#ficlets

something about parker and thieving hands and sticky fingers and her always constantly forever perpetually unendingly stealing touches of the boys. hardison is so broad and firm and she loves stretching her palms as biiiiiiiig as she can and spanning as much of his warm skin as possible so she can feel the planes and spread of him beneath her, all those stroooooong strong muscles; eliot is solid but also squish and good for gripping handfuls of and poking her fingertips into, molding him and mushing him like he’s putty or play-doh. sometimes when they’re on the couch watching tv parker likes to take hardison’s forearm and idly squeeze up up up and down down down it, elbow to wrist and back again as she feels his tendons and his pulse and the way he’s all-over silky-smooth, soft with the lotion he’s always so diligent about putting on out of the shower, or she’ll grope the tops of eliot’s thighs and feel for the strength of them and run her fingers along the crease from groin to hip, not looking for anything or trying to rile him up, just wanting to feel. when hardison’s working at the kitchen table she drags over one of their breakfast bar stools and skim her palms down the sides of his neck and over his shoulders and along the lengths of his biceps and then back up; when eliot cooks she clings to his back with her chin over his shoulder and half watches him chop and stir and such, half idly feels up his belly and his chest, gripping at the places where he’s put on some weight in the years the three of them have been together and he’s been eating better than ever and spending more lazy nights and weekends on the couch than he ever did before. hardison’s put on weight too, both in those beefy biceps of his and also in his ass that parker likes to grab at when she hugs him or even sometimes if she just walks in on him laying on his stomach on the couch or the bed reading something or scrolling on his phone. occasionally she more or less makes biscuits on it like a kittycat, and hardison wonders if maybe he should find it weird but honestly it’s nice—he spends so much time sitting on the damn thing that it gets sore, yknow?? so the massage feels good. there’s afternoons where she’ll ask the boys to let her just touch them all over because she wants to feel all their dips and divots and lines and wrinkles, the backs of their knees and the arches of their feet and the valleys of their spines and their ribs. eliot teases sometimes that her hands must be covered in velcro because she just can’t keep away from the two of them, and parker’s not even offended because he’s just right: she can’t stop touching them. she can’t stop sticking out her hands—sometimes even without any real conscious thought—to put them on her boys. they’re not thin like money or cold like marble or sharp like gems—they’re solid and warm and soft, just begging for her to test the press and give of them. so she lets herself chase every impulse she gets to run her fingers through eliot’s hair and tickle his scalp, or to slip them under the hem of hardison’s shirt and trace the lines of his abs. there’s days where her hands are so hungry they actually physically ache, but in a way it’s okay because she knows there won’t ever come a time where the boys won’t let her plaster those same hands all over them. she can keep feeding and feeding and feeding her hands and failing to find fullness because the boys love her touch just as much as she loves touching. they’re just as starving and eager and they won’t ever tell her—or want her—to stop.

what if hardison had to grift as a drag queen for a con (uhhhhh local long-standing club got bought by evil new management?? and the crew’s trying to oust them and reinstall the original owner), and more than eliot loves seeing hardison in the gorgeous evening gowns with the slits up the thigh and the mini skirts that barely cover his ass, more than he loves seeing hardison all dolled up in the silky-soft wigs and the colorful makeup that shimmers and pops against his dark skin, more than he loves smelling the fruity perfume that hardison’s started wearing and yeah yeah fine he likes the fake tits too, he fucking loves the fake nails because they feel so good combing through his hair and scratching his scalp. parker also loves to have hardison drag them up and down her back. for the whole length of the con as long as he’s got the manicure the three of them wind down every night by parking it on the couch with hardison in the middle and parker and eliot on either side, and hardison spends, like, a whole goddamn hour tickling parker’s back and eliot’s head. sometimes he says something like “i dunno, might get up for a snack” just to get a rise out of them, and when they moan “nooooOOOOOO” he says “is this all i am to you anymore??? just fake nails??????” and when they say yes he huffs and rolls his eyes but he’s also smiling. he loves seeing e&p all liquid and oozing into the couch, their brains practically drooling out of their ears (and—sometimes—real drool coming out of their mouths). they used to be soooo skittish years and years ago and now here he is with them wrapped allllll the way around his nicely manicured fingers. hey, yknow what?? he’s gonna start stocking up on press-ons. he can’t say he’s gonna keep up with the real nails once the job is over because they’re a bitch to type with, but he could glue some falsies on for a night and then just pick ’em off when he’s done. yeah, that’s an idea. because no way is this job gonna be the last time he does this for his loveys. no way no how. they are toooooo sweet like this. and they deserve the relaxation time too<3

maybe even prince charming and friendliest man alive hardison gets kinda peopled out sometimes, and on those days parker and eliot get him nice and tucked on the couch after they get home from whatever job they’re on at the moment and they don’t make him say another word. eliot’s practical and just has hardison type on his phone or text him when he wants to say something; parker says that’s boring, and her and hardison have developed a complex language of purely facial expressions and hand gestures. both are equally effective/successful. they usually put something easy on the tv like reruns of the repair shop or lifestyle vlogs, and hardison alternates between faceplanting into eliot’s boobs while eliot massages the back of his neck and putting his head on parker’s shoulder while parker works her fingertips into his scalp (she says she’s giving his poor sleepy brain a deep-tissue massage, and honestly hardison feels like she’s genuinely accomplishing it). he almost never feels up for anything more than just snuggling but also he’ll never say no to eliot dotting achingly slow and soft kisses over his whole face or parker getting into a groove of pressing her lips to one-two-three-four-five fingertips on his right hand and one-two-three-four-five fingertips on his left hand and rinse and repeat. eventually, as always happens, they all end up crammed together stretched out on the long end of the couch, hardison sandwiched in the middle while eliot holds him to his chest and parker clings to his back. half the time he falls asleep just like that, until eliot ultimately wakes him up because it’s time for dinner. when they finally call it a night and go to bed they get all cuddled up exactly the same way they had been on the couch, and hardison’s still kinda emotionally exhausted but he’s definitely miles better than he was earlier. he hasn’t had to speak a damn thing since they got home hours ago, and ever since they walked through the door he’s had his lovies glued all over him. like, seriously—does it get any better than that?? no. no it absolutely does not.

thinking quiet thoughts about eliot kinda sorta half-waking up in the middle of the night because hardison flops onto the mattress kinda hard when he comes back to bed, and he doesn’t even ask where hardison’s been—he just flings out an arm and hardison resumes the spot he’d had earlier, tucked into eliot’s left side. parker’s on his right with her head jammed under his chin and her face crammed against his chest, her mouth a little open as she snores and a tiny puddle of drool forming on eliot’s shirt at the corner of her mouth. hardison smooches parker’s forehead and the underside of eliot’s jaw before he rests his head on eliot’s chest too and lets out a big juicy sigh, already like 75% of the way to sleep again. eliot’s pretty much there too. the last thing he’s aware of is a sense of satisfaction that he’s got his people squished in next to him once again. he hadn’t even been aware that hardison was gone in the first place, but that doesn’t really matter. it’s just always good to have him back.

it’s hot as balls once more and the a/c is actually working today but parker and hardison are still dying nonetheless (eliot is mildly uncomfortable but mostly alright because again, runs cold). p&h bought a kiddie pool and put it in the living room and filled it up a few inches by carrying water in from the kitchen and now they’re sitting in there completely naked and zoning out while the tv’s on. eliot’s taken this as an opportunity to try some new ice cream and popsicle flavors (vietnamese coffee ice cream with chopped up oreo bits and strawberry mojito popsicles, both hits). he’s walking back and forth between the kitchen and the living room to deliver frozen treats and other snacks in the tiniest possible pair of shorts that he pilfered from parker’s part of the closet, and a cropped shirt with the sleeves chopped off so you can see some side boob. his hair’s also pulled up into a sloppy bun on top of his head. hardison is once again bemoaning the fact that he’s sluttin’ it up when it’s too hot for sex and eliot says he’ll give him another IOU (and by the way, who are they to talk about slutty when they’re the ones who are fully naked????). parker actually wants one this time too because with his hair off his neck he looks very very biteable. also eliot can you pleeeeeease help me cram myself into the freezer, i feel like i’m on fire 😫😫😖 no darlin, i’m still not gonna do that, but i can bring you some ice packs. okaaaayyyyyy fine, that works 🙄 wait wait hardison wants some too, okay okay i got it. also more ice cream. next batch is still churning, sweetheart, but i can get you another popsicle. fffffiiiiiinnnnnneeeeeee. also you need to come sit by the pool, i wanna pet your hair. okay, okay, fine, fine (imagine how tired eliot is. every day he suffers. and every day he loves it).