Rating: Rated: T
Summary: Just a little domestic OT3 fic I've been promising to write for my friend for almost two years. Clearly, I suck.
Eliot makes Parker and Hardison chocolate chip pancakes. Sappiness and snark ensue. Hope you like! Reviews are love. Set in a indeterminate point after season 1. Doesn't really matter for the purpose of the story.
Link to FF here or below beneath the cut: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8639453/1/
"Do I smell pancakes?"
Hardison sniffs the air again, grinning at Eliot's back.
Eliot, not turning his attention away from the stove, yet somehow still conveying his eye-roll, nods.
"Chocolate chip," he confirms, "maybe some bacon if you're good."
"Aw, honey, you're the best," Hardison says, purposefully saccharine, moving to lean over Eliot's shoulder and kiss his cheek.
Eliot turns his head to give Hardison a proper, if too quick, kiss, but then scowls at him.
"Don't call me honey," he says, "I'm not some girl."
"You know, I sort of figured that out about a year ago," Hardison says, "You know, when I had my legs over your shoulders and Parker was all up in my…"
"I remember," says, getting momentarily distracted at the memory.
"Dammit, Hardison!" he scolds, flipping over the slightly-too-browned pancake he lost track of.
"It's fine," Hardison says, scooping up the pancake and taking an exaggerated bite.
"Delicious!" he declares, only it comes out more of a mishmash of sounds due to his stuffed mouth.
Eliot appreciates the gesture all the same.
"Parker up yet?" he asks.
Hardison shakes his head no before heading to the refrigerator to get some juice to wash down the dry pancake. The bottle is halfway to his lips before he can actually feel Eliot's eyebrows raise in annoyance. Raising his own eyebrows in a mocking gesture, he gets a glass for his juice, and two more for Eliot and Parker.
"Thank you," Eliot says, and damn it if he still hasn't turned around. Hardison is like 75% sure that Eliot actually has extra eyes underneath all that hair.
"Bacon!" Parker says, happily, by way of announcing her presence.
"Morning, sweetheart," Eliot says as he flips the bacon over with practiced precision.
"Oh, I see how it is," Hardison huffs, "She gets a "good morning, sweetheart," but I can't even call you honey."
This time Eliot does turn around, after shutting the stove off, and rolls his eyes again. He practically saunters to Hardison and pulls him down by the t-shirt for a real good morning kiss. Hardison smiles against his lips even though he tries not to. Moral high-ground and all that.
"Good morning, darlin'," Eliot says, giving Hardison a damn near dazzling smile.
Hardison is, regrettably, properly dazzled.
"Not even fair," he says, but the grin hasn't gone anywhere.
But then Parker is wiggling her way between them, leaning back against Hardison and pouting at Eliot until he kisses her good morning, too.
"Not that this isn't hot and all," Hardison says, as Parker and Eliot get a little carried away, "But unless we're heading back to the bedroom, we really should eat that scrumptious smelling breakfast before it gets cold."
"Scrumptious?" Eliot says, when he and Parker finally pull apart.
Hardison gives him a haughty look. "I know words," he says. "But for my redneck counterpart's benefit, scrumptious is a synonym for delicious, mouthwatering, delectable, etcetera, etcetera."
"I know what scr…" Eliot starts, before Parker clamps a hand over his mouth and grins.
"Food," she says. "Then we can all have annoyance-sex after. Everybody wins!"
Eliot pretends to consider it for a moment.
"I do love annoyance-sex," he says, "And there's no shortage of annoyance here, ever."
"You love me," Hardison says, resisting the urge to stick out his tongue.
"Not the point!" Eliot declares, but his eyes soften a bit, because he really can't deny it.
"Come on," Parker says, heading back to the counter, dragging them both by their t-shirts.
When she releases them, she grabs the plates and holds them expertly as Eliot deposits food, before passing them off to Hardison, who sets them out on the high counter, before coming back to Parker to take the glasses of juice she's filled.
They eat in relative silence at the counter, stools pressed close together and legs a tangle on each side of Parker.
When they finish, Parker and Hardison clear the dishes and set them to soak in the sink, moving in silent, seamless sync. It's a sight Eliot never gets tired of seeing. Even more-so because he knows he fits right in there with them, the third piece that somehow makes them even more complete than they are already.
"Thank you," Hardison says, because even though Eliot often cooks for them, he was raised with manners.
Eliot waves off the thanks, but Hardison can tell that it makes him happy anyway. Parker comes around the counter to hug Eliot from behind and place a syrup-sticky kiss to his cheek. Her version of a thank you.
Eliot wipes at the syrup ineffectively, before giving up and shrugging.
"Food-coma nap?" Hardison suggests, yawning at the very idea of a snuggly nap with his lovers.
"And then annoyance-sex after!" Parker bounces, sugar-rushed and flushed pink.
"It's a good plan," Eliot says, hopping off the stool and letting Parker pull him away by the hand.
Hardison follows them with an expression of amused fondness on his face.
"Too bright," Parker grumbles, trying to bury her face into Hardison's neck.
"Vampire," Eliot says, already well on the way to sleep, pressed up against Hardison's other side.
"I'd make a sucking joke, but I'm tired," Hardison says, before clicking a button on the multi-purpose remote he'd made especially for their room.
Heavy blinds close over the windows, letting the room fall into soft darkness. He tosses the remote in the general direction of the cushioned chair, grinning when it doesn't crash to the floor.
"Goodnight," Parker mumbles, falling into sleep almost immediately.
"Night, babe," Hardison says.
They lie in silence for a long moment before Hardison just can't help himself. He turns his head to Eliot, and even though he can't see, he knows the hitter is looking at him.
"Goodnight, honey," he says, managing not to giggle.
"No," Eliot grumbles, but there's no heat to it.
"Sweetcakes?" Hardison suggests, "Pumpkin? Babydoll?"
"Definitely not," Eliot says, and this time he sounds almost amused.
"I don't know," Hardison muses, "I kind of like sweetcakes. It has a certain ring to it."
Eliot groans and swats at Hardison's chest to shut him up.
"Honey doesn't seem so bad now, does it?" Hardison laughs.
"I hate you," Eliot says, leaning over to bite Hardison's shoulder lightly.
"No, you don't," Hardison says, long past feeling insulted over Eliot's insults.
"I don't," Eliot agrees, begrudgingly. "Now go to sleep before I change my mind."
Hardison grins and finally closes his eyes, warm and secure between the two people he loves most.
And more importantly, between the two people that love him the most.
Sleep comes sweet and easy and in the moment, nothing else matters.