Chapter Text
Harlot: A person who has many casual sexual encounters or relationships.
They’d pulled Quinn in on this job. Normally, Eliot alone would be enough, especially now that the team was only the three of them. But he’d been made early - well, only as Roy Chapell, now retired from baseball and working as a lawyer (as per his hasty excuse for being in the office building). Still, that ruled him out for the mark’s new bodyguard, Parker was needed for the lift, and he’d refused to let Hardison step in.
“Dammit, Hardison, this is the mob! Anything goes south, they’d snap your neck like a chicken,” he’d growled, and gone off to make a call instead. Parker and Hardison missed whatever his conversation involved, too busy arguing over whether Eliot’s confidence that Parker would have managed just fine was prejudice because Hardison was a geek and he was just as capable as Parker, or whether the fact that as soon as he said that she’d caught him in an elbow lock and currently had him trapped on the floor was proof Eliot had been right.
“Ow, ow, owowowow, lemme go I’m tapping, babe I’m tapping,” wailed Hardison. He wasn't actually using a distressed voice, so Parker snickered and held on a little while longer, just for fun. Well, also so that Eliot, wandering back over, could adjust her hold a little to make it more secure.
“Good takedown,” he told her, leveled Hardison with a scathing look, then told the phone, “Nah, two day job at most. 3K. Yeah. ...See you then.”
“Parker, respect the tap!”
“Fine, you baby.”
“Quinn’s in,” Eliot said, offering his hands to help them up. They both grabbed hold at the same time, Parker springing easily to her feet while Hardison spitefully made Eliot support his full weight all the way up. He rubbed his elbow and glared at her, she kissed him on the cheek and went back to her cereal, and that had been that.
Except, after the job was over, they all had a drink together afterhours in the brewpub. Quinn and Eliot sat side by side, shoulders touching comfortably. Eliot had refused to let Quinn drink Hardison’s newest beer, so they were both having the Blue Heron, an older brew but also the only one to date that Eliot would seek out of his own accord.
“So it really is like this every time for you guys,” Quinn said contemplatively. “I was wondering.”
“Yeah, man,” Hardison told him. “It’s a good gig.”
He was a little miffed that Quinn looked to Eliot anyway, as if he wouldn’t trust the answer without confirmation from another hitter or something. Eliot just smirked and bounced his eyebrows, wordlessly bragging on what they had going. Quinn smirked back.
“Hey, I respect it,” he said, and clinked his beer against Eliot’s before they both took another drink. “Can’t say I’d want to g-”
“Him too? You really were a harlot, Eliot,” Parker said.
Eliot choked.
“Wh- What? Whaddaya mean, him t- oh my god, him too?” Hardison exclaimed, quickly catching on. “Man, I thought Mikel was bad enough, is this just what you hitters do?”
Sputtering, Eliot tried to wipe the beer away from his face.
“I - what the hell Parker,” he stammered. “No, that is not -”
“Mikel?” Quinn asked. He nudged Eliot, winked across the table. “Oh yeah, she’s great huh?”
Hardison pointed across the table, finger wavering between Quinn and Eliot, but no less indignant for the uncertainty. “Y’all, y’all are nasty. Kill someone then kiss ‘em, how does that not cross any wires at all…”
“Well, generally not in that order,” Quinn demurred.
“Look, it’s all in the past, okay,” Eliot said rapidly. “And it was only a couple of times anyway, so don’t act like it’s a big deal or-”
“Oh, I’m not mad.” Parker blinked. “You’re ours now.”
It was said so simply, so confidently, that everyone fell silent. Hardison relaxed back from his intended retort, and Eliot shrank in his chair a little, a blush rising to his cheeks. Quinn frowned thoughtfully at the lot of them.
“Besides,” Parker went on, “all that practice with lots of people made you really good at sex. So actually, it’s good for us too. Thanks, Quinn.”
“Oh, you’re welcome,” he said easily, even as Hardison and Eliot’s eyes met in a moment of horrified unity.
“Don’t thank him-” they both started to say, but Quinn talked right over them both.
“I’d be happy to help you all practice more, any time,” he told Parker with a smile. She laughed, Eliot instantly tried to shove him off his chair, and Hardison shouted over their ensuing scuffling.
“Three’s a party, four is a crowd. Hell nah, man, I don’t want any more o’ your freaky hitter knifeplay or whatnot in my life! Parker you better not be smiling at knifeplay-”
“You got a good thing goin’,” Quinn told Eliot quietly, hours later when he finally headed out. He wasn’t quiet enough for the two others in the empty brewpub not to be able to hear him clearly, but maybe he’d meant them to.
“Yeah,” Eliot answered, a little gruff but obviously proud, and the hitters parted ways with no more than a friendly pat on the shoulder before Eliot turned back to his partners. He was blushing again, and avoided meeting their eyes.
Parker and Hardison shared a glance before beaming back at him.