Fic: Camera Shy, AtS/Leverage crossover (Eliot/Lindsey, NC17)
Camera Shy
By ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
rivestra
AtS/Leverage, Eliot/Lindsey
NC17; not mine, not for profit
1,850 words, completed 4/7/09
Notes: more runaway commentfic , this time for ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maab_connor , who asked for Angel/Leverage, Lindsay/Eliot, not on camera.
Sequel to Interesting, and you should probably read that first, if you’d like this to make any sense. If you’re just in it for the pretty, then go right ahead and read (though in that case, I should apologize for taking 550 words to get to the smut). Also? I really need an Eliot icon, damnit!
Eliot looked at the Departures board and cursed as his flight flickered from “departing” to “canceled.” Again.
This damn Midwestern blizzard was killing him. He really had to get to
His phone rang and Eliot absently flicked it open, “Yeah, Hardison, I see it.” He paused, listening to the other man talk.
“No. Absolutely not. Find me something else… Damn it, you’ve already bounced me around on two useless flights today… yes,
Eliot scrubbed at the stubble on his face while Hardison babbled about snow, icing points, aircraft tires and something way too technical about the new air traffic control system for the western US. Maybe he’d be able to get a shave before he had to get on another damn plane.
Having heard enough about air traffic control, Eliot cut the other man off and said, “Flight 213, right? I’m pre-boarded?” He looked up at the board and was relieved to see the flight was on time... at least until he looked at his watch. On time meant it was leaving in 10 minutes. So much for that shave.
“Hardison.” Hardison didn’t pause. “Hardison. Hardison! I’ve got to go if I’m going to catch that plane. There’s a four hour layover in LA, right? Find me a room, would you? I don’t want to scare off the mark if I ever get to
Two hours later, Eliot was finally on the ground in LA. His phone beeped at him when he powered it back up, and he groaned when he glanced at Hardison’s text: his
The chaos of the airport vanished as Eliot slipped gratefully into the leather-scented car. He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to watch the insanity that Los Angelinos called traffic, and was surprised by the driver’s gentle, “Sir, we’ve arrived at your hotel,” what seemed like just few seconds later. The lobby was just as quietly luxurious as the car, and he checked in without incident. He eyed the bar speculatively, but in the end headed upstairs, promising himself room service, if he could stay awake that long.
The elevator doors were shutting, so Elliot slipped between them quickly, sliding inside in a tired daze. An eerily familiar voice drawled, “Floor sixteen, right?” and Eliot didn’t really process that someone else was in the car at all until after he’d shoved the man hard into the wall, arm twisted tightly in a brutal hold.
The man laughed, the low sound filling the suddenly small space. Exhaustion vanishing and instantly on guard, Eliot leaned into the man’s arm, pressing his threat. It had to be painful, but the guy just shimmied his ass back into Eliot’s crotch and said, “I’m all for a little turnabout, Spencer, but we are on camera here,” he jerked his head toward a small black bulge in the elevator’s ceiling, “and security here is usually pretty on the ball.”
Eliot growled and pulled the man away from the wall, spinning him around roughly. The second his face came into view, Eliot groaned and let go, feeling his body react to the memory and hoping the angry, “I fucking hate LA,” he spat out would help cool his reaction.
Voice low and suggestive, Lindsey drawled, “I don’t remember hearing you complain last time,” and that didn’t help Eliot’s ability to concentrate at all. He growled and narrowed his eyes and Lindsey smiled at him and turned abruptly professional, saying, “You know, I don’t believe we were ever formally introduced,” and actually sticking out a hand. “Lindsey McDonald.” Eliot just stared at him, but he left his hand outstretched until the elevator dinged some seconds later.
Lindsey gave the camera a friendly wave and grabbed Eliot’s bag up off the floor, ushering Eliot out of the elevator ahead of him. Eliot stopped just outside the doors, demanding, “Where’s your bleached boyfriend?”
Smirking, Lindsey replied, “Why, you disappointed?”
Eliot glared at his doppelganger and the man laughed. “He’s around.” Lindsey slid his arm through Eliot’s and tried to lead him down the hallway; Eliot glanced up at the cameras hidden in the extravagant light fixtures and sighed, allowing himself to be led.
They stopped in front of room 1601, and the words, “How the hell did you know my room number?” made it out of Eliot’s mouth before his brain engaged. Lindsey’s just smirked that smirk again in confirmation, making Eliot wonder if there had even been a blizzard at all. Feeling grumpy and belligerent and entirely too warm, Eliot opened the door to his room.
He’d been half expecting it, so he didn’t fight back when Lindsey manhandled him inside, shutting the door firmly just as soon as they were both clear of it. He let himself be pushed against the wall, arching an eyebrow at Lindsey when the man’s face appeared right in front of his own. Now it was Eliot’s turn to drawl hungrily and he did, breathing out, “I thought you were up for some turnabout,” right into the other man’s ear.
Lindsey drew back a few inches and cocked his own eyebrow, but Eliot didn’t let him retreat. He followed Lindsey’s body with his own, fitting them together, a perfect match from thigh to chest, cock to cock. He leaned in further and sucked the healing scar on Lindsey’s neck into his mouth.
Lindsey growled and bucked against him, slamming Eliot back into the wall and pulling his head up into a heated kiss. He brought Eliot’s hands up to the wall above their heads, clearly intending to pin them there, but Eliot had a better idea, and twisted out of his grasp, unbalancing Lindsey and sending him crashing to his knees, exactly where Eliot wanted him.
Sliding his hands into Lindsey’s hair, Eliot smiled. Lindsey smirked back up at him and Eliot suddenly needed that smirk gone, needed to wipe it clean off that familiar, too smug face, and he thrust his hips forward, shoving his denim-clad cock into Lindsey’s face.
Smirk morphing into a wide grin, Lindsey brought his hands up to Eliot’s hips, steadying them just long enough to pop the top button with his thumb and grab Eliot’s zipper in his teeth, drawing it down slowly, eyes locked on Eliot’s above him.
Eliot tried to remember to breathe, gasping loudly into the quiet suite when Lindsey hooked thumbs into his underwear and yanked downward, taking his jeans too and swallowing him down in the same motion. His head smacked back into the wall hard as Lindsey started to work around him with tongue and lips and fist, wet and sloppy, all suction and slide.
Wait… there was something… Eliot desperately tried to re-gather his brain cells. He caught sight of the picture the two of them made in the hallway mirror, and almost lost it right then but… Lindsey’s mouth may have been spread wide by his cock, but the other man was still smug, damn it. Still confidant and in control and Eliot didn’t… couldn’t let… he tightened his fingers in Lindsey’s hair and began to thrust hard into that willing mouth.
Lindsey gagged a bit as Eliot hit the back of his throat, then relaxed, letting Eliot go deep, down to the root. Lindsey wasn’t smirking anymore, but he didn’t seem to object, either, taking it all, over and over as Eliot rammed in and out, as hard as he wanted, unable to take more than was offered, because Lindsey was holding nothing back, the bastard, just handing it all over, absolutely everything, and Eliot really didn’t understand, but he didn’t need to because he was coming hard, shoved deep down Lindsey’s throat. Lindsey swallowed again and again, muscles working on Eliot’s cock until he was done, empty and gone, everything spent and finished.
Eliot collapsed into Lindsey, nearly taking a nasty fall when his exhausted legs tangled in his jeans. Lindsey caught him easily and moved them to the couch, gentling him through the aftershocks and easing him onto the cushions. Eliot felt Lindsey slip the boots off his feet and free him from his pants. He faded in and out as strong hands rubbed along his legs and up under his shirt, working relentlessly at travel-sore muscles, shifting him onto his stomach to reach his neck and shoulders, relaxing for the first time in days, letting his mind drift on sensation.
Eliot curled into the firm strokes down his hips, fingers kneading into his ass, releasing the tension there, barely noticing when oil began to ease the friction of hands on skin, moaning as the strokes grew deeper and deeper. Moans increasing in volume, he buried his face in the couch pillows as the strokes became more intimate, riding the sensation as it built, hardly noticing when Lindsey’s finger slid into his ass on a current of body warm slick. Eliot bucked into Lindsey’s touch as it homed in on his prostate, teasing him into such a frenzy that he exhaled nothing more than a simple, heartfelt, “Yes,” when Lindsey’s cock slid home, pushing in deep and solid, balls deep in a single smooth stroke.
Lindsey rode him hard, reaching around with slick, demanding hands, dragging Eliot to a second, mind-melting orgasm long before he was anywhere close himself. Eliot didn’t actually recall Lindsey finishing, but refused to believe that was because he’d passed out, instead attributing it to a sort of selective amnesia that protected him from the memory of the other man cleaning him up and tucking him in under a blanket before slipping out the door.
The telephone seemed hangover-loud, and it took Eliot three rings to catch because he’d managed to tangle himself in the blanket, not because his ass was sore enough to make him move slowly. He hung up on the fancy live wake up call harder than was probably fair, grabbing irritably at the W&H emblazoned file folder propped up next to the phone.
The file, damn the bastard, was labeled Clarendon Consolidated, and it was thick. The post-it slapped on the front said:
You were right – turnabout is definitely the way to go.
-- L
He didn’t want to know about the DVD that fell out while he was shoving the file into his bag. Especially not after he saw the scrawled, “Pet” written on the paper jacket.
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*brainfail due to overheating. please reboot user*
RAWR!!!!!
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::shakes head:: It's never gonna be enough if you keep reading
::is sekretly glad you read, even if this stuff's gonna melt your CPU::
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*puts CD into player. hits play* DID YOU EVER KNOW THAT YOU'RE MY HEEEERRROOOOOO *points at speaker. nods a lot.*
guh.
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I'm so glad it worked for you - I was a little worried about it when it immediately turned into a sequel, but I've learned it's really better not to fight the muses *g*
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What do you suppose the odds are of Elliot successfully keeping that DVD away from Hardison? Just asking.
::is in no way prompting for the next installment - no way, no how - nope::