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fandomweekly2023-11-14 03:43 pm
quillpunk) wrote in fandomweekly2023-11-14 03:43 pm
Entry tags:
[#064] and hey, maybe we're all on fire anyway (Leverage)
Theme Prompt: #064 - Rainy Day
Title: and hey, maybe we're all on fire anyway
Fandom: Leverage
Rating/Warnings: PG
Bonus: No
Word Count: 966
The rain hits the windows with the force of a thousand suns—an endless battering ram that doesn’t let up for a second. It’s small patterns in the rivulets that run down the glass, a smog rising over the streets as the water droplets bounces on the ground before it strikes it for the last time. Puddles too big to waddle through line the streets, and the ground has turned from muddy to potentially a sinkhole.
The entire house echoes with the rain, a rattling that punches through the walls and hits the ears with a nearly inconspicuous force. Hardison sighs, listlessly stretching out on the couch, and feels Parker settle beside him.
“Bored?” she asks, audibly snacking on the bowl of chips Eliot left out before he left for groceries. Hardison doesn’t understand why Eliot would sneak out to do that—Hardison is a natural at purchasing groceries!
“You know it,” he says, flopping his hand out for the TV remote and utterly failing to catch it. Parker hums in return, shoving at his feet until he pulls them in so she can spread out as well. She doesn’t get the remote, though, a betrayal of the highest order that Hardison shall never recover from, he just knows it.
Groaning, Hardison turns over on his side and sidles out just enough to finally grab the remote. At this moment, he utterly fails to understand why the TV isn’t voice-controlled; this seems like a fatal oversight. But that thought vanishes when he tries to move back and can’t because Parker ruthlessly snagged the spot he was just lying in and now he’s on the edge of falling off the couch.
“Parker,” Hardison complaints, but Parker holds onto him and you know what, he’s cool with this, he’ll just tense his muscles so he doesn’t fall off, this is fine and he’ll stay here forever actually.
The front door opens and Eliot stomps in, loud in his mild annoyance. “I am drenched,” he declares from the foyer, because this is the kind of fancy house that has a foyer, like there is something they can do about this.
“Chips?” Parker chirps, leaning up to look over the couch’s backrest, and in the process tipping Hardison right over the edge.
It’s cool though, Hardison is a whiz at this, and he gets to his feet before he ever hits the ground. “Chips?” he repeats, turning to look at Eliot trudging into the room and wow, he is drenched from top to bottom. He actually leaves puddles of water on the floor with every step, and Hardison frowns at that. Should they clean that up?
“No, I didn’t buy chips, we have like fifteen bags,” Eliot says, wringing his hair out and making the water puddles worse. Hardison looks around for a towel but of course there isn’t one in the foyer or the parlor and while he could go get one, that seems like an awfully long walk right now. The rain is still hitting the house, and he Parker and Eliot are both right here and is it his fault he doesn’t especially want to go anywhere right now? No. No it is not. This is like, temptation or something. So not his fault.
“Aww,” Parker says, hugging her bowl of chips while Eliot scowls at them.
“Help me unpack,” Eliot says instead of commenting on it though, and Hardison is starting to freeze just looking at Eliot. It’s solidly into autumn and not especially warm even inside the house, and he can’t imagine Eliot is feeling very good.
So Hardison goes over and hugs him. Obviously. “You—what’s up with you?” Eliot grouches, but tellingly leans into it and, after a bit, even returns the hug. Hardison did not think this through, though, because now he is covered in icy water and it doesn’t exactly improve when Parker joins in the hug, squeezing them both tight until Hardison’s ribs aches.
Which is admittedly not their fault, merely the aftermath of a successful con, but it does mean that he has to tap out a lot sooner than he’d like. Just to like, preserve his dignity lest he do something like groan in pain.
Clearing his throat, Hardison steps back and they trudge together to the pile of dripping bags waiting in the foyer. Unpacking isn’t very complicated; they’ve got a good system going but man did Eliot go overboard this time, Hardison thinks to himself. So much toilet paper. So much soap. And four bags of chips because Eliot is a sucker and they all know it.
Eliot catches sight of his grin, holding the chips, and the man rolls his eyes and grumbles, “What, man, you’re eating me out of house and home. I’m just being prepared. It’s sensible.”
Hardison’s grin widens, and he cackles to himself. Parker gets a faux-serious look and grabs the chips from him, ignoring his gimme motions. “No eating Eliot’s emergency supplies,” she declares, and Hardison magnanimously doesn’t say she’s literally doing that right now, snacking at the bowl of chips like nobody’s noticed whose bowl of chips that is.
They return to the parlor, settling down on the couch, and Hardison waves Eliot away until Eliot returns all dried-off, new clothing on, and only then does he scoot over on the couch. Eliot rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, “Happy now?” but he settles beside him and gets control of the remote right away, putting on a hockey match, and the rain is still falling, hitting the roof and bouncing off the windows and Hardison thinks, with Parker cuddled close on side and Eliot on the other, maybe not cuddling exactly but not rejecting his touch, that this turned into a pretty cool day, regardless.
Title: and hey, maybe we're all on fire anyway
Fandom: Leverage
Rating/Warnings: PG
Bonus: No
Word Count: 966
The rain hits the windows with the force of a thousand suns—an endless battering ram that doesn’t let up for a second. It’s small patterns in the rivulets that run down the glass, a smog rising over the streets as the water droplets bounces on the ground before it strikes it for the last time. Puddles too big to waddle through line the streets, and the ground has turned from muddy to potentially a sinkhole.
The entire house echoes with the rain, a rattling that punches through the walls and hits the ears with a nearly inconspicuous force. Hardison sighs, listlessly stretching out on the couch, and feels Parker settle beside him.
“Bored?” she asks, audibly snacking on the bowl of chips Eliot left out before he left for groceries. Hardison doesn’t understand why Eliot would sneak out to do that—Hardison is a natural at purchasing groceries!
“You know it,” he says, flopping his hand out for the TV remote and utterly failing to catch it. Parker hums in return, shoving at his feet until he pulls them in so she can spread out as well. She doesn’t get the remote, though, a betrayal of the highest order that Hardison shall never recover from, he just knows it.
Groaning, Hardison turns over on his side and sidles out just enough to finally grab the remote. At this moment, he utterly fails to understand why the TV isn’t voice-controlled; this seems like a fatal oversight. But that thought vanishes when he tries to move back and can’t because Parker ruthlessly snagged the spot he was just lying in and now he’s on the edge of falling off the couch.
“Parker,” Hardison complaints, but Parker holds onto him and you know what, he’s cool with this, he’ll just tense his muscles so he doesn’t fall off, this is fine and he’ll stay here forever actually.
The front door opens and Eliot stomps in, loud in his mild annoyance. “I am drenched,” he declares from the foyer, because this is the kind of fancy house that has a foyer, like there is something they can do about this.
“Chips?” Parker chirps, leaning up to look over the couch’s backrest, and in the process tipping Hardison right over the edge.
It’s cool though, Hardison is a whiz at this, and he gets to his feet before he ever hits the ground. “Chips?” he repeats, turning to look at Eliot trudging into the room and wow, he is drenched from top to bottom. He actually leaves puddles of water on the floor with every step, and Hardison frowns at that. Should they clean that up?
“No, I didn’t buy chips, we have like fifteen bags,” Eliot says, wringing his hair out and making the water puddles worse. Hardison looks around for a towel but of course there isn’t one in the foyer or the parlor and while he could go get one, that seems like an awfully long walk right now. The rain is still hitting the house, and he Parker and Eliot are both right here and is it his fault he doesn’t especially want to go anywhere right now? No. No it is not. This is like, temptation or something. So not his fault.
“Aww,” Parker says, hugging her bowl of chips while Eliot scowls at them.
“Help me unpack,” Eliot says instead of commenting on it though, and Hardison is starting to freeze just looking at Eliot. It’s solidly into autumn and not especially warm even inside the house, and he can’t imagine Eliot is feeling very good.
So Hardison goes over and hugs him. Obviously. “You—what’s up with you?” Eliot grouches, but tellingly leans into it and, after a bit, even returns the hug. Hardison did not think this through, though, because now he is covered in icy water and it doesn’t exactly improve when Parker joins in the hug, squeezing them both tight until Hardison’s ribs aches.
Which is admittedly not their fault, merely the aftermath of a successful con, but it does mean that he has to tap out a lot sooner than he’d like. Just to like, preserve his dignity lest he do something like groan in pain.
Clearing his throat, Hardison steps back and they trudge together to the pile of dripping bags waiting in the foyer. Unpacking isn’t very complicated; they’ve got a good system going but man did Eliot go overboard this time, Hardison thinks to himself. So much toilet paper. So much soap. And four bags of chips because Eliot is a sucker and they all know it.
Eliot catches sight of his grin, holding the chips, and the man rolls his eyes and grumbles, “What, man, you’re eating me out of house and home. I’m just being prepared. It’s sensible.”
Hardison’s grin widens, and he cackles to himself. Parker gets a faux-serious look and grabs the chips from him, ignoring his gimme motions. “No eating Eliot’s emergency supplies,” she declares, and Hardison magnanimously doesn’t say she’s literally doing that right now, snacking at the bowl of chips like nobody’s noticed whose bowl of chips that is.
They return to the parlor, settling down on the couch, and Hardison waves Eliot away until Eliot returns all dried-off, new clothing on, and only then does he scoot over on the couch. Eliot rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, “Happy now?” but he settles beside him and gets control of the remote right away, putting on a hockey match, and the rain is still falling, hitting the roof and bouncing off the windows and Hardison thinks, with Parker cuddled close on side and Eliot on the other, maybe not cuddling exactly but not rejecting his touch, that this turned into a pretty cool day, regardless.