Venezia

[amuly]

Title: Venezia
Pairing: Eliot/Hardison
Word Count: 2,268
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Eliot complains about Venezia. Hardison teases him. Sex.
Warnings: none
A/N: Yeah, I hate Venice. It sucks. And you’re only allowed to defend it if you’ve been there and smelled it. Yuck.

            Hardison watched as Eliot scanned the crowd, paranoia emanating from him in waves. “The way you’re staring down the locals, you’d think we were in Prague.”

            Eliot grimaced, shooting a look at a young boy who immediately scurried away. “Rather be there. Wider roads.”

            Hardison sighed and went back to trying to get some sort of wireless signal on his laptop. “You know, you’d think a city this tourist-heavy would have some sort of wireless…” he paused. “Wait, hang on, over this way.”

            The two men turned the corner, to come face to face with, “Mickey D’s? In Venice?” Hardison glanced over at Eliot, who was still scanning the crowd. Did that man never relax? He turned back to the McDonald’s. “You know, you figure, Venice. Yeah? Ancient city, full of culture…then you turn the corner and get a McDonald’s.”

            Out of nowhere Eliot started pushing Hardison inside. “Yeah, yeah. Downfall of civilization. I thought you’d like having your junk food here?”

            Inside, the two men squinted. The place was packed with people – but then again, so was everything else in Venice. They found a piece of wall that was unoccupied and stood, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. Hardison kept poking away at his computer. “They seriously password-protected their WiFi? Geeze…”

            “Listen, can you get a signal or not?”

            “Yeah, yeah, just hold on a sec.” Hardison waited a moment as his program ran. “There, piece of cake. Just don’t see why a Mickey D’s needs to password protect its wireless…”

            “It’s this city.” Eliot was still looking around irritably. “Everything’s overpriced, since you have to import from the mainland. Good for business, terrible for living expenses. You have to have a lot of money to live on these islands.”

            Hardison nodded, more concerned about retrieving the files he needed than listening to Eliot complain some more about Venice: it was all he had done since they got here. “Yeah, well, that’s why we’re here, right? Our guy’s rich.”

            “You done yet? I want to get back to the hotel.”

            Hardison closed his laptop with a snap. “Yeah, I’m done. Geeze. You got some enemies in this city, or something?”

            “No.”

            They headed outside into a piazza. “Well then what the hell you got against Venice?”

            “Damn it, stop calling it that. You’re gonna get the shit kicked out of you.”

            “What, Venice?”

            Eliot looked around furiously, then turned back to Hardison. “Yes. If you have to speak English, say ‘Venezia’, at least. You’re drawing attention to us.”

            Hardison rolled his eyes. “Fine, ‘Venezia’.” They started down one of the side streets. “Though you’re the one calling attention to us, looking like you’re about to stab someone in the throat. Just chill. We’re in ‘Venezia’,” Eliot grunted approvingly at Hardison’s use of the city’s proper name, “isn’t this supposed to be, like, a big romantic city, or something?”

            Suddenly, Eliot’s hand snapped out, grabbing a kid by the collar. He lifted the boy – couldn’t be older than eight – in the air and stared him down. “Whoa! Eliot, what…”

            “Give it back to him.” Eliot growled.

            Amazed, Hardison watched as the kid pulled his wallet out of a jacket pocket, then handed it over in shaking fingers. “Uh…thanks.”

            “Now get.”

            Eliot let go, and the kid stumbled to the ground. He dashed off down the narrow and winding streets, shouting, “Grazie, signore! ArrivederLa!”

            Eliot raised his eyebrows at Hardison. “Keep it in your front pocket. We’re in Venezia, man, show a little care.”

            Meanwhile, Hardison was just standing there with his wallet in his hand, still staring in the direction that the boy ran off in. “What…”

            “Venezia is practically the pickpocket capital of the world. Doesn’t that internet of yours teach you anything? Come on,” he reached out and grabbed Hardison, pulling him after him. Hardison allowed himself to be dragged.

            “Is that why you don’t like Veni-Venezia? The pickpockets? But, come on, you handle them just fine.”

            Eliot grunted as they turned a corner and reached a bridge. They crossed it, reaching a much smaller island on the other side. “Okay, fine. You want to know why I don’t like Venezia?” Hardison nodded. “For one, yeah, the pickpockets. It’s a pain to have to talk down a kid every few minutes because he’s going for your wallet. Two, the roads: they’re too narrow, too winding, and too difficult to have the layout of the entire chain of islands memorized unless you’re a native.”

            Hardison laughed. “What, and you normally memorize the layouts of cities we visit?” Eliot glanced over his shoulder at Hardison. “What…you…wait a second, how the hell…”

            “Three: there are too many hiding places in this city. All the lowest levels of the buildings have been abandoned because of flooding. But that doesn’t mean you can’t hide out in there, if you don’t mind dealing with the smell. That’s point number four: the smell. Smells like fish.” They turned a corner and reached another bridge, and Eliot wrinkled his nose. They crossed this one, landing on a larger island than the other two before. “And last, the pigeons.”

            As if on cue, they turned a corner and entered a piazza filled with pigeons. Eliot stopped walking for a moment and crossed his arms. “I hate pigeons.”

            Hardison laughed. “Oh, come on, man. What reason could you possibly have for hating pigeons?”

            “They give away your location. Try sitting on a roof for three days, waiting for a mark to leave his building. Then, when he finally does, and you go to intercept him, some pigeons start flapping around, causing a scene.”

            The expression on Eliot’s face was so irritated and serious that Hardison couldn’t help but laugh. “Hey, hey, I’m sorry,” he held up his hands, but he couldn’t stop laughing.

            Next to him, Eliot growled. “It’s not funny.”

            “I…” Hardison continued to laugh, “I know…just…” Hardison paused for a  moment, lips quivering at the effort to stay serious. “Were you…” he paused again, trying to stay in control, “Were you worried they were going to mess up your hair?” Hardison dissolved into another fit of laughter.

            Oh, now Eliot was pissed. The next thing Hardison knew, Eliot had grabbed a fistful of his jacket and was dragging him across the piazza, down a back alley. Hardison managed to catch his breath and bring his laughter under control long enough to ask, “Where are we going?”

            “I’m going to shut you up. Come on.” He yanked on Hardison’s shirt. Now they were in a dark alley, even more narrow than the ones that had been down before. As Hardison was looking around, wondering if Eliot knew what he was doing, a sharp crack filled the air. Startled, he turned to see Eliot kicking in a wooden door.

            “Eliot, what…”

            “Come on,” was all Eliot said, and then Hardison found himself dragged into a dark, damp room.

            As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Hardison tried to peer into the darkness and see where they were. It was the first story of a building, and like Eliot had said, everything was covered in mold from years of flooding. The floor gave beneath their feet, and moisture leaked in from all sides, forming small puddles on the ground. “Geeze, man, you weren’t kidding. This place is…” Hardison didn’t have the chance to finish his sentence, because suddenly Eliot was kissing him.

            Hardison moaned into the kiss, the viciousness of it taking his breath away. Eliot’s teeth nipped at his lips, before his tongue darted out to lick and suck away the little marks. Eliot’s hands came up to settle on Hardison’s waist, and then he was being pushed backward, into some old table that had long since been abandoned to the damp.

            “Eliot, are you…” A gasp cut off the rest of what Hardison was trying to say: Eliot had lifted him onto his waist, thrusting their groins together. “Okay, okay, Eliot, come on…”

            Both men’s fingers fumbled at the other’s pants, struggling with zippers and buttons. Eliot finished first, yanking Hardison’s jeans violently down. As soon as Eliot’s rough hand wrapped around his arousal, Hardison was lost to anything else. “Oh, Eliot, ‘s good…”

            Eliot grunted. Hardison spared a moment’s attention to watch Eliot’s expression: even aroused, he looked focused, like he knew exactly what he wanted and had a plan to get it. His eyes flickered behind Hardison for a second. “Hey, Eliot, what are you…”

            The wind was knocked out of Hardison as Eliot pushed him off his hips and onto the table behind him. It creaked and shifted under his weight, but held. “I know what I’m doing. Now shut up.”

            If Eliot hadn’t been pumping a firm hand over his arousal right that second, Hardison might have had a witty comeback. But then Eliot was yanking both their pants off with his other hand, freeing his own neglected erection…Hardison nodded silently, eyes wide.

            “Suck.” Eliot pressed two fingers into Hardison’s mouth. He responded enthusiastically: sucking and licking each finger, making sure they were coated in a thick layer of saliva. Didn’t need a repeat of Berlin. Fingers sufficiently slicked, Eliot removed them from Hardison’s mouth. Hardison angled his hips upward, while Eliot pulled him further down on the table. Then a single finger entered him, and Hardison groaned and arched upward, fingernails digging into the damp, soft wood beneath him.

            “Ah, Eliot, come on. Just…get the second finger…”

            “I thought I told you to shut up.” Eliot viciously thrust a second finger into Hardison, angling for his prostate. A shout ripped its way out of Hardison’s throat, and he thrust into Eliot’s hand, desperate for more contact.

            “Sorry, sorry, good, I…”

            Eliot’s fingers scissored within him, stretching him, preparing him. Hardison tried to maintain some semblance of control, but his hips betrayed him: thrusting down onto Eliot’s fingers, trying to get him to finger-fuck him into oblivion.

            When Eliot pulled his fingers out of Hardison, he groaned, frustrated. But then Eliot was spitting into his hand and slicking up his cock, and then…

            “Oh, Eliot, fuck me, yes…”

            “I’m trying, if you would just shut up,” Eliot grunted out. He pulled his hips back sharply and thrust them back in. Hardison groaned, feet scrambling behind Eliot’s back. Eventually he managed to lock his ankles together, pressing his heels into the small of Eliot’s back. Eliot, meanwhile, was hauling him closer to him on the table, pounding his ass mercilessly. It was all Hardison could do to hold on and let himself be fucked.

            Eliot’s hand continued to pump Hardison’s own arousal firmly, timing his strokes with his thrusts. Hardison groaned as Eliot brushed up against his prostate, lost in a world of pleasure. His fingernails dug into the soft wood beneath him, and he was pretty sure the entire back of his shirt was soaked through, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered when Eliot was standing there, thrusting into him, hair falling in front of his face as he concentrated on thrusting harder and deeper…

            “Fuck, Eliot, gonna…” Hardison scrambled a hand up, reaching for Eliot’s arm.

            “Yeah, I know, come on…” Eliot swiped a calloused thumb over the head of Hardison’s arousal, and then he was coming into Eliot’s hand.

            “Uh, Eliot…” Hardison’s head lolled to the side, cheek pressing into the damp wood. Eliot was still standing, pounding into him. Jolts of pleasure coursed through Hardison’s over-stimulated system with every thrust, and he closed his eyes against the onslaught. A minute later, and he felt Eliot’s thrusts grow more erratic, stuttering in their rhythm. Then Eliot’s bitten-off fingernails were digging into his hips, and he was stifling a loud grunt as he came inside Hardison.

            Hardison, personally, was a bit of a cuddler after sex. He was a reasonable guy, sure – he knew they weren’t about to curl up on the old, damp-rotted table and fall asleep in each other’s arms. But a little bit of downtime would be nice.

            Eliot was decidedly not a cuddler (though there had been a few times…times that Hardison was not allowed to mention on pain of death). While Hardison was still coming down from his orgasm, Eliot had cleaned up, gotten dressed, and was throwing Hardison’s pants at him. “Come on, Hardison. Get up, we gotta go.”

            “Just…gimme a minute…”

            “Damnit, Hardison, you already had a minute to recover when you came and I was still fucking your ass. Now let’s go.”

            Hardison fumbled with his pants and pulled himself into a sitting position. “Hey, a long recovery time is, um, a sign of…”

            “It’s not a sign of shit, and you know it. Come on.” Eliot was brushing his hair back with one hand, the picture of composure. How he could look like that so soon after fucking Hardison’s brains out was beyond him.

            Grudgingly, Hardison slid off the table and pulled on his pants. Gross: his back was definitely soaked through from the table. “Not the most romantic of places you’ve ever taken me…”

            Hardison was caught off-guard by a kiss. He leaned down, turning his head for a better angle. The kiss was softer, gentler than the one before: well, as gentle as it ever was with Eliot. As quickly as he had begun it, Eliot pulled away, nodding at the kicked-open doorway. “I thought you said that Venezia was romantic?”

            Hardison laughed as the started to follow Eliot out. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly picturing moldy rooms and the smell of fish.”

            As the stepped back out into the alleyway, Eliot turned and smirked at Hardison. “Exactly.”