Brave Love Mercy, Leverage, 1/1

[gilascave]

Title: Brave Love Mercy
Author: james
Recipient: sheryden
Pairing: Nate/Eliot
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3865
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: not mine, no profit made, characters stolen but returned unharmed
Notes: Written for Leverage SeSa 2011. Many thanks to ratherstory and aris for the excellent betaing!
Summary: When a job goes badly, Eliot needs something from Nate that he doesn't usually ask for.




Eliot tested the bonds at his wrists. He knew exactly how long it would take to get himself free of them. Not that he needed to free his hands in order to take out the two men in the room -- but the rope wasn't what was hoping him in place.

Edward Malloy was an older gentlemen with a taste of the finer things -- gold watches, diamond tie tacks and pinky rings, expensive suits and sophisticated heiresses on his arm. Sophie excelled at being any type of heiress necessary, so she'd let him wine and dine her, visited his mansion for parties and sent back the videos of every room she could get into, which had turned out to be very few and far between. It was the only information they'd got about the layout of his house, as the architectural plans had "mysteriously" vanished once the place had been built -- along with the architect, who'd died, also mysteriously, in a house fire.

Now Malloy stood across the room from Eliot, three steps away from the doorway of the building Eliot had broken into. The outlying buildings around Malloy's mansion had looked more like storage sheds for the Rich and Immoral than mother-in-law apartments, but all Eliot had found was a goon with a knuckleduster in his hand.

The Leverage team had been hired to stop Malloy by the architect's widow, but right now Eliot had to admit things weren't going so well for them. Malloy smiled slightly, as if aware of the upper hand he held, but was too dignified to show in it. "As you can see, Mr. Spencer," he said, nodding towards the monitor, "I have things well in hand."

Despite himself, Eliot looked over again. He'd been caught by one of Malloy's goons, who was now standing behind him, well within kicking range. When Eliot had come to, his wrists had been bound, his earbud removed, and Malloy had been standing by the doorway, calmly waiting. When Eliot's vision had fully cleared, Malloy had pointed towards the monitor. On it was Parker, poised in position on the rooftop, waiting for her cue from Hardison.

There was no way to warn Parker, or anyone else, that they'd been made. As Eliot watched the monitor again, the red dot of a sniper's rifle still held steady on the back of Parker's skull. A second dot lay at the small of her back, right on the spine. One shot to kill, one to paralyze, and no way for Eliot to warn her, or fight his way free and run out and rescue her. He could guess where the snipers lay, but they were at some distance from each other and getting to both before one could get off the shot was impossible.

He looked at Malloy. "You've gone to a lot of trouble to get my attention."

Malloy inclined his head. "I knew I could beat Ford myself. He may be intelligent, but we are on my home ground and I do not lose when it comes to wits." he tapped himself on the forehead, then inclined a nod at Eliot. But you presented a separate problem. As you can imagine, I don't get my hands dirty, and anyone I hired to defeat you stood too good a chance of losing." He glanced over Eliot's shoulder to the man behind him. "No offense. But there are other ways of defeating a fighter than besting him physically."

Eliot hadn't stopped going over everything as Malloy talked. Angles, distances, how long to beat the guy behind him and subdue Malloy. Whether or not he could make a single move without Malloy signaling his snipers.

He hated it, hated it with every fiber of his being, but he asked, "What do you want?"

Malloy gave a short nod, the very appearance of a man being gracious in victory. It made Eliot want to rip his throat out -- not that the files on Malloy's human rights abuses in his factories throughout Indonesia -- factories he visited personally twice a year to oversee -- hadn't done that very same thing as well. But he was stuck, trapped with Parker in the sights of two snipers.

Malloy said, "All I require is to leave. Fifteen minutes to get away. I have what I need, and you only have to stand here with Gregory until I am gone. Free and clear -- I've paid Gregory and his companions to ensure that." There was a pause, then Malloy added, "I don't care if you beat the shit out of each other afterwards. My men have already been paid. Do whatever you like to them -- but for fifteen minutes you will remain here in this room, or your little thief friend will pay the price."

He indicated the monitor where Parker still appeared, waiting for Sophie's signal. Eliot could see her shifting slightly and the red dots compensated instantly. One of the snipers had to be in the trees, and locating him would take precious seconds that he didn't have -- even if he could have gotten out in time, and over there.

Parker was lying patiently on the top of the second outlying building. Eliot could see her jaw moving; she was talking, probably to Hardison, and her every manner was relaxed and alert, focused on the job and apparently unaware of anyone watching her.

He ran the angles and distances again, but he knew, maybe better than anyone, that even though so much that should have been impossible wasn't, there were things that couldn't be done.

There was no way to save Parker except to stand there and nod. Malloy slung the strap of a small messenger bag over his shoulder. "Excellent. It's so very pleasant doing business with reasonable people." He gave the man behind Eliot a nod, showed Eliot the earbud in his hand before visibly pocketing it, then turned and walked out the door.

Eliot stood there and let him go. He began counting out loud, and at exactly 'three' he turned and kicked Gregory in the chest. Just because he had to wait fifteen minutes for Malloy didn't mean he had to wait to alleviate some of his frustration.

~~~

Late that night the team finally dispersed from Nate's place. Parker had left with Hardison after giving Eliot a lollipop she'd stolen for him on their way back. Hardison had tried for a hug and settled for holding out his hand for a fist-bump when Eliot just scowled at him. Sophie hadn't said anything, just given him a sympathetic look and Nate hadn't said a word or done anything except debrief them all and lay out his first thoughts for how to track down Malloy and try again.

Eliot hadn't offered anything after he'd told them what had happened after he'd made contact after the job had been blown. The snipers had escaped as well, but Malloy was a man of his word and Parker had gone unharmed. Gregory was their only bonus, but he'd only known that the guy had paid him a lot of cash to hit Eliot over the head and stand around looking tough.

Nate had insisted they'd get him eventually, but Eliot had sat at the edge of the kitchen counter, hands in his lap and tried not to think much at all. He stayed still as Nate spent a few minutes cleaning up the files and checking the door, then as he finally headed towards the stairs Eliot opened his mouth, stopped himself, then said, "Nate."

There were a thousand more words he could have said, lines and apologies and excuses and questions. He couldn't get any of them out because he didn't even know if he deserved the chance to say them. Parker's lollipop was in his shirt pocket; he could feel its slight weight and smell the faint scent of artificial cherry. She'd said it was her favorite flavor, and it seemed only fitting that she'd steal him her favorite rather than his own. He wasn't even sure if it had occurred to her to ask, or if she knew but had some strange vendetta against root beer suckers.

Eliot realised he was thinking too much about a single piece of candy instead of why he'd stopped Nate, who was still looking at him, waiting. He hadn't been a coward in a very, very long time, and Eliot hated to think that he might begin now. He stood up, started to speak, then simply glanced upstairs.

Nate gave him a sort of smile and nodded, then headed up without a look back to see if Eliot was following.

The first time they'd slept together had been shortly after they'd begun working together as a team. Eliot had flirted with him same as he had when he'd been trying to distract the man who was chasing him across Europe. He hadn't expected a response, but had been pleasantly surprised when Nate took him up on his offer. After that first time it had always been at Nate's behest, though Eliot could usually predict when Nate was almost ready to ask. The sex was always the same: rough and loud, sometimes almost violent. For Eliot, it was a chance to stop holding back and not worry about breaking his partner or getting shoved out of bed for going too far.

Eliot didn't mind bruises or fingernail scratches on his back and arms, didn't mind dealing them out, either. And he might have worried about Nate, tried to figure out what was going on in Nate's mind when he invited Eliot upstairs. But he'd noticed that afterwards, for a few days or sometimes even a week, Nate didn't drink as much. The shadows in his eyes dimmed, as though the rough sex had banished his demons for awhile. Or, more likely, that Nate felt he'd punished himself enough for his sins that he could let go of his guilt for awhile.

But always, beyond the first casual flirtation, it had been Nate's call. That had always been fine with Eliot; Nate never let on that he was waiting for Eliot to make the first move, nor had he seen any hints or dropped cues that Nate was waiting for the casual sex to become something more. But now Eliot was climbing the stairs to Nate's bedroom because he'd wanted to and Nate hadn't hesitated when he'd asked.

Maybe it was just that Eliot hadn't ever needed punishment, before.

He got to the top of the stairs and saw Nate already beside the bed, slipping his shoes off and dropping his jacket on a chair. Eliot wasted no time stripping down, leaving his clothes in a pile not too far away from the top of the stairs. He stepped forward then hesitated until Nate turned towards him. Neither of them said a word, but Nate gestured towards the bed and Eliot went willingly.

He wasn't usually the passive partner with Nate, though they freely switched who was on top and who bottomed. But he'd never been the one who'd needed this the way Nate always did and he felt uncertain of himself -- or maybe just uncertain of his welcome. Eliot shoved his feelings aside and laid down on the bed, rolling onto his back. Nate finished taking off his clothes then climbed onto the bed and knelt there, one hand on Eliot's stomach. Eliot opened his mouth to ask -- hell, he didn't know, exactly. What he should be doing, what Nate wanted from him. But it didn't matter much, as long as he got to apologize for letting Malloy go, felt the burn and the ache tomorrow to remind him to be diligent and not let anyone get close to his crew again.

He breathed out, relaxing, waiting for Nate to move. When he did, the other man simply bent forward and began kissing him, up his chest, then neck, then across his jaw bone from one side of his face to the other.

"Wha--"

"Shh," Nate said, brushing his fingers across Eliot's stomach. He kept kissing his way along the edges of Eliot's body -- down one side of his neck, along the ridge of his shoulder, down the bulge of his biceps. Working his way slow and sure, back down to his stomach then up again, hands pressing softly and fingertips brushing skin that his mouth had already touched.

Eliot's skin was tingling and his cock was hard -- he'd been getting aroused as he'd climbed the stairs, as he'd laid down and watched Nate approach him. His cock was fully hard now, and Nate brushed against it now and then, never quite absent-mindedly but apparently content to take his time and drive Eliot out of his mind.

Maybe that was his version of violence: unable to give Eliot the sensation of being overpowered, maybe he was trying to render Eliot unable to move from over-stimulation. Eliot gasped, shifted on the bed because he hadn't been ordered to lie still but he somehow knew he shouldn't reach out, touch back. He lay there and let Nate do as he wished -- and apparently what Nate wished was to go slow and easy, damn near reverent with the simple touches of his lips and hands.

Finally, when Eliot was about to lift his head and demand he get on with it, Nate took his cock in hand and stroked. Once, easy, and Eliot felt himself tensing up, ready to raise his knees to get heartily fucked when Nate was ready. But Nate simply moved his hand, up and down, and when Eliot did growl, Nate leaned forward and began kissing Eliot's neck again, sucking gently on spots he knew perfectly well were sensitive.

Eliot put his hand against Nate's shoulder, pushing him down, towards his body -- wanting more, and not caring what, exactly, as long as Nate got on with things. Nate moved with the pressure, but landed at Eliot's side, throwing one leg over Eliot's and never losing the rhythm of his hand on Eliot's cock. He bent his head down, working his teeth on the crook of Eliot's neck, nibbling and sucking but never quite biting.

"God, Nate, please!" Eliot finally gasped, trying to shove himself over, willing to fuck Nate if he could, if Nate wasn't interested in taking him. Nate shifted back, then nudged at Eliot, and Eliot flipped himself onto his stomach immediately, spreading his legs for Nate. It was a moment before he felt Nate move; he left his head down between his arms and listened as Nate reached into the nightstand's drawer for a condom and lube. Then he felt Nate pressing a finger inside him and he growled involuntarily and held back from driving himself down right away. He made himself wait as Nate pressed in, spreading lube and stretching him out -- his finger going in the same slow, easy rhythm as if they were in no hurry at all.

But now he could wait a bit, knowing Nate was finally going to do something -- and even as he thought it he clenched down on Nate's finger and pushed himself back a little, whimpering as the pressure inside teased him at the promise of more.

Nate put his other hand on Eliot's back, holding him in place as he shifted again. Eliot felt the mattress dip as he moved, could track Nate's exact movements by the tilts and sounds of skin on sheets. He felt the moment right before Nate leaned in and tensed despite himself as he felt pressure for only a brief moment then Nate eased himself inside.

"Nate, dammit!" Eliot wanted to shove himself back, hard and fast, but Nate had his hands on Eliot's waist and he couldn't force himself back without tipping Nate off the foot of the bed and risking injury. He had to stay where he was as Nate pushed in, slow and easy, pulled partway out then pushed in again.

In, then out, over and over. Eliot growled and snarled, even began yelling at him, cursing him out, but Nate never sped up, never thrust in as hard as Eliot wanted. Soon he was reduced to begging, head in his heads and eyes closed, whispering to Nate all the things he would do or promise not to do if Nate would just fuck him properly. Through it all Nate kept moving, slow and steady, thrusting into him as if he had all the time in the world.

When Eliot ran out of threats and promises, he fell silent, pressed his forehead against his forearm and spread his knees a little more, and left Nate to it. Nate continued to fuck him, slow and almost soft, sometimes, and Eliot wondered how he wasn't driving himself insane with need, or if he'd cheated when Eliot wasn't looking and put on a cockring.

He was tempted to look, but he was afraid of what he might see on Nate's face. He concentrated on breathing, and letting his body relax against the need to shove himself backwards and to hell with breaking Nate's neck as they tumbled to the floor. His entire body shivered once, then he started as Nate's hand came around and took a hold of Eliot's cock again.

It didn't take long -- or possibly forever, Eliot couldn't really tell how long it had been anymore. A few strokes, or a hundred, and Eliot felt it coming, building from damn near the tips of his fingers and toes. It slammed into him, the first hard and fast of the entire night and it knocked him senseless, tearing him away like an rip current. When he finally came his entire body spasmed and he felt himself screaming, felt the blood rushing out of his head and every limb and he wouldn't have been surprised to open his eyes to find all of his insides splattered on the floor.

He came to lying on his side, shocked to discover he'd actually passed out, and surprised to find Nate lying beside him. He opened his mouth to ask, then decided he didn't really care -- about anything, much less figuring out what his question was. His brain was sluggish, but he felt no less confused about what Nate had done. All Eliot knew was that he didn't feel like he'd apologized for what he'd done, nor paid any penance at all.

He scowled, shoving away the ache and pleasant languidness in his entire body. Any other time he might have wallowed in it, curled up in the bed with every blanket there was and laid there until someone brought him breakfast in bed.

"Shh," Nate said again, and it was infuriating. Eliot tried to put two words together in his brain to explain that this wasn't what he'd asked for. But Nate slid forward and kissed him on the forehead, then whispered, "Sleep."

Eliot felt his eyes closing despite himself, and he growled. Every time he'd given Nate exactly what he wanted, and all he'd asked in return was the same, just once. He'd screwed up badly enough -- nearly got Parker killed, would have been unable to save her had Malloy chosen to have his snipers fire despite his promise. How Nate couldn't understand that, he had no idea, and if he could get his blood flowing north long enough to say so--

He felt an arm reach across his side, laying lightly with no sensation of being held down or trapped. Then Nate said in a voice soft and quiet as his touch, "Sometimes forgiveness is more important."

He felt Nate settle himself down, and Eliot opened his eyes and glared at him, because that didn't make any sense, not to mention the fact it sounded damned hypocritical. But Nate had closed his eyes and was lying there, head on his pillow and one arm across Eliot, one foot resting against Eliot's shin.

They never slept together, after. Eliot always got up and left, Nate asleep behind him and Eliot free to go home. Nate had never asked, never offered, and never chastised him the next day for sneaking away. But Nate looked for all the world like he was ready to sleep with Eliot beside him, after making love to him.

"This doesn't make sense," Eliot whispered.

There was a movement of Nate's shoulder -- what would have been a shrug had he not been lying down. "We get what we need," he said, and his tone was normal, like they were sitting across a table and not naked in bed covered in sweat and semen.

Maybe it was simply hypocritical, Eliot thought. They both needed forgiveness, but both deserved and asked for only punishment. "I couldn't have saved her," Eliot said, wondering if he could goad Nate into giving him what he'd asked for.

Nate opened his eyes and looked directly at him. "No. You couldn't have. She might have died today, and there's nothing any of us could have done to stop it."

"Then why didn't you--"

"Because I'm not angry. Neither is she. None of us are, Eliot."

"I don't--" But he stopped.

And he wondered if maybe, once or twice, he should have been doing this for Nate, instead of letting the other man drive them at what he wanted. What Nate wanted, maybe wasn't always what he needed. A man who could see everything around him had a blind spot the size of his own soul, sometimes.

Which meant, if it were true, that maybe this was what he really needed as well. Eliot had no idea if it was true or not, and had a vaguely unsettling notion that the only one he could really ask was Sophie -- and he was pretty sure he'd rather talk to his own grandmother about sex than talk to Sophie about his sex life with Nate.

Then again, Grandma Tate had had seven kids, so probably she already knew something about it.

"Should I go?" he asked, because he had no idea if it would mean something or not.

"If you want," Nate said easily. "It's all right if you stay." There was no inflection in his voice, no hint that he wanted one or the other.

God, but Eliot was tired of thinking. He'd had his brain turned nicely off and he'd let himself worry into being wide-awake and restless again. He closed his eyes and shoved his head onto the pillow. He felt Nate laugh silently, then the other man shifted a little, settling back down.

He had no idea if things would change in the morning. But if there was nothing else he'd learned in his, it was to roll with the punches. He let himself relax again, listened to Nate's breath even out and slow down.

He made a note to buy Parker a bag of cherry suckers, and hide them in a safe with a warning not to touch.

And maybe, someday, he'd cook Nate dinner, and take him back to bed.

the end