Series: Jukebox Musical
Word Count: 2357
Disclaimer: If I owned it, the soundtrack would be Kane.
Summary: Tara has never been afraid to go after what she wants.
When Tara walks into one of her favorite bars after a long hard day of grifting and sees Eliot Spencer, she knows exactly how the evening will play out. Because her job is reading people and that right there is a man who needs some stress relief as bad as she does now.
So she signals the bartender to pour Eliot another shot of whiskey and the expression on the hitter's face when the drink is delivered is worth the price it cost. Eliot eyes the glass like it's about to detonate, his tension barely easing when the bartender points Tara out. Which is honestly rather flattering – Eliot Spencer thinks she’s dangerous – even though she has no intention of damaging the man just yet.
“What are you doing here?” the hitter growls when Tara walk over, the grifter knocking back his shot with a smirk and then ordering another round.
“Relax, Spencer. It's nothing personal. I was in town for a job and I thought I'd have a drink. Even grifters like to let their hair down from time to time,” Tara says, putting her words to action as she pulls the pins out of her bun and unbuttons the matronly strictness of her blouse. Eliot's eyes follow the motion of her fingers, his gaze lingering on the hollow of her throat. Indeed, she has to bite back a smirk at his expression because the man is hers now; she just has to reel him in.
So Tara sips her next drink slowly, pinning the hitter with a heavy-lidded smile over the rim of her glass. “Of course, now that I've seen you here, I can think of much more entertaining ways to spend my evening than drinking this overpriced alcohol.”
“I'm sure you can. But why now?” Eliot asks, catching the grifter's meaning like she knew he would. “Why not before?”
“We were on the same team then and I'm not very fond of messiness. I prefer to avoid those awkward morning afters when my work is on the line. But we're not on the same team anymore and I'm sure you can keep things professional if we cross paths later on. No strings attached and all that jazz.”
“Sensible of you,” the hitter says, contemplating her offer for a long moment before standing up and knocking back his shot. “All right, might as well I guess; I was getting sick of whiskey anyway. So lead on; I ain't bringing you to my apartment but there are hotels nearby.”
“I know. I have a room in one of them,” Tara answers before walking out of the bar, Eliot only half a step behind.
Neither of them says much on the way to her hotel; there’s no need for it when they both know where they stand. This isn’t a conversation, it’s a booty call and if Tara wanted an update on her former teammates, she wouldn’t ask Eliot. The grifter would call Sophie since the other woman is always willing to talk about her latest con, those updates liberally sprinkled with complaints about Nathan Ford's emotional immaturity. In comparison, Eliot’s silence is actually rather pleasant and Tara may have to rethink her opinion of the strong and silent type.
Although, the hitter does take it a bit far, following Tara into her hotel and up the stairs without a single word. Eliot cases the hallway while she unlocks the door to her room – more out of habit than suspicion, if she had to take a guess – and it’s amazing how a man that short can loom.
“Well, come on in then,” the grifter says once the door is open, waiting until Eliot has stepped inside and locked the door before yanking him forward by the collar of his shirt. The hitter tenses, his body thrumming with violence underneath her hands, and Tara briefly wonders whether manhandling someone who fights people for a living was really her best plan. But then the man surges forward to return Tara's kiss with interest and she knows the risk paid off. She's always been a thrill-seeker, the kind to challenge danger with style and a grin, and tonight she's going to be riding lightning once again.
So the grifter pulls Eliot toward the bed, a piece of clothing lost with every step. The hitter's skin is rough beneath her fingers once she finally gets his shirt off, pock-mocked with old scars and near escapes from danger, but there's nothing more attractive than a survivor and it's not like Tara doesn't have a few scars of her own.
Case in point, Eliot's pauses when his hand brushes across the old bullet wound in her shoulder, the man pulling back just far enough to murmur, “Croatia? 1993?”
“How did yo-”
Tara cuts herself off sharply before she gives the hitter more information than he already has. The grifter isn't sure how he knew about Croatia considering that she burned those files years ago, but Eliot just shrugs off her narrowed eyes with a crooked grin.
“It's a very distinctive scar,” he murmurs before leaning in to kiss her and Tara quickly decides to take his word on it for now. Because Eliot's hands are slipping up her sides to cup her breasts, his fingers sending shivers through her body as they stroke across her skin.
The hitter kisses his way down Tara's neck, unsnapping her bra one-handed and leveling an appreciative glance on her breasts when they're revealed. He rubs his thumb across her nipples until they harden, Eliot's mouth curling on a smirk when Tara gasps. However, while fingers are all well and good, the grifter would much prefer that pretty mouth of his.
“Come on, Spencer; show me what you can do,” she orders, sitting down on the mattress so that he can kneel between her legs. “I-”
The word turns into a moan when Eliot obeys her, taking one of her nipples in his mouth. The hitter is gloriously attentive, teasing with his tongue until Tara’s nipple hardens and she arches back against the bed.
Eliot follows the motion with his body, his weight pressing her down into the mattress as he switches to her other breast. Eliot's mouth is exactly as talented as she'd imagined during some of the team's longer stakeouts, those nights when she was bored and horny and stuck in the van with Hardison. If anything, this may actually be better, pleasure coiling inside her gut until it's too strong to ignore.
So Tara tangles her hands in Eliot’s ridiculous hair and pushes him down further, the hitter moving easily enough despite his grumbling. He rucks Tara’s skirt up around her waist, unhooking her garters and rolling her stockings down her legs. Black to match the lingerie that she'd pulled on this morning, a hint of wickedness underneath her teacherly facade. Fancy private schools always have irritating dress codes and Tara has learned to find her fun anywhere she can. Besides, she’s always thought this pair of panties looks fantastic on her and Eliot must agree because he makes no move to take them off.
Instead the hitter strokes Tara through the fabric, rubbing against her clit deliciously. Slow circles at first until she's wet and aching, pushing her hips into his hand. Then Eliot starts stroking faster, his stubble rubbing against the inside of her thighs as he presses biting kisses to her skin.
Now the grifter would normally offer a bit more reciprocation at this point – she’s not a completely selfish lover, after all – but Eliot keeps shrugging off her hands and if he wants to worship her, she’s hardly going to deny him the opportunity.
So Tara lets the hitter tease until the fabric of her underwear is soaked through and her thighs are damp. Only then does Eliot finally pull her panties off, dragging them down her legs and tossing them aside. She stretches out on the bed, leaning back on her arms and spreading her legs wide as the hitter's eyes darken even more.
Eliot is still kneeling at the edge of the bed but his gaze strokes across her body like a caress before he bends his head again. He presses his mouth to her clit, tongue tracing filthy circles as his finger slips between her folds. One fingers pushes inside her and then another and the grifter moans hungrily.
Tara jerks her hips, shoving Eliot's fingers deeper, but it's still not enough. She needs his cock; she needs him to fuck her until her brain whites out with pleasure and she forgets her name. More than that, she wants to see the hitter lose control. Because she knows there's a wild fucking bronco underneath all that careful discipline and she's in the mood for a proper rodeo.
“Fuck me already,” Tara demands, “Give me that wild ride you promised before I die of boredom here.”
“Oh, I'm sorry. Is this too much foreplay for your tastes?” Eliot retorts, though his sarcasm is somewhat undermined by the hunger in his eyes. Still, he makes a decent go of it and he must be a passable grifter when he has to play a part.
Eliot's certainly not above taking advantage of the situation, Tara's reply turning into a gasp when he twists his fingers suddenly. “If you're looking for something more wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am, I'll be happy to oblige. I just figured you were a woman who'd appreciate the extra time.”
“It was appreciated. Very much so. But it's been a damn long week and now I want you to fuck me blind instead.”
“Don't worry, Cole. I plan to do just that,” Eliot replies before climbing to his feet. He has his jeans off in seconds and Tara's mouth waters a bit when his dick is revealed. The hitter is hard already, his cock average length but thick from base to tip, and she knows that it will feel like heaven driving into her. Or maybe Hell since they're well on their way to sinning now.
So she reaches into the bedside table and tosses Eliot a condom, trusting him to catch it easily. He rips the wrapper open with his teeth and then slides the condom on while Tara slides back up the bed to grab the headboard with both hands. The move pushes her breasts front and center and when she spreads her legs in invitation, the hitter's on her in a flash.
He kisses Tara hard, sealing their mouth together as he lines up his cock. Then he thrusts up, driving into her with one long stroke. He’s just as wonderfully thick as she'd expected and she can't help moaning at the stretch. Tara rocks her hips, trying to get the hitter even deeper until he finally bottoms out.
This is what she needed, this hot, hard cock spreading her open wide. She clenches around him, smirking at the way Eliot’s hip hitch helplessly. Then he's kissing her with a growl, lips and teeth and tongue stealing her breath away.
Tara's fingers tighten on the headboard when the hitter runs his hands down her body, brushing across her nipples again before closing on her hips. Eliot's grip is just on the edge of painful, holding the grifter still as he starts to thrust. He fucks her hard and fast just like she'd told him and Tara matches his rhythm, shoving back into his strokes. Eliot makes it seem effortless, holding her hips off the bed like she weighs nothing even as he drives into her savagely.
Only the hitter's tight grip stops Tara from sliding up the bed with every thrust and the headboard isn't so lucky, the grifter sparing one brief thought for her neighbors as it bangs against the wall. Those poor bastards will know exactly what they're missing and she throws back her heads and moans as loudly as she can.
She wants them to know. Wants them to know that she's getting fucked and loves it, her groans spurring Eliot on to an even faster speed. Tara wouldn't have thought it possible but the hitter manages somehow, his eyes dark with focused heat.
He fucks her like it's a mission, like there's nothing in the world but making Tara scream. And this is a man who does it well. She's going to ache in the morning; she's going to ache for days, the bruises on her hips a pleasant memory. The thought sends another wave of lust shooting through her, thick and wild and uncontrollable.
Tara wraps her legs around Eliot, heels digging into his back as the shift in angle sets off sparks behind her eyes. She's so fucking wet now, Eliot's cock sliding home smoothly with each thrust. He’s making good on his promise to pound her into the mattress and it's completely unfair that he's barely breathing hard. Still in control even now.
So the grifter drives him on with moans and curses, too far gone to manage actual words anymore. There’s nothing but the pleasure of sweat and skin and his gorgeous fucking cock driving into her. She's actually shaking, trembling from sheer sensation, and when the hitter suddenly reaches down to rub her clit, Tara loses it. She arches her back and screams as her climax takes her, ecstasy slamming through her from head to toe.
But Eliot just fucks her through the orgasm, steady thrusts grounding her amidst the storm. She's almost too sensitive now, the drag of his cock inside her sending ripples of pleasure through her body, pushing her to new heights before she's managed to come down.
It builds and builds in a rising wave until Tara loses track of everything but the burning heat inside her; the hard length of Eliot's dick and rough fingers on her clit. His thrusts are getting rougher, more uneven, and Tara clenches around him tightly as another orgasm crashes into her. This time Eliot follows Tara over the edge, the hitter finding his own release with a choked off shout. It almost sounds like a word, maybe a name, but the grifter's ears are ringing with her own groan of ecstasy and she can't quite make it out.
At least Eliot is polite enough not to fall on her, catching his weight on his elbows as he pants against her chest. Tara feels much too good to move, perfectly content to lie here on the bed and enjoy the afterglow.
A good fuck always makes the grifter lazy, a pleasant lassitude spreading through her limbs, and Eliot turned out to be a damn good fuck after all. It's a shame they couldn't have been doing this all along but Tara never sleeps with anyone she's working with; she learned that lesson long ago.
So the grifter will just enjoy the moment while it lasts, adding this encounter to a slim file of fantastic memories. She certainly won't forget it in a hurry, not when every breath sends echoes of pleasure thrumming through her body and she's going to feel the ache for days.
But nothing lasts forever and as soon as the hitter has caught his breath, he pulls out carefully. The emptiness he leaves behind draws a quiet sigh from Tara's lips, Eliot giving her a crooked smile in return. This is the most unguarded that she's ever seen the hitter – though he's still far from vulnerable – and maybe that's why she doesn't want to let him leave just yet.
“You can stay if you like,” Tara offers. “You can buy me breakfast after rounds two and three.”
However, Eliot just shakes his head like she might have guessed he would; he's not type to actually sleep with anyone. “I need to get back. Though if you don't mind me showering; I'll clean up when I'm done. I can let myself out afterward if you want to get some sleep.”
Tara waves him toward the bathroom, making herself more comfortable on the bed. She won't actually fall asleep while the shower's running – some instincts never die – but she lets herself fall back into a pleasant doze again. The grifter is vaguely aware of Eliot moving around the room a little later, though she only snaps fully awake when the door snicks shut. Then Tara lifts her head to see that there’s no trace of the hitter's presence left behind. She’s pretty sure he even wiped his fingerprints because the room is spotless and if not for the ache of well-used muscles, the whole thing might have been a fantasy.
A pity about breakfast, Tara thinks, before shrugging and stretching out across the mattress with a luxurious sigh. But that's not a man for keeping and we've had our bit of fun. At least this saves me the trouble of kicking him out in the morning after we were done.