Work Text:
Eliot doesn’t have sex with Hardison.
Not that he’s opposed to the notion. He certainly would, if the question ever came up. But when he is close to him, when Hardison hangs all over him and stands inside his personal space, when he force-hugs him or looks so downtrodden that Eliot force-hugs him, when he falls asleep on Eliot’s shoulder or Eliot falls asleep on Hardison’s – there’s just no desire for more. Eliot loves Alec. There’s absolutely no question about it. And it’s certainly not familial love. He never loved his family like he loves Hardison. He also doesn’t love him like he loved his comrades in arms, the little band of brothers that went through shit and blood and pain and bullets, which is something very different from family even though they call it ‘brotherhood’. He loved most of them too, even though he wouldn’t necessarily say he liked every one of them. But bleeding on each other and quietly processing what had happened – what they’d done, what they would do come morning – forges something between people that can hardly be described better than ‘brotherhood’.
It’s nothing like what he feels for Alec. Even though they did bleed on each other once or twice – mostly Eliot on Hardison – and they went through bullets and pain together, it’s still not the same.
He doesn’t just love him. He likes him, with every annoying quirk that he has. Eliot feels about Hardison like he feels about cooking. His existence quiets him – yes, even though Alec is hardly ever quiet - and soothes his brain when it goes tumbling over and over about the past in the same ways cooking does. It’s … well, it’s love.
Eliot loves Hardison. Loves having him around and yes, sure, sometimes he wants to throttle him because he’s an annoying piece of shit, but he loves his annoyingness and wouldn’t want it any other way.
Okay, he’d be totally happy if Hardison could learn how to put his dishes into the dishwasher or clean up the endless bottles of soda without being told to do so, but that’s normal, right? Eliot is sure that everyone would be annoyed by that.
But when they bicker about the movie they’re watching or when Eliot feels Alec’s hand absently playing with his scalp as he lets himself slip into sleep on the couch with his head on Hardison’s thigh, there’s just calm and quiet in his mind. Like a pond on a windless summer-day, heat spreading from the sun on his body and the distant sound of crickets, the smell of dry grass and that certain feeling of laziness that he associates with ‘home’.
Hardison feels like home in ways his real home never did.
*
Eliot doesn’t have sex with Parker.
He wouldn’t be opposed to the notion – wouldn’t even be opposed to both Hardison and Parker, no matter which combination. But he doesn’t desire it. When she’s all over him, against him and on top of him and in his space, stealing his things and snatching his food and smiling and kissing with no barriers between them, there’s no curdling want in his belly and no wish to do more than kiss her and hold her and have her wriggled against him.
He loves her, and like with Hardison, it’s certainly no familial love. He doesn’t love her like a sister –definitely not – or a friend. And it’s not just protectiveness that he feels – although obviously he wants to protect her. Except he loves watching her jump off buildings and fly into the depths, loves the sheer happiness that every fibre of her exudes and her whoops of joy. He never feels the urge to wrap her in bubblewrap and put her safely in a corner or stop her from doing what she does no matter how dangerous it is. Parker doesn’t belong safe. She belongs on a rig, between laser-sensors and tripwires, in front of a safe with her tools and her nimble fingers, staring danger in the face and laughing at it with determination. What he wants to protect her from are bad feelings, and he’s pretty good at it now.
Eliot doesn’t think he’s ever loved someone like he loves Parker. Aimee might be the closest comparison but while she’s still a glowing spot inside his heart, it’s more a distant memory of what-could-have been. When he thinks about Parker, it’s more of what-will-happen-next. It’s no glowing spot, it’s a burning, fierce fire of love that spreads through his bones and limbs and organs, and the only love he can compare it to is the one he feels for Alec.
He doesn’t love her like he loves cooking. It’s different. She doesn’t calm him the way Hardison calms him. If he had to, he’d say she’s like looking up at the sky on a clear night, far up in the mountains where no light-pollution can reach. Sparkling and beautiful like the stars, bright and exceptional like the aurora. Untouchable, distant. Except she’s not, she’s right there, always right there. She gives him direction like the constellations, like the North Star or the Southern Cross guide sailors across the sea and she gives him at once peace and the thrill of adventure. Parker is a challenge, mesmerizing and addictive. She feels sharp like Alec feels soft, brilliant and light where Alec is warm and mellow. Adventure and Home – none quite right without the other.
He loves these two in every way that counts. Loves them touching him and loves touching them in return. He feels safe when they curl up on the couch like a big pile of sleepy kittens, everyone in everyone’s space, legs and arms akimbo, heads on chests and bellies and thighs and laps. He grabs a foot and starts massaging it without care whose it is – it’s pretty obvious from size, of course, but he doesn’t care as long as they’re washed and not smelly. He doesn’t care if someone starts braiding his hair, even though he will grumble and growl all through untangling them again before he can go out since they usually look like he tried and failed to get box-braids. Definitely not his style. He doesn’t care if he gets kissed or if a hand winds up under his shirt or his hand ends up under someone else’s shirt – on the contrary, he really likes that.
It’s just that he doesn’t seek more. Doesn’t want more. Again – not opposed. Just … it’s not something he wants. Not want-want. He knows he loves them above friendship and above family and above protectiveness and loyalty – loves them in the romantic sense and he’s damn sure they feel the same. But when Alec and Parker kiss deeper and rub and touch more suggestively at each other and finally move over into the bedroom, there’s not even a hint of jealousy or sadness in Eliot to be left out. It doesn’t feel like being left out at all. He doesn’t desire them, doesn’t want what they have, doesn’t feel the urge to jump in and add to their lovemaking.
If they asked, he’d definitely join in. But he’s just as happy if they don’t. He either continues watching Doctor Who because while he’ll never admit it, he’s become quite enamoured with the series, falls asleep or finds something else to do. Like cooking or working out or planning the menu for the pub. He isn’t opposed to sex – definitely not – but he doesn’t feel like it would add to what they have. Can’t imagine that there’s a layer in their relationship that would improve by adding orgasms since already, every single cell of him loves them more than he’s ever loved anyone in his life.
Their presence soothes and thrills at the same time and it just makes him happy and complete when they’re in each other’s space, even if they’re arguing or bicker or have a fight about dishes, food or taking too many risks. It’s not that they can’t be apart – it would be really bad if that were the case. He does his things without them and they do what they do without him, or each other. Sometimes, Eliot grabs Parker and goes rock-climbing with her and spots her as she rappels down the cliff, or on hikes up mountains he knows Hardison would just complain about. Sometimes, he takes Hardison out fishing or pretends to lose a bet so he ‘has to’ follow him to a comic-convention dressed as grumpy Klingons. Or whatever they were supposed to be. It’s not so much the activity as such that he enjoys, but watching Alec in his element; being a super-geek among super-geeks, is just a thing of beauty. Eliot doesn’t need to understand what those nerds are talking about to get that they’re passionate about it and passion, he gets.
What benefit could he possibly get from adding sex to what he has now? He’s happy that the two are happy and when he wants to have sex, he goes out and picks someone up who catches his eye, enjoys their time together with no strings attached and no promises made, uncomplicated and fun and beneficial for both of them.
And when he comes back early in the morning, he steps into the bathroom that holds three toothbrushes, three shaving-kits and two bottles of aftershave because Parker doesn’t like perfume and prefers smelling like either him or Alec. He showers and uses one of the three towels to dry up, brushes his teeth and steps lightly into the bedroom where he takes the ratty t-shirt from one of three chairs, worn soft from years of use. He pads to the bed and slips under the blankets, usually has to free it from Hardison because he’s a sheet-hog and can already feel himself falling, falling… falling into dreams. But unerringly, right before he truly is asleep, Parker will curl up against him and hug him to her like an overgrown teddy-bear, snuggle her face into his neck and sniff him like a dog as if she wants to find out who he spent a night with.
And when he wakes up in the morning it’s in a tangle of limps, warm and snuggly and safe because Hardison’s got the world’s best security-system installed and Parker and Eliot are their own personal best security-systems and between the three of them, nobody would get in without them knowing.
“Breakfast?” Parker asks and Eliot pretends not to hear her until she starts poking and poking and when he grumbles and turns onto his belly because this is just too good to leave already, Alec starts drawing circles on his back, hand under his shirt.
“You’ll tear the fabric,” Eliot mutters and Hardison gasps.
“I’d never. This shirt has to survive. If we ever have to run again, I’m making sure you pack this. Leave Parker – take the shirt.”
“Hey!” Parker squeaks and then drops back into bed so she’s on top of Eliot, face mushed into that same shirt. “Alright, I agree.”
And Eliot wouldn’t change a single thing about his life right now, not the tiniest bit. Every regret he has and every sorrow he brought onto others gets forgotten on these mornings because they don’t care and he can’t be anything but content now, mellow and soft and warm and in love.
Maybe they’ll fall asleep again or maybe he gets up and makes breakfast and they scatter to do whatever it is they do today. It doesn’t matter because he’ll end up here tomorrow again and the day after and the day after.
If this isn’t love, what else would it be?