A/N – For the lovely Havenward's birthday. She wanted fluffy ot3. So, I did that, with a little angst, sorry to say, but lots of fluff to make up for it, :)
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"I don't do Valentine's Day, Hardison."
Hardison just stares at Eliot, surprise evident on his face.
"What do you mean, you don't do Valentine's Day? You've slept with like, shit, more women than me and Parker combined."
Eliot smirks.
"Parker's slept with more women than you, all on her own."
"Shut up," Hardison tries his best for a glare, but Eliot just laughs and sidles up, tucking his thumbs into the belt loops on Hardison's jeans.
"Make me."
The argument dies for the time being, as Hardison proves just how well he can make Eliot shut up.
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"Aaron Chase."
Hardison looks up from his laptop, blinking at the random burst of conversation. He hears the shower in background, no doubt Parker cleaning up after her and Eliot's second wind. He takes a moment to appreciate the still damp curls of Eliot's hair, messy and tug-able, before focusing back on the perpetually smirking man in front of him.
"Huh?" he says, not bothering with eloquence.
"Aaron Chase," Eliot repeats, as he moves to sit beside Hardison on the couch.
Hardison moves closer instinctively, arranging himself so that Eliot is leaning comfortably against his side. The hitter leans back, resting his head along the couch, and closes his eyes.
Ah, Hardison thinks, it's one of those stories. The kind where Eliot can't keep eye contact, but needs to talk anyway. He can do that.
Hardison leans back, too, closing his eyes and brushing his cheek against Eliot's for just a moment before settling back into the cushion and waiting.
As usual, the silence almost breaks Hardison as he waits, but Eliot saves him at the last minute by finally speaking again.
"I was seven," Eliot says, his tone betraying no emotion.
Hardison knows better, though, he can feel the way Eliot's shoulder tenses against his, just a little. He reaches out blindly and spreads his hand across the other man's thigh. There's nothing sexual about it, just a warm splay of comfort and encouragement.
He can't see, but he knows Eliot is smiling at the contact.
"Our class did Valentine's cards every year," Eliot continues, "There was only one classroom of each grade, so it was always the same kids. There were ten of us that year. Eight girls, and two boys. Me and Aaron Chase."
"Mmhm," Hardison murmurs, squeezing Eliot's thigh briefly.
"Me and Aaron were best friends that year," Eliot says, chuckling wryly, "I guess we had no choice, being the only boys in the class."
He pauses for a minute and Hardison can feel him shaking his head, lost in memories.
"Anyway," Eliot continues, "We did Valentine's cards every year. We'd have to decorate these paper bags and tape them to our desks, and we were supposed to give a card to the kid we wanted to be our Valentine."
"We had tissue boxes," Hardison muses, before going silent again for Eliot to finish his story.
"I didn't really know what a Valentine even meant," Eliot continues, "So I asked my sister, and she told me it was somebody that you really liked. Somebody that you wanted to make happy on Valentine's Day."
Hardison tenses, knowing the story wasn't going to end well.
"I'm sure your fucking smart ass self already figured out what happened next," Eliot says, slightly choked tone betraying the harsh words.
"You gave your valentine to Aaron?" Hardison asks anyway.
He feels Eliot nod besides him, his curls brushing against Hardison's neck.
"It was fine at first," Eliot says, shrugging, "Aaron thought it was really cool. He gave me one of his candies, and we went home."
"But..." Hardison trails off and begins to rub his thumb across Eliot's thigh in a soothing motion.
"But Aaron had older brothers," Eliot growls out, "Two of them, almost teenagers."
Hardison just waits.
"They got me as I was walking to school the next day. Beat the shit out of me, said that their brother wasn't a 'fucking faggot' like me, and I better not come around their place anymore."
Hardison exhales harshly, "Jesus, El. That's insane."
"That's Mayberry," Eliot mocks, "Picture perfect until someone thinks you don't fit in."
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"What happened next?" Hardison can't help but ask.
Eliot shrugs again, "Not much. My mama patched me up, and I stayed home from school for a few days. She told my daddy that I fell off my bike, down a hill."
"And he believed that?" Hardison asks in disbelief.
"'Course not," Eliot sighs, and Hardison can practically taste the bitterness in his words, "But he'd rather accept that than even think his son could be seen as a faggot."
"It was worse for my sister," Eliot says after another moment, "She figured it was all her fault, since she's the one who told me what a Valentine was in the first place. She was only twelve, she didn't know better, but she still cried for weeks every time she really looked at me. I'd wake up in the morning, and she'd be there, curled around me."
"Trying to protect you," Hardison says, smiling slightly at the thought.
"Always," Eliot says, and his voice is almost back to normal, "She always tried."
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"What happened with Aaron?" Hardison needs to know.
"I never told him," Eliot says, "He didn't deserve that. I just made sure to keep a little distance from then on."
Hardison nods, "What ever happened to him?"
"The usual," Eliot says, turning his head to press against Hardison's shoulder, just resting there.
"He got his high school girlfriend knocked up, they had a shotgun wedding, and he took a job at the video store. Last I heard, they were on baby four, poor as dirt, but happy."
"That's good," Hardison says, "Considering."
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"Yeah," Eliot says, finally opening his eyes, catching Hardison staring at him.
Hardison just shrugs, unapologetically.
"You think about him much?" he asks.
Eliot smirks, "Only when my crazy boyfriend wont mind his own business and harps on me about Valentine's Day."
Hardison rolls his eyes, "Whatever. I was asking for Parker, not me! Our girlfriend deserves a fun Valentine's Day, and I thought we could give it to her."
Eliot's smirk turns impossibly dirtier, "Oh, I'll give it to her, alright."
"Seriously?" Hardison just shakes his head.
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"What are we giving me?" Parker asks, announcing her arrival by dropping into Eliot's lap and swinging her feet over Hardison's.
Hardison looks panicked at the thought of his surprise being ruined, but Eliot smoothly intercepts the meltdown.
"Dinner," he says, "What do you want for dinner?"
"Ooh!" Parker bounces slightly, oblivious to her rubbing on both men's laps. "I want chicken, with that red rice and all the little green specks!"
"You always want chicken, mama," Hardison grouses without malice.
"Chicken is delicious, Hardison," Parker replies, with an expression of 'duh' apparent on her face.
"True," Hardison concedes, "But it takes an hour to make, and I'm hungry now."
"You're just bored," Eliot reprimands, "And my cooking needs time to be that good. It ain't one of your hot pockets, son."
"Don't call me son," Hardison halfheartedly protests.
"Come on," Parker demands, standing up, "Let's let Eliot cook."
"And?" Hardison asks.
"And go have sex!" she replies, with that same 'duh' expression.
Hardison isn't an idiot, he just stands and lets Parker drag him into the bedroom.
"Not fair!" Eliot laughs and calls out to his retreating lovers, "I slave over a hot stove for y'all, and you go and get off without me!"
"I'll blow you after dinner!" Parker calls back, before the bedroom door clicks shut.
Eliot smiles. He can deal with that.
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Valentine's Day arrives before they know it. Eliot wakes up to an empty bed, shivering against the lingering memory from his dream. It's the same every year, the look on Aaron's face when he showed up at school a few days later, bruised and swollen.
All he ever wants is to take back that haunted expression.
Shaking his head of the memories, Eliot does his business in the bathroom before wandering out to the kitchen to look for his lovers.
He stops dead in his tracks at the sight before him.
The entire kitchen and living room are swathed in every shade of pink and red in existence. Paper hearts hang from the windows and walls, some of them glittering in the morning sun.
The smell of cookies fills the air, and he has no doubt that they'll be in the shape of colorful hearts.
There's shiny wrapped candy and chocolate on almost every surface, creating a mirage of color against the marble of the counters.
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Eliot has a brief moment of insanity where he imagines Willy Wonka borrowing Santa's sleigh to make this possible, but snaps himself out of it when his gaze finally lands on his lovers, and the matching grins on their faces.
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"...What the fuck?" he says, but it's incredulous, not angry.
Parker laughs, "Happy Valentine's Day!"
"What? When? How?" Eliot's thoughts come out as halted questions.
Hardison's smile falters slightly, "Now, don't be mad..."
"What did you do?" Eliot tenses slightly as he asks.
Parker slinks over and wraps her arms around his waist, pausing to kiss him good morning.
When he's properly dazed, she reveals the plan.
"We might have drugged you a little bit," she admits, "Just so you'd stay asleep long enough for us to finish this!"
"It was her idea!" Hardison defends before Eliot can even glare at him.
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Eliot wants to be angry, but the enormity of the gesture is overwhelming his rage.
"You guys are insane," he says instead, dropping his head to rest against Parker's shoulder for a moment.
"But you like it?" Hardison asks, coming to stand beside them.
Eliot lifts his head and smiles at Hardison, wide and happy.
"Yeah, I like it. I love it."
"You love us," Parker corrects him, turning to lean her back against his chest and grasp one of Hardison's hands in her own.
"That, too," Eliot replies honestly.
Hardison brings her hand up to his mouth and presses a kiss to her palm, before tugging her, and by extension, Eliot, in the direction of the bedroom.
"What are we doing?" he asks, head still fuzzy from the morning so far.
Parker smiles up at him, almost demurely, and he catches his breath. She never ceases to surprise him.
"We're going to create new Valentine's Day memories," she says, moving away to walk towards the bedroom, but not before grabbing one of his hands.
They're linked, hand in hand in hand, and all Eliot can feel is the beating of their combined hearts.
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It's moments like these that he knows without a doubt that this, all of it, whatever it is, is worth it.
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THE END