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Fic: Capable Hands
Title: Capable Hands
Fandom: Leverage
Pairing: Eliot Spencer/Parker
Rating: hard R
Word Count: 600
Summary: Sometimes, they watch each other.
Author's Notes: Written for 5 Acts, January 2011. Beta'd by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
maskedfangirl.
Sometimes, Eliot watched Parker.
Parker frowned to herself, and rubbed her fingers across her cheekbones, smearing the dark graphite from her pencil there without noticing. She stared intently at the paper in front of her. It was messy lines and smudges, but she was sure there was a picture in there, if she could just find it.
Once she found it, she would coax it out with her pencil and the edge of her pinky finger, which she used for making hard lines softer. Tilting her head and half-squinting, she thought she caught a glimpse of a fish in the swirls on the paper, swimming away upstream and begging to be caught. Parker dove in after it, pencil scratching away at its hiding place and an unconscious smile spreading across her face.
Eliot watched the way she reacted to the drawing, the delight and the uncertainty, and he watched the way her fingers tightened on the pencil when she was worried her picture wouldn't turn out the right way, and he smiled to himself when he saw her stop to think, twirling the pencil in her fingertips while lost in thought.
Sometimes, Parker watched Eliot.
She thought he must be a little magic. The way he could move in the kitchen was incredible. It always seemed like he had nine things happening at once, but nothing ever burned or came out less than amazing. He got really focussed when he was cooking, and she laughed sometimes when he snapped at someone to get out of his way, even when it was her he was snapping at.
Parker loved to watch the way he handled the knives. Eliot moved so quickly with a knife in his hand; for peeling or carving or slicing. Knives of all sizes and shapes, and Parker shuddered to imagine him wielding one against another person (though she was certain he had), but when he turned his knives on dinner, she always got a little thrill.
No matter what knife he was holding, Eliot's hands moved exactly the way they were meant to and he never had an accident.
Parker watched Eliot when they were on a job, and Eliot watched her right back.
Not the same way they watched when they weren't, though, because work was work and their work was dangerous with anything less than complete focus.
Parker checked and double checked the ropes, fingers easily pulling at knots and testing the anchor point. She could tie any knot, Eliot was sure of it, and even more sure her nimble fingers could get any knot untied. The thought gave him chills, if he was being honest.
Eliot picked up a gun dropped by a security guard and flicked out the magazine, throwing it into the night. He twirled the gun in his hand like an Old West sheriff and it disappeared right after the clip. His hands got scraped sometimes, or bruised across the knuckles, and Parker felt bad and grateful and sad and happy all at once for it.
Sometimes, when the moon was full and Parker had thrown open the curtains to let in all its silksoft light, they watched each other and never spoke.
Eliot kissed her eyelids and then her fingertips, which she spread across his shoulders. He watched her, and not her hands for once, but her eyes. The way they drifted close when he stroked her skin and the way they flew back open when he slid two fingers deep inside. She smiled to the ceiling and lost herself in his hands.
Fandom: Leverage
Pairing: Eliot Spencer/Parker
Rating: hard R
Word Count: 600
Summary: Sometimes, they watch each other.
Author's Notes: Written for 5 Acts, January 2011. Beta'd by
maskedfangirl.Sometimes, Eliot watched Parker.
Parker frowned to herself, and rubbed her fingers across her cheekbones, smearing the dark graphite from her pencil there without noticing. She stared intently at the paper in front of her. It was messy lines and smudges, but she was sure there was a picture in there, if she could just find it.
Once she found it, she would coax it out with her pencil and the edge of her pinky finger, which she used for making hard lines softer. Tilting her head and half-squinting, she thought she caught a glimpse of a fish in the swirls on the paper, swimming away upstream and begging to be caught. Parker dove in after it, pencil scratching away at its hiding place and an unconscious smile spreading across her face.
Eliot watched the way she reacted to the drawing, the delight and the uncertainty, and he watched the way her fingers tightened on the pencil when she was worried her picture wouldn't turn out the right way, and he smiled to himself when he saw her stop to think, twirling the pencil in her fingertips while lost in thought.
Sometimes, Parker watched Eliot.
She thought he must be a little magic. The way he could move in the kitchen was incredible. It always seemed like he had nine things happening at once, but nothing ever burned or came out less than amazing. He got really focussed when he was cooking, and she laughed sometimes when he snapped at someone to get out of his way, even when it was her he was snapping at.
Parker loved to watch the way he handled the knives. Eliot moved so quickly with a knife in his hand; for peeling or carving or slicing. Knives of all sizes and shapes, and Parker shuddered to imagine him wielding one against another person (though she was certain he had), but when he turned his knives on dinner, she always got a little thrill.
No matter what knife he was holding, Eliot's hands moved exactly the way they were meant to and he never had an accident.
Parker watched Eliot when they were on a job, and Eliot watched her right back.
Not the same way they watched when they weren't, though, because work was work and their work was dangerous with anything less than complete focus.
Parker checked and double checked the ropes, fingers easily pulling at knots and testing the anchor point. She could tie any knot, Eliot was sure of it, and even more sure her nimble fingers could get any knot untied. The thought gave him chills, if he was being honest.
Eliot picked up a gun dropped by a security guard and flicked out the magazine, throwing it into the night. He twirled the gun in his hand like an Old West sheriff and it disappeared right after the clip. His hands got scraped sometimes, or bruised across the knuckles, and Parker felt bad and grateful and sad and happy all at once for it.
Sometimes, when the moon was full and Parker had thrown open the curtains to let in all its silksoft light, they watched each other and never spoke.
Eliot kissed her eyelids and then her fingertips, which she spread across his shoulders. He watched her, and not her hands for once, but her eyes. The way they drifted close when he stroked her skin and the way they flew back open when he slid two fingers deep inside. She smiled to the ceiling and lost herself in his hands.