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ghostisclearfandom: leverage
ship: parker/sophie devereaux
rating: teen
additional info: pseudo-sickfic, cameos from the rest of team leverage
words: 750
notes: for the prompt leverage: parker/sophie
Feelings are the real kissing disease. and mess me up, yeah, but no one does it better for the janelle monae prompt table
— original post date: 11/08/2019
Parker doesn't like being sick, doesn't like feeling off her game. She needs to locked and loaded, ready to go at a minute's notice—a second's—and instead her heart won't stop racing and she's too warm and her head is fuzzy and—
She wants to yell just to drown everything else out.
Instead she slumps down onto the couch next to Hardison.
“What's up with you?”
He doesn't look away from the video game flashing on the tv screen, so Parker pops up from where she'd been letting her body decay on the armrest.
“I don't feel good.”
He laughs and Parker frowns louder.
“I'm sorry—it's just, there's at least five sugar packets in everything you eat, ok? That can not be good.”
Usually she likes it when Hardison laughs.
Parker gets up from the couch, walks in front of Hardison's game and snatches his hypocritical bottle of orange soda off the side table for good measure.
.
“Feel my forehead.”
Eliot neatly sidesteps her proffered head.
“C'mon,” he groans when Parker swivels back into his personal space, “Are you serious with this, really?”
Parker tries to continue the dance, even throws in a few 'please's.
When Eliot busies himself with vegetable chopping, completely ignoring her efforts, she hops onto the counter instead.
It earns her a quick glare, but she knows Eliot wouldn't actually use the kitchen towel he's menacingly drying his hands with on her.
Parker's seen him do it before though and it's pretty spectacular.
“Where's Sophie? You usually bug her with this kind of stuff.”
“I don't know—why would I know?”
Her head spins again and she grips the counter top, grateful for the cold stone beneath her too-hot hands.
She almost misses the quick look Eliot throws her way before he goes back to chopping.
“I haven't seen her in like,” she throws her hands in the air, “two days, so!”
The last time she saw Sophie was...
With a huff, she hops off the counter.
“It's boiling in here—I gotta go.”
She's already rushing out, pulling at her collar trying to get enough air in her poor, sick lungs, when Eliot grumbles, “Too hot...nothing's even on yet.”
.
It's a bad idea, probably, but there's only so many people in their crew so—
“Nate—”
She takes a step closer to the table he's sprawled out at and he jumps.
“You know, Parker, I—uh,” He stammers, pushing himself up and grabbing his bottle. “It's not really—now's not a good time, so.”
Parker sighs, would roll her eyes if they weren't so sick and like, wet, or something.
She drops into his vacated chair and rests her head on the table.
.
“There you are, poor thing, I heard you weren't feeling well.”
Before Parker can sit up, there's a hand at her back, making circles gentle and slow and she almost relaxes into it.
“Sophie!” She gasps as she straightens in her seat, feeling more feverish by the second, “I didn't realize you were here.”
Parker's eyes flit to her lips, to the small smile turned up on one side that Parker likes so much, the one that Sophie rarely uses when working people.
As she's wondering if Sophie realizes that, the other woman takes a seat on the table in front of her.
“I was just having a little chat with Nate.”
She leans forward to tuck Parker's loose hair behind her ear and Parker's breath catches.
Which, great, now her throat's sick too.
“Want me to check your temperature?”
And Sophie's close now, so very close, close enough to share a rig.
Parker nods, words stuck in her throat.
The distance between them vanishes in an instant as Sophie presses her lips to Parker's forehead.
Her eyes shut and Parker's mind races back to two days ago—to Sophie's lips on hers as they play the guards tailing them during the con.
“You feel perfectly fine to me, darling.”
—to the two of them making out in the storage closet after the guards were long gone.
Parker opens her eyes.
—to Sophie's apartment after the con.
“I'm not sick?”
Sophie shakes her head and Parker feels her heart jumping again.
“Not contagious?”
“No.”
Parker almost says 'good', decides to stand up and kiss Sophie again instead.
Sophie smiles against her lips and Parker's feeling much better already.
She's always loved jumping—has never had a chance to try falling until now.
(She's way too good a thief for that.)
ship: parker/sophie devereaux
rating: teen
additional info: pseudo-sickfic, cameos from the rest of team leverage
words: 750
notes: for the prompt leverage: parker/sophie
Feelings are the real kissing disease. and mess me up, yeah, but no one does it better for the janelle monae prompt table
— original post date: 11/08/2019
Parker doesn't like being sick, doesn't like feeling off her game. She needs to locked and loaded, ready to go at a minute's notice—a second's—and instead her heart won't stop racing and she's too warm and her head is fuzzy and—
She wants to yell just to drown everything else out.
Instead she slumps down onto the couch next to Hardison.
“What's up with you?”
He doesn't look away from the video game flashing on the tv screen, so Parker pops up from where she'd been letting her body decay on the armrest.
“I don't feel good.”
He laughs and Parker frowns louder.
“I'm sorry—it's just, there's at least five sugar packets in everything you eat, ok? That can not be good.”
Usually she likes it when Hardison laughs.
Parker gets up from the couch, walks in front of Hardison's game and snatches his hypocritical bottle of orange soda off the side table for good measure.
.
“Feel my forehead.”
Eliot neatly sidesteps her proffered head.
“C'mon,” he groans when Parker swivels back into his personal space, “Are you serious with this, really?”
Parker tries to continue the dance, even throws in a few 'please's.
When Eliot busies himself with vegetable chopping, completely ignoring her efforts, she hops onto the counter instead.
It earns her a quick glare, but she knows Eliot wouldn't actually use the kitchen towel he's menacingly drying his hands with on her.
Parker's seen him do it before though and it's pretty spectacular.
“Where's Sophie? You usually bug her with this kind of stuff.”
“I don't know—why would I know?”
Her head spins again and she grips the counter top, grateful for the cold stone beneath her too-hot hands.
She almost misses the quick look Eliot throws her way before he goes back to chopping.
“I haven't seen her in like,” she throws her hands in the air, “two days, so!”
The last time she saw Sophie was...
With a huff, she hops off the counter.
“It's boiling in here—I gotta go.”
She's already rushing out, pulling at her collar trying to get enough air in her poor, sick lungs, when Eliot grumbles, “Too hot...nothing's even on yet.”
.
It's a bad idea, probably, but there's only so many people in their crew so—
“Nate—”
She takes a step closer to the table he's sprawled out at and he jumps.
“You know, Parker, I—uh,” He stammers, pushing himself up and grabbing his bottle. “It's not really—now's not a good time, so.”
Parker sighs, would roll her eyes if they weren't so sick and like, wet, or something.
She drops into his vacated chair and rests her head on the table.
.
“There you are, poor thing, I heard you weren't feeling well.”
Before Parker can sit up, there's a hand at her back, making circles gentle and slow and she almost relaxes into it.
“Sophie!” She gasps as she straightens in her seat, feeling more feverish by the second, “I didn't realize you were here.”
Parker's eyes flit to her lips, to the small smile turned up on one side that Parker likes so much, the one that Sophie rarely uses when working people.
As she's wondering if Sophie realizes that, the other woman takes a seat on the table in front of her.
“I was just having a little chat with Nate.”
She leans forward to tuck Parker's loose hair behind her ear and Parker's breath catches.
Which, great, now her throat's sick too.
“Want me to check your temperature?”
And Sophie's close now, so very close, close enough to share a rig.
Parker nods, words stuck in her throat.
The distance between them vanishes in an instant as Sophie presses her lips to Parker's forehead.
Her eyes shut and Parker's mind races back to two days ago—to Sophie's lips on hers as they play the guards tailing them during the con.
“You feel perfectly fine to me, darling.”
—to the two of them making out in the storage closet after the guards were long gone.
Parker opens her eyes.
—to Sophie's apartment after the con.
“I'm not sick?”
Sophie shakes her head and Parker feels her heart jumping again.
“Not contagious?”
“No.”
Parker almost says 'good', decides to stand up and kiss Sophie again instead.
Sophie smiles against her lips and Parker's feeling much better already.
She's always loved jumping—has never had a chance to try falling until now.
(She's way too good a thief for that.)
