Title: Friendly Fight
Summary: Written for comment_fic prompt: Leverage/SPN, Eliot/Dean, you're not supposed to run into your one-night-stands a second time.
Awkward can not begin to describe the situation. Eliot’s back is pressed up against the wall, and his hands are wrapped in old leather. Dean is equally wide-eyed with one scared hand holding the long, sharp edge of a dagger against Eliot’s throat. Both are breathing hard, having reacted on instinct to the implied threat.
Eliot can hear the others freaking out over the coms, and tenses at the same time Dean does when they both pick up the footsteps of approaching security.
"What the--" Eliot gets cut off as Dean shifts, knife disappearing only to be replaced with his now free hands as he grabs Eliot's face and kisses all reason from his mind. This, Eliot remembers clearly even though it's been four years since their one night. It's the sound of voices edging closer that has him going along with it, surging up and wrapping his arms around Dean's shoulders. He vaguely notices when Dean's fingers slide into his hair, tugging his head back gently, and then he remembers that Dean had developed a fondness for pulling his hair.
“Um…excuse me,” the voice barely breaks through the fog, and Eliot curses himself even as Dean recovers first. “You’re not supposed to be down here.”
The guards are doing their damnedest to not look at them.
“Sorry, sir,” Dean’s voice is deeper than Eliot remembers, but he knows that ‘good ‘ol boy’ tone. It was the one Dean had used that night as he had shovelled some truly impressive amounts of bullshit. “We got carried away.”
Eliot slides his hands slowly down Dean’s chest before edging back.
“We were just leavin’,” Eliot stammers out, purposefully making his accent thicker. They turn and walk towards the elevators, Eliot cursing fate, timing, and hockey play offs. Dean has his arm wrapped around Eliot’s waist, and because Dean is still the bastard Eliot remembers, he grabs Eliot’s ass while they wait for the elevator.
The doors ping open, and Eliot takes the opportunity to drag Dean into the elevator, slamming him against the wall. Dean just grins wide and cocky, his eyes filled with mischief and he quickly plants another brain melting kiss on Eliot. They spring apart when the doors finally close.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Eliot growls out and a part of him is fascinated by the way Dean manages to mentally strip him with a look.
“Could ask you the same,” Dean shoots back as he pulls out his cell phone. A second later he has it opened and pressed to his ear. “Sammy, please tell me you found what we need?”
Eliot leans back against the wall with a groan and a hissed, “Not now, Nate!” He’s not quite sure how to explain the fact that he’s just run into the cocky pool shark he’d spent a very memorable night having drunken sex with. He’d known at the time that there was more to Dean than just impressive pool skills, the way he moved—like he was comfortable in his skin and knew exactly what he was capable of-- the way he kept a careful eye on the other patrons. He’d reminded Eliot of ex-military, but he knew Dean had never been enlisted. He was disciplined, but not in the way an ex-soldier was. Eliot remembered the impressive number of scars he’d cataloged that night, noting the ones he recognized by what had caused them, and the few which had left him guessing.
His attention shifts back to Dean as the other man shoves his cell phone into his pocket. He’s surprised to see Dean looking a bit sheepish.
“Sorry about, you know,” Dean says with a lazy wave of his hand.
“It wasn’t exactly my first choice for distractin’ the guards, but it worked,” Eliot replies, arms now crossed over his chest. He ignores the cat calls from Hardison, vowing silently to get the geek back when he least expects it.
“Yeah,” Dean mutters eyes on the number display as the elevator comes to a stop. “Well, it’s been fun, but…” And Dean shrugs, grabs him and kisses him one last time before darting out of the elevator. Eliot enters the hall just in time to see Dean turn the corner, a tall, dark haired guy at his side. Eliot quickly finds his own exit and soon he’s standing at his truck, hand reaching into his pocket for his keys as he lets the team know he’ll meet them back at the apartment. He finds a crumpled piece of paper along with his key ring. On it, in messy, hurried handwriting is: ‘In case things get weird.’ and a phone number.