Fic: A Joy To Pass A Quiet Night At Home
Jan. 3rd, 2011 11:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sunspotTitle: A Joy To Pass A Quiet Night At Home
Fandom: Leverage
Pairing: Eliot/Parker/Hardison
Rating: all
Word Count: ~1200
Summary: Sometimes it's not the loud, boasting moments that inform us, it's the quiet nights at home.
Author's Notes: This is for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cherie_morte, because she is the shining sharklight of my life. Many thanks to creativescape and waterofthemoon for speedy and excellent beta-ing.
Parker's breathless and grinning when they come in. Eliot is decidedly less cheery, stomping his boots on the mat and throwing his mittens at Hardison. Hardison smiles.
"Not doing that again, man," he says, pointing a threatening finger. "She's crazy."
Parker kisses his cheek and tosses her coat onto the stairs. "We had fun, Eliot. It's so pretty outside. I love snow."
"I hate shovelling," Eliot says. "Not doing it again."
It takes a few more moments of Hardison's quiet, obnoxious smile, before Parker and Eliot clue in to what's changed.
The lights shine softly around the open doorway, and the dark green tree stands out against the wood panelling.
"Oh, Hardison!" Parker twirls into the living room and drops onto the couch next to him. She snuggles down against his side with a wild smile.
"Nice," Eliot admits, touching the tips of the pine needles.
"It needs decorations," Parker says. "Why didn't you put decorations?"
He shrugs. "Thought we could do it together. Maybe after dinner?"
Eliot takes that as his cue to disappear into the kitchen. He calls out to them to come help him, and when they don't come, he goes to investigate.
In the living room, Parker has Hardison pinned to the couch with her whole body, holding a clump of mistletoe above them threateningly. It's not a threat Hardison plans to struggle against, of course.
"Come on, guys." Eliot sighs. "If you want to eat before midnight, I need some help."
Hardison says something in reply, but his words get lost against Parker's mouth. Eliot watches them for a second, telling himself it's not voyeurism if he's seen them both naked repeatedly, then picks Parker up with one arm around her waist and takes the mistletoe.
"Help," he says. "Obnoxious, sloppy groping after."
"Not sloppy," Parker complains, twisting and trying to get out of Eliot's grasp. "And besides, sometimes sloppy is okay."
Hardison follows them into the kitchen, grinning lazily. "Sometimes sloppy is fun," he agrees.
Eliot sets Parker down in front of the fridge. "Dice some onions," he says firmly.
Parker spins the knife exactly the way Eliot showed her and she's got that dreamy, faraway smile on her face and Hardison wonders for a moment if she paid too much attention to Eliot's knife lessons; she seems overly comfortable with it. But he thinks of all the great food he's eaten in the last few months and decides that maybe it's something else about Parker he's not going to struggle against.
"Hardison," Eliot says, glancing over his shoulder and flashing him a look that reminds Hardison of exactly why he tumbled into bed with Eliot Spencer to begin with. "Can you set the table?"
Setting the table is considerably less sexy than what Hardison's thinking about, but he gets plates down from the cupboard anyway.
Dinner is a quiet affair, with stuffed green peppers and tall glasses of milk. Parker talks excitedly about how she wants to decorate the tree, and the guys try to ignore the growing mental picture of the hideously glitzy tree she's planning.
Eliot finishes his dinner and pushes his plate away. He's smiling at Parker when he pulls out his wallet and puts a couple one and five dollar bills on the table.
"It's not Hardison's tree or lights, but here," he says, creasing a few of the bills right down the centre. He puts one in front of Hardison and one in front of Parker.
They watch as Eliot folds the bill over and over in his fingers, turning it and making it into a shape. Hardison can't quite make out what it is because he's nearly hypnotized by the steady rhythm of Eliot's fingers.
Parker mimics Eliot's motions with her own bill and her eyes light up when she realizes what they're making. "For the tree?" she asks. Eliot nods.
The little paper stars are mostly green, but after they make nearly thirty of them from assorted bills, Parker declares that they'll look fantastic on the tree. She all but floats into the next room and starts placing them with great care. Hardison helps, and pretends he doesn't notice when she moves every one he puts on the tree. That's what the Christmas spirit is all about.
Eliot bakes in the kitchen, a talent he doesn't usually own up to having, and the smell of shortbread clings to him when he enters the living room half an hour later. Hardison is sitting on the floor, worrying at something with a screwdriver, an intense look of concentration on his face. The look is mirrored on Parker's face, which is alarming when Eliot considers the armful of tinsel she's holding.
Before he can offer his careful artistic guidance or even his help for reaching the higher branches, Parker launches herself and her tinsel at the defenseless tree. Eliot looks away in the instant before the attack and when he looks back, he wishes he hadn't.
But Parker looks so taken with the hideous metallic monster she's created, eyes wide and reflecting the twinkling lights, smile easy and vibrant, that Eliot just puts an arm around her waist and closes his eyes. If anyone asks, it's because he's savouring the moment, not because he thinks he'll go blind if he looks directly at the tree.
"Done," Hardison says, holding up the star he'd been fiddling with. "Parker?"
"You can do it," she smiles, leaning her head on Eliot's shoulder.
Hardison barely has to stand on tiptoe to reach the top of the tree and after a few seconds, the star slides into place. He turns out the overhead light and plugs in the lights on the tree, letting out a laugh. Parker gasps happily, and Eliot finally opens his eyes and risks a look.
"It's perfect," Parker breathes, reaching out for Hardison. He takes her hand and the three of them stand in silence, watching the glittering, tinsel-covering, money-strewn monstrosity.
"That's not the word I would use."
Parker pokes Eliot in the arm. "No, it's perfect," she says again.
The timer on the oven dings before he can try and convince her otherwise, so he leaves it at perfect and goes to check on his baking.
He comes back with a plate of shortbread cookies and the cluster of mistletoe to find Hardison and Parker exactly where he left them in front of the tree.
"Cookie?" he offers. The promise of sugar lures them both from the gleam of the tree, but before they can help themselves, Eliot hides the plate behind his back and holds the mistletoe over his own head.
"I think that counts as sexual blackmail," Hardison says dryly. He kisses Eliot anyway, because the shortbread smells amazing and Eliot smells like shortbread. And that's not even the weakest argument he's had for kissing someone, either.
When Hardison draws back to make room for Parker, she's already chewing a mouthful of shortbread.
"What?" she says when both of them turn to give her a look. "Can you honestly say you're surprised?" She leans in and kisses Eliot because that's the rule of mistletoe. Her kisses taste like shortbread cookie and Eliot tries not to grin.
Despite Eliot's protests, they don't save any of the cookies. They eat them all right then, sitting under the shining Christmas tree.
Fandom: Leverage
Pairing: Eliot/Parker/Hardison
Rating: all
Word Count: ~1200
Summary: Sometimes it's not the loud, boasting moments that inform us, it's the quiet nights at home.
Author's Notes: This is for
cherie_morte, because she is the shining sharklight of my life. Many thanks to creativescape and waterofthemoon for speedy and excellent beta-ing.Parker's breathless and grinning when they come in. Eliot is decidedly less cheery, stomping his boots on the mat and throwing his mittens at Hardison. Hardison smiles.
"Not doing that again, man," he says, pointing a threatening finger. "She's crazy."
Parker kisses his cheek and tosses her coat onto the stairs. "We had fun, Eliot. It's so pretty outside. I love snow."
"I hate shovelling," Eliot says. "Not doing it again."
It takes a few more moments of Hardison's quiet, obnoxious smile, before Parker and Eliot clue in to what's changed.
The lights shine softly around the open doorway, and the dark green tree stands out against the wood panelling.
"Oh, Hardison!" Parker twirls into the living room and drops onto the couch next to him. She snuggles down against his side with a wild smile.
"Nice," Eliot admits, touching the tips of the pine needles.
"It needs decorations," Parker says. "Why didn't you put decorations?"
He shrugs. "Thought we could do it together. Maybe after dinner?"
Eliot takes that as his cue to disappear into the kitchen. He calls out to them to come help him, and when they don't come, he goes to investigate.
In the living room, Parker has Hardison pinned to the couch with her whole body, holding a clump of mistletoe above them threateningly. It's not a threat Hardison plans to struggle against, of course.
"Come on, guys." Eliot sighs. "If you want to eat before midnight, I need some help."
Hardison says something in reply, but his words get lost against Parker's mouth. Eliot watches them for a second, telling himself it's not voyeurism if he's seen them both naked repeatedly, then picks Parker up with one arm around her waist and takes the mistletoe.
"Help," he says. "Obnoxious, sloppy groping after."
"Not sloppy," Parker complains, twisting and trying to get out of Eliot's grasp. "And besides, sometimes sloppy is okay."
Hardison follows them into the kitchen, grinning lazily. "Sometimes sloppy is fun," he agrees.
Eliot sets Parker down in front of the fridge. "Dice some onions," he says firmly.
Parker spins the knife exactly the way Eliot showed her and she's got that dreamy, faraway smile on her face and Hardison wonders for a moment if she paid too much attention to Eliot's knife lessons; she seems overly comfortable with it. But he thinks of all the great food he's eaten in the last few months and decides that maybe it's something else about Parker he's not going to struggle against.
"Hardison," Eliot says, glancing over his shoulder and flashing him a look that reminds Hardison of exactly why he tumbled into bed with Eliot Spencer to begin with. "Can you set the table?"
Setting the table is considerably less sexy than what Hardison's thinking about, but he gets plates down from the cupboard anyway.
Dinner is a quiet affair, with stuffed green peppers and tall glasses of milk. Parker talks excitedly about how she wants to decorate the tree, and the guys try to ignore the growing mental picture of the hideously glitzy tree she's planning.
Eliot finishes his dinner and pushes his plate away. He's smiling at Parker when he pulls out his wallet and puts a couple one and five dollar bills on the table.
"It's not Hardison's tree or lights, but here," he says, creasing a few of the bills right down the centre. He puts one in front of Hardison and one in front of Parker.
They watch as Eliot folds the bill over and over in his fingers, turning it and making it into a shape. Hardison can't quite make out what it is because he's nearly hypnotized by the steady rhythm of Eliot's fingers.
Parker mimics Eliot's motions with her own bill and her eyes light up when she realizes what they're making. "For the tree?" she asks. Eliot nods.
The little paper stars are mostly green, but after they make nearly thirty of them from assorted bills, Parker declares that they'll look fantastic on the tree. She all but floats into the next room and starts placing them with great care. Hardison helps, and pretends he doesn't notice when she moves every one he puts on the tree. That's what the Christmas spirit is all about.
Eliot bakes in the kitchen, a talent he doesn't usually own up to having, and the smell of shortbread clings to him when he enters the living room half an hour later. Hardison is sitting on the floor, worrying at something with a screwdriver, an intense look of concentration on his face. The look is mirrored on Parker's face, which is alarming when Eliot considers the armful of tinsel she's holding.
Before he can offer his careful artistic guidance or even his help for reaching the higher branches, Parker launches herself and her tinsel at the defenseless tree. Eliot looks away in the instant before the attack and when he looks back, he wishes he hadn't.
But Parker looks so taken with the hideous metallic monster she's created, eyes wide and reflecting the twinkling lights, smile easy and vibrant, that Eliot just puts an arm around her waist and closes his eyes. If anyone asks, it's because he's savouring the moment, not because he thinks he'll go blind if he looks directly at the tree.
"Done," Hardison says, holding up the star he'd been fiddling with. "Parker?"
"You can do it," she smiles, leaning her head on Eliot's shoulder.
Hardison barely has to stand on tiptoe to reach the top of the tree and after a few seconds, the star slides into place. He turns out the overhead light and plugs in the lights on the tree, letting out a laugh. Parker gasps happily, and Eliot finally opens his eyes and risks a look.
"It's perfect," Parker breathes, reaching out for Hardison. He takes her hand and the three of them stand in silence, watching the glittering, tinsel-covering, money-strewn monstrosity.
"That's not the word I would use."
Parker pokes Eliot in the arm. "No, it's perfect," she says again.
The timer on the oven dings before he can try and convince her otherwise, so he leaves it at perfect and goes to check on his baking.
He comes back with a plate of shortbread cookies and the cluster of mistletoe to find Hardison and Parker exactly where he left them in front of the tree.
"Cookie?" he offers. The promise of sugar lures them both from the gleam of the tree, but before they can help themselves, Eliot hides the plate behind his back and holds the mistletoe over his own head.
"I think that counts as sexual blackmail," Hardison says dryly. He kisses Eliot anyway, because the shortbread smells amazing and Eliot smells like shortbread. And that's not even the weakest argument he's had for kissing someone, either.
When Hardison draws back to make room for Parker, she's already chewing a mouthful of shortbread.
"What?" she says when both of them turn to give her a look. "Can you honestly say you're surprised?" She leans in and kisses Eliot because that's the rule of mistletoe. Her kisses taste like shortbread cookie and Eliot tries not to grin.
Despite Eliot's protests, they don't save any of the cookies. They eat them all right then, sitting under the shining Christmas tree.
