safe house

Fandom: Leverage
Characters/Pairings: Mr. Quinn/Eliot Spencer
Rating: Mature
Length: 1,135 words
Written for: Written for Fictober Day #12 Prompt: “You’re making my head hurt.”
Summary: Just a couple of idiots who refuse to go to the hospital when they’re injured.
Originally Posted: October 10, 2022
CW: blood, minor injuries, wound care, alcohol

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Quinn picked up the remote and raised the volume on the TV. He was hoping to drown out the sound of the pipes squealing as Eliot showered off the detritus of the job they both just got back from. He needed to do something to get his mind off thoughts of a wet and naked Eliot Spencer just a few feet and a closed door away.

Fifteen minutes later Eliot emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, hair still-damp towel wrapped around his waist, and smelling like Quinn's shampoo. "You're making my head hurt," Eliot complained.

"It's not me that's making your head hurt. It's the wack on the head that guy with the baseball bat gave you." Quinn lowered the volume and put the remote down on the arm of the couch.

"Whatever, I'm still blaming you."

"That's fine, it's not like I was out there saving your ass the whole time."

"Seriously? That's the way you remember it?" Eliot shook his head and winced. He reached up and touched his forehead, fingers coming away with blood. "Fuck."

"You're head's bleeding."

"No shit, really?" Eliot turned around and headed back to the bathroom. "I think it opened up again in the shower."

Quinn followed. Besides the gash on his head, there were bruises starting to bloom on Eliot's back and side. The job had gone a little rougher than expected. "Maybe you should go to the hospital and have that checked out."

Eliot shot him a glare that would've sent a lesser man running but only made Quinn want to bend him over the sink and lose the towel. "Yeah, yeah, I know. No hospitals." Quinn shook his head. "Idiot," he muttered.

"Like you're one to talk. How about you let me look at your shoulder?"

"My shoulder's fine," Quinn lied. It hurt like a motherfucker.

"Then why don't you show me how fine it is." Eliot's voice was stern and commanding. Quinn hid his grin by looking down while he slid off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. Eliot helped him get the shirt off without taking a layer of his skin with it. He saw the blood soaked through it when Eliot tossed it to the floor and grimaced. Huh, he hadn't realized it was that bad. "This needs stitches," Eliot said, a thread of concern laced his words.

Quinn shrugged and instantly regretted it as the pain hit him like a brick on fire. "I've got a suture kit in the other room," he said through gritted teeth.

"Good luck sewing your own shoulder together."

"That's what I have you for." Quinn grinned. "I trust you."

"You trust me?" Eliot said disbelievingly. Trust was rare in their line of work.

"Well, with this sort of thing, yeah I trust you." He wouldn't want Eliot to think he was soft for him or anything.

"Fine. Take the rest of your clothes off and get into the shower. I'll stitch you up after you get out," Eliot said, his fingers still warm on his skin.

Quinn stood there and enjoyed the way Eliot's hands felt on him. After a moment he cleared his throat and stepped away. "Unless you're gonna lose the towel and join me, I'm gonna need a little privacy here."

"Whatever," Eliot grunted. Quinn closed the door behind him, stripped off the rest of his clothes, and got into the shower.

When he got out, Eliot was wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a couple of butterfly bandages on the wound on his head. The suture kit and a bottle of Jack were on the coffee table in front of him. "Give me a minute to put some pants on," Quinn said as he dug around in his duffle bag. Several minutes, a clean pair of pants, and two swigs of whiskey later; Quinn sat on the edge of the sofa while Eliot disinfected his wound. It burned like hell but the booze helped take the pain down a notch.

He treated himself to a big gulp of Jack when Eliot finished stitching him back together. "So, what's the verdict Doc?"

"You'll live." Eliot's hands moved to his torso and Quinn held his breath. Firm hands running over his ribs, no doubt checking for breaks. Perfectly innocent. Perfectly fine. "I don't think anything's broken." Eliot moved his hands away. For a moment Quinn mourned the loss and wished for something more.

They watched the end half of some monster-in-the-closet kind of movie and shared the rest of the whiskey. By the time the movie ended Quinn had his head in Eliot's lap.

The day had caught up with the both of them and Quinn stretched out on his side so as not to aggravate his shoulder. He lay his head in Eliot's lap for a moment, figuring Eliot would push him off after a minute or two. But Eliot didn't push him away or complain about it. In fact, a little while later when they'd settled on another movie to watch, Quinn felt Eliot's fingers in his hair. Maybe they'd both had a little too much whiskey?

"You got a bed in this safe house or just the sofa?" Eliot asked, his voice relaxed and sleepy.

"The sofa opens up into a bed."

"Ah."

"Or we could just stay here like this," Quinn suggested.

"As lovely as that sounds, I don't think my back will be happy with me in the morning if I sleep sitting up." Eliot stopped running his fingers through Quinn's hair and leaned back. "How about we get up and I turn this sucker into a bed?"

"And then what?"

"And then we go to sleep. I don't know about you but I've had a long day."

Quinn pushed his disappointment aside and reluctantly got up from the couch. "We sharing the bed or...?" Quinn let the question hang in the air.

Eliot shook his head like he thought Quinn was an idiot for even asking. "Of course, we're sharing the bed. Neither of us is in any shape to take the floor. Besides, I think I can keep my hands to myself while you sleep."

"It's not your hands I'm worried about." Shit. He said that out loud didn't he?

Eliot quirked an eyebrow. "What was that?"

"Nothin'," Quinn muttered.

Eliot huffed. "If you behave yourself, I'll make you breakfast in the morning."

"Not much in the pantry to work with here." Quinn kept the place stocked with canned goods and emergency supplies only. He was regretting that decision now.

Quinn grinned. "Now that's the best damn news I've heard in a while." And just like that, neither of them felt all that tired.

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