Title: Havana

Summary: Eliot meets up with an old friend while the team takes a short vacation.

Disclaimer: I don't own Leverage or any of the characters associated with the show. I only claim ownership to the character that I created. Also, no profits are being made off of this story. It's only for your entertainment.

Author's Note: Thank you again to all who reviewed. Keep 'em coming and I'll keep writing!

Chapter 12

"Don't you move," he gently lifted her off of him and got up to answer. Hannibal poked a cautious nose out of the crack in the bathroom door as Eliot tipped the bellhop and returned wheeling a cart. A coffee carafe accompanied by cream and sugar sat between two plates covered with shining silver domes.

"Fancy," she mused as she sat up in bed, fluffing a pillow and placing it between her back and the headboard. Eliot poured her a cup of coffee, stirring in one spoonful of sugar, and adding cream until the coffee was just the right shade of tan for her taste. He handed it to her with a smile and she kept her eyes locked on his as she took a sip.

"And…" he crossed his arms waiting for her verdict.

"You remembered," her face lit up. It was something so small, so trivial that she never expected anyone to take notice really. And yet Eliot had remembered. He smiled a satisfied smile before picking the tray up from the cart and placing it on the bed a little ways in front of her. He cautiously climbed into bed beside her, taking care so as not to disturb it.

"Close your eyes," he whispered. "No peeking." She complied and heard as he lifted the cover off of her plate. The scent brought a grin to her face. "Open," he whispered in her ear.

Her gaze fell upon just about the most perfect breakfast she could have ever imagined. Two poached eggs were cradled in a small bowl that sat off to the side of a plate dominated by four slices of grain toast, two strips of crispy bacon, and perhaps her most favorite thing on there– tater tots.

"It's perfect Eliot!" She flung her arms around his neck and he laughed at how suddenly childlike she was. Natalia was one of the most dangerous people in the world and yet she had this incredible fondness for fried potatoes. Tater tots, French fries, hash browns…if it was a greasy potato, she loved it. Just another quirk, he mused. "I can't believe they had tater tots," she released him and stared again at her plate, almost as if to make sure they were really there.

"Just for you," he kissed her on the temple, her happiness making it impossible for him not to wear a mile-wide smile.

"Thank you," she murmured. What he had done was more than just breakfast. Everything was carefully thought out right down to the way she liked her eggs. He gave a shit about her. She wasn't used to that and she was afraid that she might tear up again. She quickly took a few deep breaths and a sip of her coffee to even herself out. Keep it together she thought. Crying wasn't her favorite thing in the world and she especially hated doing it when she was happy.

Eliot had done away with the dome over his plate and she looked over to see that he had ordered scrambled eggs, four strips of bacon, and the same grain toast that she had. She placed a napkin in her lap and picked up a fork, popping a tater tot in her mouth. It was perfect. She skewered another on the end of her fork and offered it to the hitter. "Not bad," he smirked and she kissed him on the mouth before he had even finished chewing. "You're welcome," he laughed, suddenly realizing just how hungry he was. They hadn't eaten dinner last night.

They flipped on the television, settling on the news, the hurriedly spoken Spanish filling the space as they ate. Hannibal came into the bedroom and sat between them, attention flipping between them, the TV, and Eliot's remaining strips of bacon. The hitter slipped him a tiny piece to the dog's immense satisfaction.

"Are you going to keep him?" He asked between mouthfuls of scrambled eggs.

"Until I can find him a good home. I'd constantly worry about the boys being too rough with him," she chewed on some of her toast. The "boys" were her other two dogs, an immaculately trained tawny colored Briard, and a very playful long-coated German Shepherd. Hannibal would have been dwarfed by them, and while they would never intentionally harm the pup, Natalia was definitely right. He couldn't handle the same rough play that they could.

"I think I may know where I can find one of those," he considered the thought again, and yes, it was a good idea. Natalia agreed.

"Hear that boy? You're getting a home," she picked the dog up and he licked her face, sensing her excitement.

Eliot looked over at his beautiful contradiction. She could be so cold, calculating, and pitiless, and yet she was brought to her knees by fried potatoes and cuddly things. He felt fortunate to see this side of her, this softness to her hardened exterior. If anyone could see her now, they'd never believe the things she's done, the things she had yet to do. He understood that. He loved that.

Natalia angled her green eyes over at him, Hannibal now falling asleep in her arms. "What did you have in mind for the rest of the day?"

"I was thinkin," he moved the plates and tray off of the bed and lay on his side next to her, "that you should get some sleep. You're more tired than you'll admit," he shot a knowing glance at her. "So let me take care of everything. Anything you need, let me know," he rubbed a hand over her thigh.

"I'm thinking that that sounds incredible," she was exhausted. And there was something about sleeping with Eliot at her side that allowed her a deeper, more restful sleep that eluded her in every other circumstance. He gently took the puppy from her and took him back to his bed in the bathroom. He returned to find her naked, the way she always slept best, and he settled in beside her to press his chest against her back, once again enveloping her waist in his vice grip. She was safe here. She could feel him here. And within seconds, she was asleep.

Natalia woke to the tip of Eliot's tongue running up her spine. She gasped and immediately her eyes flew open and darted to the digital clock on the night stand. 6:27pm. Geeze. She had slept the day away. But that didn't matter much anymore considering Eliot's hand was snaking its way across her butt and his teeth were softly imbedded in her shoulder.

"That's quite the wakeup call you know," she purred and rolled over to stare up into the hitter's blue eyes. His hair was pulled back now and he had the naughtiest smirk on his face.

"Well now that you're awake, I can do this," he slipped his fingers down her stomach to cup her heat in his hand. Slowly he massaged her, the heel of his palm rubbing her clit, his fingers working at her folds. She gasped and shut her eyes, slowly beginning to rock against his hand. He leaned down to kiss her, silencing her moan as he slipped a finger inside her.

"Eliot," she breathed against his lips.

"Oh no." He pulled his hand away from her. "I'm in charge today, remember?" He growled and planted kisses along her jaw. "And that means that you don't say a word until I let you," he nipped her earlobe. "That means no screaming unless I say so," his voice dropped to a rumble, "and you don't come until I tell you to." His words had the desired effect. He felt her body bristle before looking down into her eyes, raging with anger at being told what to do, and yet vivid with lust and excitement at his sudden assertion of dominance. He laughed softly as she writhed in the sheets below him. He idly traced his fingers over her breasts as her eyes fluttered closed and she pressed her head back into the pillow. They moved lower before he slipped his middle finger back inside her.

His mouth found her left nipple and she arched her back before he slipped another finger inside her soaking heat. Eliot stroked her as she ground against his hand, slowly at first before gradually increasing in speed and urgency, testing the limits of his rules. He traced his tongue over her stiff nipple before biting down prompting a stifled gasp from her throat, his fingers curled against her G-spot working her into more of a frenzy. He angled his blue eyes up from her chest to her face and found her eyes were shut tight and that she was biting her bottom lip hard to keep quiet, as per his instructions.

Natalia was barely on the brink of release when all at once he deprived her of his touch; his mouth left her breast and his fingers slipped out of her. She panted at the loss of contact, but before she could open her eyes in protest, Eliot's fingers were pressed to her lips, trailing her wetness over them. She gently began to suck and nibble on his fingers, feeling his arousal now pressing against her thigh. More urgently her tongue played with his digits, hungrily cleaning them of her taste. He stifled a moan as best he could. "Keep your eyes closed," he rumbled.

Eliot shuffled around on the bed to straddle her naked form without making contact. Kneeling back on his haunches, he removed his shirt and tossed it onto the floor. She was gripping the sheets now, fingers tangled in waves of white cotton, bristling with anticipation of his next move. He propped himself up on either side of her waist, leaning down to trace the contours of her breasts with his tongue, lightly nipping her stomach, and licking around her bellybutton. He slowly began to kiss down her lower abs along her hipbones as she turned her face to one side and bit the feather pillow in an effort to bear her sweet torment.

Natalia was trained to withstand torture, and she had under a few occasions. But this was something different entirely. Every cell in her body was fighting against her natural inclination to touch Eliot, to pull his hair, to take him how she wanted him. No, this was worse than torture. She had no physical restraints to fight against. No way to manifest the sexual turmoil boiling in her blood. And it was only about to intensify. His words and her willpower were the only things that bound her wrists to the bed and kept her from crying out at his touch. Mercifully, he sensed her anguish and offered her a reprieve.

"Touch me," he commanded and immediately Natalia's fingers flew from the sheets to his skin. She maddeningly ran them over his biceps, firm and exaggerated from supporting his weight, feeling the heat of his body in her hands. It was like touching land again after being lost at sea. She ran her nails over his shoulders before touching the silken strands of his hair. Frantically she groped for the tie that bound his locks, pulling it out and rolling it onto her own wrist before delving into his brown curls. Eliot shuffled around to move lower, kissing down her inner thigh as he positioning himself between her legs with his hands on her hips. He moved back up her leg towards her wetness, his nose brushing her Brazilian-trimmed curls. His tongue found her clit, slowly teasing to see how sensitive she was. When she ground her hips up to him urgently, he let loose.

Eliot lapped at her wetness hungrily, kissing, sucking, and licking, knowing just how to make her mad with ecstasy. Her fingers in his hair scratched his scalp, urging him on harder and faster. His tongue dipped inside her and she made an attempt to buck her hips up to him, but was stilled by his hands on her hipbones, firm and calloused and clear in their message; he was in control. He tossed her legs over his shoulders where her toes searched out either side of his spine on his lower back, pressing down in a move she knew would send a jolt of pleasure straight to his dick. He grunted and she smirked, knowing she had hit her target. She was still playing within the rules; he had said she could touch him. His mouth pulled away from her and he prowled up to her lips, mimicking what he had been doing seconds before. Her hands moved to pull off his boxer briefs but he forcefully swatted them away, pinning her wrists to the bed above her. Natalia couldn't help the incredulous hiss that emanated from her throat.

"Open your eyes," Eliot offered a predatory growl. Her emerald eyes were wide with the animal urge to take control back and use him to finally have the pleasure he was denying her. He grinned seductively before whispering in her ear, "fight me."

Immediately she dug her nails into his wrists, wrenching her hands from his grip in his split second of pain. He reflexively dropped his body over hers, the weight of his nearly 200 pounds keeping her from escape. She cried out from under him before managing to place her forearm against his neck, bracing it with her other fist and pressing up against him as hard as she dared to without causing damage. It allowed her just enough space to pull her knees up between them and flip him off of her. In a flash she straddled him and was shoving his hands through the bars of the headboard, where she used his hair tie to bind his wrists together. He slammed his hips up to hers in an effort to buck her off, but her thighs tightened around him as though she was riding a bull, and he knew he wouldn't be able to shake her. Her wild eyes stayed locked on his feral blue ones as she reached behind her to strip him of his boxer briefs which he kicked onto the floor. She pressed her warm curves against him, sucking and licking her way down his neck to his chest where she bit a nipple, eliciting a growl and another ram of his hips up against her. She laughed mischievously as she writhed against him, basking in his temporary loss.

They had played this game before, although it had been far more heated on several occasions. She had broken his coffee table once by bashing him down into it, and he had smashed an entire set of her dinnerware struggling against his little wildcat. They had their safe words as well as their own personal boundaries. One or two broken items were negligible. A little bit of pain was good. The bruises evident in the morning light were worn as badges of pride for a fight well fought and pleasure well earned. New coffee tables could always be ordered online; he never actually liked that one anyway. Plus, new china was fun to purchase hand in hand with the man who broke your old set. There was no need to take themselves too seriously. Under the grunts of pain and the fierceness of struggle, it was always about their trust. They would have pushed it a bit more if this wasn't a hotel room. It wasn't their stuff to break.

She snaked her hands over his heavy arms as she sucked and kissed his chest, dizzy from the adrenaline coursing through her veins and the thrill of having Eliot's muscled power underneath her.

"Momma, I think you forgot that it takes metal to hold me," he growled before snapping the hair tie like a piece of thread.

"I'll bring my handcuffs next time," she promised in a husky voice before his hands gripped her hips. He arched up to kiss her, open-mouthed and greedy before holding her bottom lip between his teeth to keep her from pulling away. In a flash he ripped her off of him and flung her face down onto the floor.

Natalia spat a curse before Eliot was behind her, yanking her hips up and pressing himself into her all at once. She moaned at his intrusion as he grabbed her hips, pulling her back against him, feeling ever inch of her tight, wet core. Eliot began thrusting into her, the darkening room now filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin and frenzied, desperate breathing. Natalia pressed her chest against the floor, stretching out in front of the hitter, making him growl in pleasure. She felt even tighter now and he could tell from her moaning that he was hitting all the right spots.

"Fuck…Natalia," he rumbled as he ran a hand over the contours of her back. He was so damn close…

"What's that Eliot?" She panted facetiously.

"You're gonna make me…"

"I'm going to make you what Eliot?" Natalia asserted. She was on her knees in front of him, but she was still in control.

"You're gonna make me fuckin come, baby," Eliot's voice was falling apart, his thrusts becoming more frantic.

"Then come Eliot," she was almost on the edge. "Come inside me baby."

He reached up to grab her shoulder, using the leverage to slam into her deeper and harder, her moans escalating to primal screams. The hitter rammed into his assassin to the hilt, letting out an unbridled roar as he came hard, dick throbbing as he spilled his load inside her. She came at the same moment, her fingers clawing at the carpet, walls clenching down around his pulsing length, each surrendering entirely to sensation. When Eliot trusted his synapses to fire correctly again, he pulled out of her, sat back on his haunches, and ran a hand through his hair. Natalia immediately flipped over to look up at him, as she always did after they finished in this position. She never stayed on her knees very long, since, as a woman used to power and control, she rejected the submission it implied. He asked her once why she liked the position so much if being on her knees got under her skin. "Because it feels too fucking good," was her comeback. He grinned at the memory as she stared up at him, panting.

"Up for another round?" She breathed into the now semi-dark space.

"Always. But we have dinner reservations in half an hour," Eliot stood up and looked around for his clothes. She propped herself up on her elbows and shook her head smiling before taking his outstretched hand. He wrapped her in a hug which she gratefully melted into, feeling his heart hammering against her own. "You didn't follow my rules ya know," he whispered with a laugh. She had managed to turn everything he laid out right back on him.

"Darling, I never play by the rules," she kissed his scruffy jaw before pulling away towards the bathroom.

"No," he laughed, "No you don't." Not that he minded. He pulled his boxer briefs and t-shirt back on before she walked back into the room, wrapped up in a robe. "Hey, momma?"

"Yup?" She looked up from shuffling through her duffel bag for a dress.

"You got an extra hair tie?" He ran his fingers through his locks sheepishly. He had snapped his only one.

She laughed and pulled one from her bag before padding over to him, lovingly tying his brown curls up herself, finishing the deed with a kiss on his lips.

"Thanks," he whispered.

"Of course," she smiled before turning back to pick out her outfit.

That woman is something else, he grinned before turning to get himself ready for dinner.