Note: The third of three parts in my Shelter and the Storm arc.
For anyone reading whose been upset that I never write more than the occasional kiss or implication that we may or may not have tuned in shortly after sex occured congradulations. I have finally gotten the courage to break my own personal rule #16 and write gay porn. *Glances up toward the rating* okay... so not exactly broke the rule but bent it somewhat. Beyond this point there be kissng and the misuse of a wall and serious implications of other uses for shampoo.
To those of you who are awsome because you read my stuff despite not actually normally likeing the pairing... sorry. If you really don't want to read it drop me a comment and I'll let you know the plot important stuff that happens.

Concerning The History Channel, A Wall, and Apple Shampoo
Nate and Eliot meet in the upstairs apartment, watch the History Channel, and do some other stuff.

It was a little after midnight when Nate gave up waiting for Eliot to come over.

It was a little before two when he gave up trying to get some sleep. It was the sad truth that the more nights he spent with Eliot the more Nate was slipping towards Eliot's own sleeping habits. He wasn't anywhere quite near only sleeping 90 minutes a night, especially with the six months of habit breaking without Eliot, but it was happening none the less.

After wandering around his apartment for a few minutes he began to research their next client but had a bit of trouble focusing.

It seemed trying to distract yourself could be a bit distracting.

A Mug of coffee later he gave up researching for the moment. He'd take a walk. See if he couldn't cement that reputation of being the weird guy in apartment 2A with the friends as crazy as he was.

A walk at two in the morning. Just what he needed. And if that walk took him up the stairs instead of down and if he ended up letting himself into the apartment Hardison had set aside for him and Eliot it was no one's business but his.

No one's business but his and the somewhat slouched figure on the leather couch in front of a wall of four wide screen tv's watching something on the history channel.

Absently Nate wondered if you could get a discount on insomnia treatment if you went as a group.

He walked forward, leaning his arms on the back of the couch. "What is this?" He asked, fully expecting Eliot's non-committal shrug and complete lack of surprise at Nate appearing over his shoulder at two A.M.. Even with the TV as loud as it was Eliot would have recognized the sound of his footsteps, hell maybe even the sound of Nate opening the door. it's a very distinctive sound.

"Ultimate warrior somthin'" Eliot said. "Take two warriors from history and use science an' stuff to see which would have won in a fight." Nate nodded, even if Eliot wasn't looking at him, but looked down toward the other man. His accent was thicker than normal and there was just a hint of a smell of bourbon.

Nate raised an eyebrow. He knew from the months they'd shared an apartment that Eliot never drank anything harder than beer. According to him it was a stupid risk to get drunk when you might have to fight and for Eliot there was never quite a time when there wasn't a chance he might have to fight.

He almost commented but let it go. After Eliot had helped carry Nate's drunk ass for a year and more Nate lost the right to comment on Eliot's drinking, for better or worse.

And given the circumstances he'd have let it slide anyway.

They watched the show in silence for a little while, the respectable distance between them never breeched. After everything that had happened Nate had thought they'd be okay. They'd shared a room and a bed while staying with Eliot's sister even if the fact that they were sharing the house with two recently traumatized kids who were as likely to run to Eliot as their parents was enough to keep them from sharing more than a kiss or two.

At least Nate had thought, or that was what he'd told himself. But it had been more than a week since they'd returned to Boston and so far Eliot had barely even set foot on the staircase to the upper story of Nate's apartment. There had been almost nothing hinting at intimacy between them and as much as Nate didn't want to think about it…

Eliot's step father had hurt him in ways Nate only guessed at. He hadn't asked Eliot, and Eliot didn't really need to answer for Nate to know. Nate had thought Eliot had worked through that long ago and that when all was said and done Eliot would be okay and even if they had a few awkward moments they'd be okay as well.

He had thought that, even if the kids in the house weren't the only reasons for the distance, coming back to Boston and diving back into work would help Eliot shake off the old ghosts.

Now they were sitting or standing around a mostly empty apartment watching a tv show about ninjas fighting pirates, not touching, not talking, and not even really acknowledging each others presence.

Yeah. They were the picture of a healthy relationship.

Nate shifted his weight and posture, changing how his arms were resting on the couch's back and reaching over one hand to casually rest on Eliot's shoulder.

He wasn't ready for the man to turn suddenly, grabbing his wrist, a glare and flinch both flashing across his features before he let go. He took a deep breath, obviously as surprised by his reaction as Nate. The double blink to clear his vision and the way his eyes briefly darted around the room told Nate he'd caught Eliot dozing off and off his guard.

Or on his guard one might say, though it stung a little. Nate wasn't even sure how Eliot did it but his subconscious seemed to be able to identify those around him. Normally on the rare occasions Nate was awake and Eliot was sleeping Nate could all but violently shake Eliot without waking him while others simply entering the room could cause him to stir.

There was a long moment of silence broken only by Eliot's quick breathing slowly evening out as his fight or flight instinct to being suddenly woken faded. In it's wake Nate was struck by how tired Eliot looked. He knew Eliot hadn't been sleeping well, the nightmares that plagued anyone who lived a life like he did had come almost nightly back at the Phillips household.

They may have followed him back to Boston. Nate wouldn't know.

Nate withdrew his hand completely giving Eliot space as needed. More space, if he needed it, would be allowed. Eliot had carried Nate's drunk ass for a year. Nate could give Eliot that much time or more to get himself back together after what had happened.

It came as a surprise then when Eliot pushed himself off the couch and came around it to where Nate was standing, a mix of the easy grace that was Eliot in motion and tense lines. He stood in front of Nate a moment, face set but unreadable, blue eyes boring into Nate's. His mouth twitched like he was about to speak but thought better of it. Instead he reached for Nate's hands, stepping closer, defying the space between them he'd kept so rigidly the past few days.

Calloused hands moved Nate's, settling them on Eliot's hips before releasing them to pull Nate closer, one hand wrapping behind his head to pull him down into a kiss.

Nate had learned early on there were times when life with Eliot required less thinking and more reacting as quickly as you could. Distantly Nate was aware it was somewhat of a cliché to think of sex and violence having so much in common when it came to Eliot. Quick thinking, acting, and reacting were the only way to even try to hang onto any control of the situation with Eliot when either were involved.

So when a kiss became plural and deepened and Eliot seemed to let instinct take over Nate found himself left with the choices of pulling away, joining Eliot, or letting himself be backed up against the wall not to far behind him somewhere.

Not that the last option didn't have a certain amount of merit Nate had never been one to give up control easily.

Besides, he knew from personal experience Eliot up against a wall was an idea that had a Lot of merit. Between the way Eliot was kissing him, and god Nate took back every half drunk ass metaphor he'd thought before about Eliot tasting like bourbon it was nothing like the real thing, and the fact it had been three Long weeks since things had gone to hell in Kentucky Nate was having a hard time remembering why it had been three weeks.

Nate let Eliot half lead half push him a few steps back toward the wall before shifting his weight and pressing the height advantage, successfully pinning Eliot between his body and the wall. Nate knew Eliot could easily take him in a fair fight but mostly in these cases Eliot only used his abilities to their full extent if he thought Nate needed to be taken down a peg or two.

For the moment he seemed to think Nate had a pretty good idea.

It was moments later, when hands fumbling for something to do found there way to fixing the problem that they both seemed to be suffering from (being way overdressed for the situation) that Eliot jerked. It was a small motion most wouldn't of even noticed but after months of being with someone who'd come home peppered with bruises from some fight and really in the mood for sex Nate had become hyper aware of that sort of action.

Nate jerked back, breaking the contact, a half formed curse about Eliot being an idiot if he'd been hurt in the fight with the Arminian hit man and didn't anything when they were in a freaking hospital, dieing on his lips.

Eliot was looking somewhere over Nate's shoulder and Nate let his hands drop away completely.

Eliot took a deep, frustrated breath and slid his eyes back over to Nate's. His expression set as Eliot Spencer, retrieval specialist, a member of their team. There was no ghost of memory or vulnerability there. He didn't say anything but Nate nodded in understanding anyway. No words had been spoken but they didn't always need words. Nate knew what Eliot had meant. They were the words he'd been saying without speaking for as long as Nate knew him.

I won't be afraid.

So fast it left him feeling a little dazed Nate found their positions reversed and any hope of forming some kind of coherent reaction was lost when Eliot changed his focus from Nate's mouth to his neck, favoring his pulse point with teeth and tounge as much as anything else. It took Nate a moment to think through the fog of something as cliché as "god yes" to a reaction a little more dignified. "So I take that as a yes?"

Eliot stopped, and no Nate did not make an unhappy sound in response it was the wind or something, and looked up at Nate clearly confused. "What?"

"To Hardison. He's offering us this place for when we move in together again."

Eliot eyes twitched just a little and Nate could see confusion giving to a disturbed look giving way to something that Nate was pretty sure meant Eliot had a very good idea. He pulled away from Nate which Nate was not entirely pleased about but when Eliot looked around and peaked into the bathroom his curiosity got the best of him. "What?"

"Seeing what we have to work with." Eliot called back disappearing and reappearing with a bottle of his favorite shampoo. "There is somthin' wrong with this." Eliot said sounding more wickedly amused than disturbed. "but least we don't have ta make the trip back down ta your place."

Nate felt the small, pleased, smile that Parker called creepy spread across his face as he caught on to Eliot's idea.

"I'm just trying to decide one thing." Eliot commented walking, or maybe stalking was a better word, back toward Nate.

"What?"

"When we tell Hardison yes, how much should we tell him?"

The mental picture of Hardison's potential reaction pulled a laugh from Nate's chest, easing the tension there a little. "I don't know." He answered when Eliot got close enough, pulling him close and whispering in that tone that he could feel send a thrill down Eliot's spine. "Lets see what there's to tell first."