Hot Pocket Juggling

[amuly]

Yay! I graduated college! Woo!
...
Huh. K...now to find a job until I can get into grad school.
щ(ﾟДﾟщ)

Title: Hot Pocket Juggling
Pairing: Eliot/Hardison
Word Count: 359
Rating: PG
Summary: See title. Hardison is juggling hot pockets. Set during season 1.
Warnings: nothing
A/N: I was juggling apples the other day and…this happened in my brain.

            Hardison was standing in the Leverage conference room, waiting for the rest of the team to come in. Well, he wasn’t just standing. He was standing and juggling.

            Among the many weird talents Hardison had picked up over the years – pen twirling, reading binary, writing 1337-5p34|< – juggling was one of his favorites. It was soothing, sort of hypnotic. Plus it looked pretty cool; at least, he thought so.

            Right now, he was juggling three hot pockets – in their wrappers, thank you. He wasn’t about to let a perfectly good hot pocket go to waste just because his hands slipped up. One up, two, one down, two, one up, down, up, down…

            Eliot was the first to come in. “Hey.” A moment’s pause – Hardison could see Eliot doing a double take in his peripheral vision. “What are you doing?”

            “What’s it look like I’m doing? Juggling.” Hardison switched it up, juggling two of the hot pockets end over end in just one hand, then tossing them back over to his other and picking up the three-packet rhythm again. “Pretty cool, huh?”

            Eliot grumbled and made to sit down. “Catch!” As each hot pocket reached his right hand, Hardison tossed them out to Eliot, expecting him to wind up irritably picking up at least one dropped package.

            Of course, Eliot could do everything. Perfectly.

            To Hardison’s infinite annoyance, Eliot deftly caught each hot pocket, and moreover, began juggling them.

            “Damn it, man, is there anything you’re not perfect at? Anything at all?”

            Eliot stopped juggling and set the hot pockets back down on the table, grinning wickedly. “I don’t know. You tell me, Hardison: anything I’m not perfect at?”

            Hardison’s breath quickened as Eliot leaned over the table, eyes predatory and thick with lust. “Uh…”

            Nate chose that moment to burst into the room, followed closely by Sophie. “Alright Hardison, what do you have for us?”

            With a start, Hardison broke eye contact with Eliot. He cleared his throat. “Oh, uh, right. So, the Naranjo family…” For just a moment, Hardison’s eyes slipped back to Eliot’s. He was met with a smug smile, and Eliot’s lips mouthing a single word:

            Later.