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the popsicle job, leverage, parker/hardison/eliot, pg-13
Title: The Popsicle Job
Fandom: Leverage
Pairing: Parker/Hardison/Eliot
Rating: PG13ish. ::shrugs:: They're in compromising positions, but it's all pretty tame for me.
Length: 1000 words
Notes/Warnings: Written for the 2010![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
picfor1000 challenge. My picture is here. And no, I have no idea why my brain went from that picture to a Parker voice, but there you go.
Also posted to AOOO, here.
It was hard to know who to blame, Parker thought, surveying the wreckage of a perfectly good hotel room. She'd probably have to start with Sophie, and how she wasn't there any more. It threw everything off.
And then, Nate was the one who'd sent them all on the case, and then told them to wait. Relax, he'd said. Have fun.
Of all people, Nate should know that they didn't do well with downtime.
Hardison was next on the list, because he did his thing with the computers and the fake identities, and there they were in a suite, ocean-front. And, okay, Parker could accept a little blame herself, because she was the one who insisted they get out of the sun, but seriously, with her skin, what else was she supposed to do? Fry? Yeah, no.
Eliot, though--Eliot was really to blame. He was the one, after all, who found the popsicles. And brought them into the sauna (why stay in a five-star hotel and not use the amenities--that was Hardison again. Parker added another notch in his column.)
She shifted around a little bit, easing the kink in her thigh muscle. She probably should get up and stretch it out, but … maybe later. After she finished with the breakdown. Every job needed that post-game analysis, right?
If she was being fair about it all (and she was; this wasn't a witch hunt) she could accept responsibility for letting her popsicle drip all over Hardison. She'd have to check with Sophie (if Sophie ever called them, which she hadn't done for a while, but Parker wasn't thinking about that now) but she was pretty sure there wasn't anything else she could have done, not with Hardison stretched out on one of the benches wearing a towel that didn't do a thing to hide how really built he was. Parker added another tick in Hardison's column (not because he was built--Parker already knew that, she just forgot it a lot) for the noise he made when the cold drops hit his skin, a grumble that wanted to be a purr.
Definitely another notch in her own column for licking the first drop off him--she hadn't really thought that one through before she did it. It'd seemed like a good idea, but then Hardison's bitching had turned into a purr, and when she'd looked up, Eliot was right there. It was impossible to forget how built Eliot was, so that wasn't such a big deal, but Parker never remembered how blue his eyes were. Or how intense they could get.
Again, Eliot had half-whispered, half-growled, which was definitely another mark against him. Maybe two. And when she'd done it, and Hardison had made another ridiculously hot noise, Eliot had leaned down and cleared the final three drops. Everything got a little crazy at that point, because it turned out that he had a stupidly good purr, too, and the two of them together was just about the hottest thing Parker had ever heard, but then Hardison, in a pretty amazing burst of sanity, insisted that they take it upstairs. (He'd actually rolled over and said, "Oh, hell no, we are not doing this anywhere there's a chance I get a splinter in my ass." Parker couldn't argue with that, and it turned out that if Alec had his hands in Eliot's hair, Eliot would agree to just about anything.)
They all got a mark for the next part, because once they were in the fleecy white robes that came with the suite and out of the heat of the sauna, things could have gone back to normal, but every time they were alone for more than a couple of seconds, somebody's hands were on somebody else. Or on two somebodies. And the elevator ride to the private penthouse was crazy ridiculous. (Alec had already promised to get the security feeds. Eliot wanted a copy.) (Parker did, too.)
Once they got up to the suite... Things were a little fuzzy, but Parker thought the glass on the floor was her own fault, from when she hadn't wanted to wait until they could get into the bedroom and had cleared the table in front of the couch with a single sweep of her arm. (She'd missed seeing the dishes still there from room service earlier, but come on, the other two were all over each other. She'd been distracted, okay?) The flood in the bathroom was Eliot's fault for not getting into the spa tub with them until it was way too full, but the half-drowned candles were all on Alec for ordering them up from room service in the first place.
She'd take the hit for the whipped cream and Hershey's syrup all over everywhere (even though Alec had gotten them for her) as long as the other two manned up about daring her to use the full-length curtains for purposes that they definitely hadn't been designed for.
Everybody got a black mark for the exploded pillow: Hardison for having a really talented tongue, Parker for egging him on, and Eliot for being a control freak who had to keep up the Joe Cool attitude until he totally lost it.
There was more, but Parker had already lost track, and yeah, sure, she could go get a pencil and paper--the desk had all kinds of fancy stuff in it--but that would mean she'd have to get up, and it had taken her a while to get things settled the way she liked them. Hardison's shoulder made an awesome pillow, and Eliot, once he got his hair pulled back so it wasn't tickling her, was like her own personal heater, a nice, warm barrier against the AC. A written-out list didn't seem worth moving, and besides, everybody knew Parker wasn't a word person.
"I'm blaming this on the popsicles," Parker announced.
"Definitely," Hardison agreed.
"Whatever," Eliot mumbled.
"They're evil," Parker said, and let herself drift off.
Fandom: Leverage
Pairing: Parker/Hardison/Eliot
Rating: PG13ish. ::shrugs:: They're in compromising positions, but it's all pretty tame for me.
Length: 1000 words
Notes/Warnings: Written for the 2010
picfor1000 challenge. My picture is here. And no, I have no idea why my brain went from that picture to a Parker voice, but there you go.Also posted to AOOO, here.
It was hard to know who to blame, Parker thought, surveying the wreckage of a perfectly good hotel room. She'd probably have to start with Sophie, and how she wasn't there any more. It threw everything off.
And then, Nate was the one who'd sent them all on the case, and then told them to wait. Relax, he'd said. Have fun.
Of all people, Nate should know that they didn't do well with downtime.
Hardison was next on the list, because he did his thing with the computers and the fake identities, and there they were in a suite, ocean-front. And, okay, Parker could accept a little blame herself, because she was the one who insisted they get out of the sun, but seriously, with her skin, what else was she supposed to do? Fry? Yeah, no.
Eliot, though--Eliot was really to blame. He was the one, after all, who found the popsicles. And brought them into the sauna (why stay in a five-star hotel and not use the amenities--that was Hardison again. Parker added another notch in his column.)
She shifted around a little bit, easing the kink in her thigh muscle. She probably should get up and stretch it out, but … maybe later. After she finished with the breakdown. Every job needed that post-game analysis, right?
If she was being fair about it all (and she was; this wasn't a witch hunt) she could accept responsibility for letting her popsicle drip all over Hardison. She'd have to check with Sophie (if Sophie ever called them, which she hadn't done for a while, but Parker wasn't thinking about that now) but she was pretty sure there wasn't anything else she could have done, not with Hardison stretched out on one of the benches wearing a towel that didn't do a thing to hide how really built he was. Parker added another tick in Hardison's column (not because he was built--Parker already knew that, she just forgot it a lot) for the noise he made when the cold drops hit his skin, a grumble that wanted to be a purr.
Definitely another notch in her own column for licking the first drop off him--she hadn't really thought that one through before she did it. It'd seemed like a good idea, but then Hardison's bitching had turned into a purr, and when she'd looked up, Eliot was right there. It was impossible to forget how built Eliot was, so that wasn't such a big deal, but Parker never remembered how blue his eyes were. Or how intense they could get.
Again, Eliot had half-whispered, half-growled, which was definitely another mark against him. Maybe two. And when she'd done it, and Hardison had made another ridiculously hot noise, Eliot had leaned down and cleared the final three drops. Everything got a little crazy at that point, because it turned out that he had a stupidly good purr, too, and the two of them together was just about the hottest thing Parker had ever heard, but then Hardison, in a pretty amazing burst of sanity, insisted that they take it upstairs. (He'd actually rolled over and said, "Oh, hell no, we are not doing this anywhere there's a chance I get a splinter in my ass." Parker couldn't argue with that, and it turned out that if Alec had his hands in Eliot's hair, Eliot would agree to just about anything.)
They all got a mark for the next part, because once they were in the fleecy white robes that came with the suite and out of the heat of the sauna, things could have gone back to normal, but every time they were alone for more than a couple of seconds, somebody's hands were on somebody else. Or on two somebodies. And the elevator ride to the private penthouse was crazy ridiculous. (Alec had already promised to get the security feeds. Eliot wanted a copy.) (Parker did, too.)
Once they got up to the suite... Things were a little fuzzy, but Parker thought the glass on the floor was her own fault, from when she hadn't wanted to wait until they could get into the bedroom and had cleared the table in front of the couch with a single sweep of her arm. (She'd missed seeing the dishes still there from room service earlier, but come on, the other two were all over each other. She'd been distracted, okay?) The flood in the bathroom was Eliot's fault for not getting into the spa tub with them until it was way too full, but the half-drowned candles were all on Alec for ordering them up from room service in the first place.
She'd take the hit for the whipped cream and Hershey's syrup all over everywhere (even though Alec had gotten them for her) as long as the other two manned up about daring her to use the full-length curtains for purposes that they definitely hadn't been designed for.
Everybody got a black mark for the exploded pillow: Hardison for having a really talented tongue, Parker for egging him on, and Eliot for being a control freak who had to keep up the Joe Cool attitude until he totally lost it.
There was more, but Parker had already lost track, and yeah, sure, she could go get a pencil and paper--the desk had all kinds of fancy stuff in it--but that would mean she'd have to get up, and it had taken her a while to get things settled the way she liked them. Hardison's shoulder made an awesome pillow, and Eliot, once he got his hair pulled back so it wasn't tickling her, was like her own personal heater, a nice, warm barrier against the AC. A written-out list didn't seem worth moving, and besides, everybody knew Parker wasn't a word person.
"I'm blaming this on the popsicles," Parker announced.
"Definitely," Hardison agreed.
"Whatever," Eliot mumbled.
"They're evil," Parker said, and let herself drift off.