were motivated enough.”
“And how many of those people would be motivated enough by a cut of the kinds of bounties I have on my head?”
Hardison considered this. “Still very kick-ass security system. Door. You. Me.”
Eliot knows this makes him look like a sap, but he’s never let looking like a dork keep him from doing his job before and he’s sure as hell not going to start now.
“Damn straight.” Eliot pulled them down on to the bed and pressed back against the warmth of Hardison’s chest. “Just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean there isn’t a samurai ninja getting ready to punch you in the face.”
Hardison knows exactly what Eliot is doing and lets him get away with it. Eliot feels good in his arms and he can’t pretend he doesn’t enjoy the pretense that he’s getting to shield Eliot, just this one way. Also, dreaming about samurai ninjas is pretty cool.
Eliot hopes Hardison hasn’t noticed, but he sleeps significantly longer and deeper when Hardison’s arm is around his waist.
Hardison knows Eliot actually sleeps 137 per cent longer and wakes up 3 times less often, and wonders who Eliot thinks he’s kidding. He’s Alec Fracking Hardison. He has spreadsheets brother, spreadsheets.
This doesn’t mean he’s going to burst Eliot’s bubble, or ever stop doing it for that matter.
Given the choice, Eliot Spencer will always bottom.
Hardison was close to hyperventilating. Eliot was writhing beneath him, bucking into his hand and keeping up a steady stream of porn that was causing Hardison to rethink his wardrobe choices, even if he suspected the tight jeans played a not insignificant role in getting him into this position in the first place.
There’s nothing deep or meaningful behind this, he just thinks it feels fucking awesome.
He wasn’t entirely clear on the rest of the equation, on how their usual bickering through a football game had led to Eliot’s hand slipping into Hardison’s back pocket like it was totally normal, how Hardison pulling Eliot tight against his side had been met with what could’ve almost been a contented hum.
There had been words somewhere, questions and answers, but Hardison couldn’t remember them now; was too busy enjoying the feel of Eliot warm and heavy in his hand and wondering whether to take him in his mouth or make him come like this, shirt lost somewhere between the couch and the bedroom and jeans barely rucked down over his hips. More than anything though, he just wanted to drink in the sight beneath him and float in the river of smut flowing from Eliot’s too-clever mouth.
Eliot rolled his hips again, possibly to keep from rolling his eyes. “I said ‘fuck me, Hardison’. I mean, there may have been a moan in there or something, but that was my gist.”
(Eliot Spencer is also way too fucking sarcastic in bed.)
Eliot pushed himself up on his elbows and scowled. The slightly glazed look in his eyes and enthusiastic erection pressing against his stomach made it look less threatening, but only a little. “Fuck. Me. Hardison. You know for someone who is always telling me to ‘use my words’ you’re pretty useless at listening.”
“I’m sorry, I just… you mean fuck you as in…” Hardison mimed thrusting, until he realised he looked more like he was having a seizure at which point he stopped in case Eliot turned out to be racist against pseudo-epileptics or something.
Eliot dropped back on to the pillows dramatically. “I take it back. If you can’t say it, maybe you shouldn’t do it.”
Just for that, Hardison thrust down and watched Eliot smile slowly. Apparently practical demonstrations could work too. He thrust again and then Eliot was enthusiastically stripping Hardison out of his jeans when he must have realised Hardison was still looking slightly confused.
“What?” Eliot said, pressing kisses to Hardison’s hips before arching his back to let Hardison tug at his own jeans. “You don’t think a guy like me knows how to bottom?”
“No, it’s just…” Hardison considered the corded muscles and predatory smirk on the man sprawled indolently below him. “It’s just… well, yes.”
Hardison was pretty sure Eliot was laughing at him.
“Fucking’s fucking Hardison.”
Hardison honestly doesn’t really care whether he’s topping or bottoming.
“Ohh, fuck. Oh! Fuck! Jesus Christ!”
But, if Eliot is going to look that amazing every time something hits that spot inside him, Hardison will happily take up full-time topping. Hell, he’ll even sound out Parker’s views on pegging.
Eliot Spencer isn’t great at expressing his emotions.
Eliot didn’t close his book, but he did look up. “Hardison.”
Hardison turned to look at Parker who he could’ve sworn wasn’t there when he walked in. Parker frowned and tried again. “Nate? Stirling? I haven’t figured out the pattern yet.”
Eliot didn’t turn around.
“Parker. I know you’re not sitting on my counter top, because we talked about you sitting on my counter top. Also, it’s time for you to go.”
“But… my cereal?” Parker wasn’t so much sitting on the counter top as lounging decadently.
“Add the bowl to your collection.” He turned to face her. “But I need to talk to Hardison now.”
Hardison couldn’t see what expression Eliot was wearing, but Parker said “oh” and then “Oh!” and jumped off the countertop she emphatically wasn’t sitting on. “Oh, so are you two going to have sex now?”
Hardison was glad he didn’t have anything in his mouth to spray because he was pretty sure Eliot wouldn’t appreciate half masticated food all across his nice clean rug. “What? No!”
Parker looked skeptical. Eliot looked mildly offended and slowly crossed his arms behind his head, letting his shirt pull tight and ride up. Hardison reconsidered. “I mean, maybe later we might do something, but I didn’t come over here just to have sex.”
Eliot looked smug.
“I mean wait, how did you know we were having sex?”
Parker shrugged, looking unimpressed. “I’m a thief. Sometimes I steal secrets”. She screwed up her face. “Also you’re really loud.”
Hardison looked accusingly at Eliot who also shrugged, but did watch carefully to make sure Parker exited the apartment, “THROUGH THE DOOR PARKER!” before he turned back to Hardison.
“Well I guess even Parker can’t misinterpret ‘oh yes, fuck me harder, Hardison.’” Eliot finally put down his book. “Now if you aren’t here for sex…”
Hardison was still dealing with his body’s pavlovian response to Eliot using the phrase ‘fuck me harder, Hardison’, so it took him a minute to realise Eliot was waiting for a reply.
“Hmm? Oh, right, Eliot.”
“We covered that.”
“Right. Yes. Eliot, I think we need to talk.”
Eliot was still looking impassive. Hardison remembered why he didn’t bother to try playing poker with him anymore.
“About anything in particular?”
“Uh, yeah. About our relationship. And how I think we’re having one.”
“You only just realised we’re having a relationship?”
“Yeah, I know, but don’t freak out on me. See, I’ve reviewed the evidence and… what?”
“I said ‘you only just realised we’re having a relationship.’”
“Wait you know? Man, I had a full on presentation prepared; slides, charts, dot point, an exit plan for when you punched me…”
That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have them.
“Really Hardison? Punched you? You think I watch Battlestar 1980 for just anybody?”
“Well you did bitch and moan through the whole thing, and I’m pretty sure there were some threats to me and my laptop that were just uncalled for…”
“Funny how that gave you the perfect excuse to explain everything to make sure I was getting the context right.”
At Hardison’s incredulous look, Eliot shrugged. “You’re happy when you’re sharing your passions. It’s nice. Even if your passions are freaking weird.”
Of course, it helps if you know what to look for.
“Wait, is this why I got a 30 minute lecture on the evolution of the meat cleaver?”
“To be fair, I was showing you my recipe for the perfect braised ribs at the time.” Eliot paused. “Seriously, I shared my recipes. You really didn’t get that I was on board with this whole ‘more than friends who fuck’ thing?”
“Seriously? Yes, because meat products translate perfectly into ‘I would like to take this relationship to the next level.’ How could I have missed that? You know, some people try this new way of sharing their feelings, I think it’s called talking?”
“With flip charts and spreadsheets?”
Hardison had the good grace to look embarrased. “Well maybe I just had to be sure I was putting forward the best possible case.”
(And some people are better at that than others.)
There was the sound of cereal crunching from somewhere in the rafters. “You know that’s actually kind of sweet.”
Eliot closed his eyes. “Parker, remember the talk we had about private conversations?”
Parker nodded solemnly and continued eating her cereal.
“That was one of them.”
“Oh, sorry. I just wanted to see if Hardison was going to make you make those noises again. But you’ve established that you and Hardison are boyfriends now right? Because Sophie said we weren’t allowed to tell you until you’d figured it out for yourselves and it was getting really hard to not mention that you’d already made it to the sex bits.”
Hardison noted the look on Eliot’s face and made a mental note to find a job that required some long distance re-con for a few days. Maybe a week.
“Yeah. She also said that once you figured it out you had to buy me chocolate. I’m not sure why, but I really like chocolate so you should do that.”
Hardison found he was more focused on the prospect of Eliot making noises. “Uh, baby girl, tell you what, you leave right now and I’ll build you your very own chocolate fountain. But only if you leave. And promise not to sneak back in through the vents.”
Parker grinned bright and wide and disappeared. Hardison turned back to Eliot and waggled his eyebrows.
“So… now that we have that settled…”
Eliot was doing a bad job of looking annoyed. “You are really lucky I can love someone who defines their relationship through spreadsheets.”
“Says the person who should be counting himself lucky I can put up with a paranoid kinky cuddler who kicks innocent people in his sleep.”
The biggest thing nobody tells you about loving Eliot Spencer...
“Sexy high five for morale?”
“What… Hardison, what is a sexy high five for morale?”
Hardison showed him.
Parker watched, but from the elevator shaft.
Eliot was too distracted to care.
...is that sometimes Eliot Spencer loves you back.