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It's different now. Being fucked by Moreau.
They haven't had an opportunity to meet in person for a while—not since the Italian (or rather, Serenella Amante Rossi, F, 32, 5'7") clicked her high heels into the picture and Moreau wanted Eliot close to Nate at all times. Just to be sure. This, after all, is exactly why Moreau had Eliot pretend to break ties with his organization years ago, at least publicly (all of Moreau's men still knew who the man's lap dog and second-in-command was). Eliot ran around as a "free agent" to sniff up trouble and so he had said yes to Dubenich, and then he said yes to Nate and kept saying yes to Nate. All the while, he said his ultimate yessirs to Moreau, and Eliot kept an eye out for trouble and he watched Nate and Sophie and Hardison and Parker (the best in their fields, truly) for any signs of trouble.
This was trouble. This was what it was all for.
So Eliot hadn't seen Moreau in months—giving his reports through the exact secure means Hardison taught him to set up and use—but Moreau had business in Providence and Eliot was so close, be a dear and take the train down, won't you? (Sometimes Moreau liked to phrase things like Eliot had a choice. It was funny, to him. It used to be funny to Eliot, too.)
Moreau said to come and so now Eliot is in what counts as a luxury hotel room in Rhode Island getting his lips stretched and his soft palette tickled by the catch of foreskin. He's there and it should be good and what Eliot has been craving and why he's doing any of this in the first place.
But he's struggling to stay hard. Not that Moreau would likely do anything about it, but the man likes to know he's choosing not to do anything about it rather than because Eliot's dick refuses to react.
Thing is, Eliot is… bored.
There's a cut dick he would prefer to have his lips around; either that, or a clit Eliot could hold in the tight o of a kiss and—
Pleasure rolls through him.
Well…
Fuck.
Eliot… should stay focused. He shouldn't let his mind wander.
But—it's doing something for him, thinking of the times he used his mouth to get Hardison and Parker off: separate instances, never together… but fuck, the thought of switching off between the two, maybe Parker's slick warm on his tongue as the tip dips over Hardison's slit—
Eliot doesn't deserve to fantasize about them.
It's fucked up.
…Has been fucked up, admittedly from the very beginning—but he didn't care before about what he was doing.
But now…
It's not like Moreau had ordered Eliot to suck Hardison off but he must have heard something in how Eliot talked about the team's ridiculous hacker. Maybe Eliot didn't have to tell Moreau outright how much Hardison lusted after him even with Eliot's talk of the gentle eyes he had for Parker. Maybe Moreau just intuited how much Eliot stared at those clever hands and that full mouth and them deep brown eyes and—Moreau allowed Eliot to pursue Hardison if it seemed viable, given the young man's virility (so stupid and ravenous at the age, hm, Eliot? the second head leads, when we are so young).
Eliot reported the first three times—the third time of which barely counted because of how quick they'd gotten off. Moreau laughed at the story and teased Eliot, who insisted it wasn't like it was his fault. They'd been at their third strip club looking for Hurley and there's only so much gorgeous tits and thighs two guys into that can take without getting heated under the collar.
Eliot had sent Hardison to double check the bathroom before they left, which Hardison did, oblivious, but Eliot had followed him and then pushed him into a stall—not even the accessible one, just the one that was closest—and Hardison babbled as Eliot pushed his shirt up and kissed down his chest and then licked his fly and then sucked him through his boxers. Hardison talked nonsense about having one of them pretty girls between them, how about if they sandwiched that bendy one, with his and Eliot's balls warm against each other. And it hadn't mattered that the girl was a redhead with a bob, because as Hardison gasped through Eliot pulling him out, the girl suddenly had long blond hair in Hardison's fantasy that became their shared fantasy, and Hardison probably didn't notice what he was saying but—
Eliot's mouth managed to get on Hardison's gorgeous cock before he came, and so, it was definitely the third time.
And as he explained in detail to Moreau, all three times happened at critical occasions when Eliot saw Hardison opening up for him, so Eliot opened up (literally) to reinforce the bond. Moreau agreed, and each time he affirmed that the tactic can be revisited at Eliot's discretion.
Eliot told Moreau it all. But then...
Hardison and Eliot'd been staking out a mark's house in Lucille, but then Sophie let them know the guy was running late because of a minor but timely disaster in the office. And so they had to wait and wait and Eliot was used to waiting; he never did anything that Moreau didn't tell him to do, after all. So between Leverage jobs and Moreau's projects, he just worked out and he meal prepped and he mentally drafted his reports back to Moreau again and again and he played tetris and he searched the internet for clips of new gun releases (listening to them on repeat again and again until he had them memorized) and he cleaned or mended or replaced his clothes and he checked his phones' charge again and again and he hovered alone in his apartment breathing through pain and he was so bored—Eliot was used to boredom. It shouldn't bother him no more but also he wanted to want to scream but he couldn’t get to that point of feeling so instead he starved for that emotion while he found something else—anything else—to do, something he’d done a million times already, but maybe listening to the swipswip of this or so aircraft versus the swipwhip of that other one would make the difference so he’ll look that up just in case.
He was so bored in Lucille—the kind of boredom that spelled Eliot's mind firing off the names of the people he's killed or at least the details about them murdered folks, when details were all that could stick when Moreau just pointed him a direction and said shoot. Meanwhile Hardison was dicking around on his phone and wasn't bored the way Eliot was bored, and Eliot saw the quirk in Hardison's lips as he must've come across something funny and—
Eliot said hey and Hardison said yeah? and Eliot put a hand on Hardison's knee and smiled at Hardison just right.
Eliot didn't tell Moreau about that time. Or the next. Or the next. Or the next. Or the one after that. Eliot did tell him about the ninth, but when Moreau said, what is this? four, now? Eliot...
Eliot nodded.
His first lie in five years, not since the punishment for his deception had Eliot—had him…
(The worst thing he'd done was not an accident or part of the job, but specially designed. Just for him.
He had to throw out a perfectly broken-into pair of boots, because the soles would squish out blood and stain his socks no matter how thoroughly he thought he had cleaned them.)
Eliot certainly didn't mention the time Hardison held Eliot's hands in his to make sure he didn't finish on his own. Eliot had barely swallowed down Hardison's orgasm before Hardison played turnabout on Eliot, lips around him in a way Moreau refused to deal with.
Eliot came hard that day.
He came hard the next time Hardison let Eliot fuck his mouth. And the next. And the next, they locked mouths, and Hardison eagerly slipped a hand into Eliot's pants and didn't so much jerk him off as pet Eliot to completion. Eliot didn't tell Moreau about that. Instead, Moreau thinks Hardison is too loyal to the potential thing building between him and Parker to fuck Eliot anymore, except for a time here and there when the man just can't help using what's… using who's available.
Eliot's told Moreau so much.
Eliot hasn't told him about Parker. At all.
He hasn't told Moreau about how over the years, his workout sessions alongside her became training sessions became sparring sessions. She filled in his boredom. She was curious and a good learner and can be a really good fighter if Eliot can just force some more protein into her to help her bulk up just a little—come on, Parker, you'll still be able to squeeze into your damn vents, I promise.
Even as she resisted his attempts to get her to rely less on just getting away and her tasers, Eliot knew. Knew that, god, it was a gift to see her like that. She moved like some kind of fairy child, all grace and mystery and power, and Eliot—not necessarily from the start, but eventually—wanted her. He would smell Parker's shampoo as they shared a couch and he would knock her hair off the backrest to lay his arm. The smell of jasmine kept in his nose for hours, and he'd flush hot as he remembered her hair but also the sensation of warmth and her teasing his bruises and her trust letting him get so close and…
With her....
It just happened, between the grabbing and pinning and feeling on his tongue the sweat and wet of her as she haphazardly pinned him down by sitting on his clavicle. He couldn't help his shudder at the deep breath he took, and Parker...
She saw right through him then, because she always sees right through him—not deep enough, never deep enough to know Eliot's true alliance, but... still, the way her eyes hollow him out trembles his knees when he thinks too long about it. He shook under her then. She said his name and he said yes and she asked if he wanted to taste her and he begged please and he sucked at the crotch of her tights until she deemed him deserving and she undressed and sat on his face.
Eliot never told Moreau.
He doesn't tell him about Parker breaking into his apartment, so quiet about half the time Eliot doesn't wake up to her trespass (she swears it's more 60 to 40% in her favor, Eliot swears it's 60 to 40% in his favor, so he splits it even while Parker insists its 60 to 40%). Eliot knows for a fact Parker knows where he lives, knows how to get in, can get in at any time, has a 50/50 shot of not alerting Eliot if he's in, and… Eliot doesn't tell Moreau. The first time, Eliot made Parker swear not to look in three places. He told her exactly where they were. His hiding spots for his shit for Moreau—he told her exactly where not to look. She said okay and Eliot knew she meant it (wanted to believe she would keep her promise) and then he ate her out past when his jaw was sore; he licked at her and fingered into her until she said stop. She sucked on his pruney fingertips because he'd so long since come and then dry came somewhere in the middle, he couldn't take her reciprocating.
Another time, everything falls the same way but then she does go down on him. She held him down by his hips and told him to stay like she knew he would do it, the same way that one time she knew he would swallow down her strap and finger her ass without touching anything else, because she never gave any indication she wanted him to reach past the dildo. Eliot gave her head and afterward she kissed him so sweetly his orgasm rocked him as a surprise. (She made him eat the come off her thigh and he thanked her for it.)
But… the second time Parker had him go down on her for forever—for longer than he ever had for anyone else—that second time, Parker held him down and told him to stay and she licked at his twice-come dick that had long gone soft. She licked and licked and he started crying, he was so raw and his face hurt and he couldn't possibly come again—he was nearing forty, he can't… well, not without her playing with his prostate which he could tell her but… Eliot was a mess. He was a mess as he sobbed hard enough Parker pulled away, alarmed. But Eliot told her to keep going, please, sweetheart, please, please—he could only form those two words for a long, long time.
And the thing is, Parker's not even that good at giving oral (to penises! she always makes sure to specify, so Eliot makes sure to specify for himself). She's getting better with practice. Getting better with Eliot. For Eliot, because…
Oral is fine.
The handjobs and the fingering… okay.
He kisses them both, and sometimes the kissing comes with rubbing up against each other, and frottage is… more than he should do but sometimes that's what happens.
But mostly there's oral.
Mostly just Eliot's face hidden in their laps, mouth full.
Mostly there's so many secrets Eliot has to hold. So many times he has to bite his tongue, a number of times that… It's been increasing, lately, how often he chokes over his words and confessions and implications and, perhaps, a request for… for them to do what they do but do it for El—
He almost gives it all away more often than he should. To Nate. To Sophie. And of course, to Hardison and to Parker. Eliot notices when something… doesn't sit right with them. He never intends to make them suspicious, but there's only so much of a human a man can be after nearing a decade of work with Damien Moreau. They see him and they love him as much as they can someone with a secret and they rely on him and they trust him with their lives. Eliot loves them back and he relies on them and Eliot trusts them more than he should.
More than he has a right to.
At least with Hardison and Parker—at least about the sex—Eliot has to believe that he is hiding it all with his silence. He has to believe that his actions and his body haven't always spoken louder than his words. He has to believe that by stuffing his face with cock and pussy for years now, timing closer to a fucking cartoon hijink than that which can be performed by a normal functional goddamn person… he has to believe that he hasn't laid it all bare.
At least, he comforts himself, he's been pushing them two together since the beginning. They are gravitating towards each other now, falling into each other's orbits like a promise for an eventuality. Lately they talk nonsense about pretzels to him and it sounds like it's about them but also Eliot too for all that they don't explain themselves. He could ask but he is afraid to know for sure.
They fuck Eliot (separately, never together, and they aren't together themselves yet) still. They fuck him, and Eliot holds onto them, after. He falls asleep in their arms with his pulse going fast as he dreads how he will break Hardison's heart if… when… if… when he finds out what a monster Eliot is. Eliot has nightmares predicting exactly how Parker will murder him when… if… when… if she finds out.
Eliot knows this house of cards will eventually collapse, and it's more complicated now. And he's a fucking awful man for involving sex into this, "even if" no one has been penetrated more than in their mouth or because of Eliot's wandering fingers. That matters, right? Maybe? Is it just so he never has the opportunity to feel warmth in or around him as he looks right into their eyes—because if he did that, instead of moaning out their names he'll scream out that he's conning them, he's betrayed them; they know they're not the good guys, but he ain't even the good kind of bad. He's just…
He's on his knees in front of Moreau, being gifted with the chance to blow the man because of Eliot's loyalty and for telling him all about Jimmy Ford's passing through town. His mouth is busy and his body is Moreau's and he swallows every cruel direction he's given and from Moreau he just needs to take it. But now…
Eliot's come already—sometime around remembering Parker's first break in—when Moreau's hold on Eliot's hair tightens. Eliot's nose is shoved as deep into trimmed pubes as is needed to take all of his boss in full. Eliot can't breathe and won't breathe for as long as it takes for Moreau to come down Eliot's throat and start feeling sensitive.
This used to be a reward.
Now Eliot… just wants to hold space for Hardison and Parker.
He… wants them. For himself. For each other, too. (Eliot teaches Parker to suck cock the way Hardison wants his cock sucked. He didn't realize it at first—he wouldn't have done that to her intentionally—but now…) Eliot wants them for each other, yes both of them and Hardison with Eliot and Parker with Eliot but also…
He wants…
He's not ready to give that up.
So he lies to Moreau.
He withholds from Moreau.
He lies to his crew.
He bares himself to Hardison and Parker and for once, he follows the want in his heart for something (someones…) just for himself.
(Fucking Hardison and Parker is not the worst thing he's ever done, but as time goes by, Eliot wonders if loving them will be.)
When Moreau lets Eliot go, his vision goes blurry at the edges. Eliot opens his mouth wide to breathe.