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sherydenTitle: Plugging the Holes
Author:sheryden
Pairings: past Eliot/Aimee, mention of Eliot/various prostitutes
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 684
Spoilers: None
Warnings: minor language, implied sex
Disclaimer: Not mine. If it was, Eliot would be shirtless in half the episodes.
Summary: After the bottom drops out of Eliot's world, he tries to kill the pain with a string of bleach-blonde hookers.
Notes: Written forangst_bingo for the prompt "hookers." Set pre-series. Thanks to lmx_v3point3 for the story suggestion. :)
“You know, it’s all right if you don’t want to do anything. Some guys just like to talk.”
Eliot glanced up at her, his hands still lingering on the buttons of his flannel shirt. “I didn’t bring you here to talk,” he said. With nimble fingers, he made quick work of the shirt and tossed it onto the faded beige carpet of the motel room.
The prostitute—her name was Desiree—sat down on the bed and twirled a piece of blonde hair around her index finger. “Well, whatever,” she said. “You just don’t seem into it.”
Turning away from her, Eliot walked into the bathroom and splashed some water on his face. There was a time he would never have considered paying for sex, and if he were in a better mood tonight, he’d hand Desiree some cash and send her on her way. She was just the latest in a string of bleach-blonde hookers whose faces bled together in his mind.
Once upon a time, he’d had Aimee, his childhood sweetheart and quite possibly, the love of his life. She had been the one person who could wrap him up in her arms and soothe him to sleep. She would tire him out from lovemaking and chase away bad dreams if they came in the night. Then one day, he’d come home, beaten down from months of captivity, and he’d found that Aimee had married another man.
His heart smashed to bits, Eliot had thrown himself into the most suicidal job he could find. After the dust cleared on that gig, he had wandered back to the States, more than a little surprised he was still breathing, and still nursing a lot of pain and confusion.
For the first few days home, he had lain on his back in a cheap motel and stared at the ceiling, replaying scenes that flickered like black and white films in his mind: a cell in North Korea; the last fight with Aimee; the wanton destruction he’d left behind him in Europe. The images flooded his mind until he couldn’t take it anymore, and he’d dragged himself down to the street to wander and find a way to kill the pain.
He couldn’t remember when he’d decided to approach that first bleach-blonde hooker. He couldn’t remember her name now, but he remembered the feel of her milky smooth skin under his fingers as he undressed her and pounded into her until memories and nightmares were pushed into the back of brain.
The calm that had washed over him afterward had lasted for about an hour, but the silence of early morning and the desolation of four white walls and beige carpet had brought grim reality rushing back to the forefront of his mind. After that first woman, there had been a stream of others, and none of them quite helped Eliot to kill the pain he felt.
Scowling at himself in the mirror, Eliot pulled out a wad of folded-up bills from his pocket and walked back to the bed. Tossing the money at Desiree, he said, “You’re right. I’m not into it. You can leave.”
She picked up the money and quickly counted it. “Suit yourself,” she said. Standing to her feet, she smoothed out her skirt and tucked the money away.
“You need me to give you a ride somewhere?”
Desiree placed a hand on the doorknob and glanced back at him. “I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can, sweetheart,” he said.
After she had gone, Eliot pulled off his jeans and climbed into bed. He was already starting to regret turning Desiree away. It was gonna be one long-ass lonely night. He was certain of it. One day, maybe the din his mind would fall quiet, and his heart would heal. Maybe he would fall asleep at night and have sweet dreams of picket fences and sunshine.
Until then, he would lie in bed and stare up at motel room ceilings hoping that these women would eventually plug enough of the holes in his psyche that he could function again.
Master Fic List
***
Author:
sherydenPairings: past Eliot/Aimee, mention of Eliot/various prostitutes
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 684
Spoilers: None
Warnings: minor language, implied sex
Disclaimer: Not mine. If it was, Eliot would be shirtless in half the episodes.
Summary: After the bottom drops out of Eliot's world, he tries to kill the pain with a string of bleach-blonde hookers.
Notes: Written for
angst_bingo for the prompt "hookers." Set pre-series. Thanks to lmx_v3point3 for the story suggestion. :)“You know, it’s all right if you don’t want to do anything. Some guys just like to talk.”
Eliot glanced up at her, his hands still lingering on the buttons of his flannel shirt. “I didn’t bring you here to talk,” he said. With nimble fingers, he made quick work of the shirt and tossed it onto the faded beige carpet of the motel room.
The prostitute—her name was Desiree—sat down on the bed and twirled a piece of blonde hair around her index finger. “Well, whatever,” she said. “You just don’t seem into it.”
Turning away from her, Eliot walked into the bathroom and splashed some water on his face. There was a time he would never have considered paying for sex, and if he were in a better mood tonight, he’d hand Desiree some cash and send her on her way. She was just the latest in a string of bleach-blonde hookers whose faces bled together in his mind.
Once upon a time, he’d had Aimee, his childhood sweetheart and quite possibly, the love of his life. She had been the one person who could wrap him up in her arms and soothe him to sleep. She would tire him out from lovemaking and chase away bad dreams if they came in the night. Then one day, he’d come home, beaten down from months of captivity, and he’d found that Aimee had married another man.
His heart smashed to bits, Eliot had thrown himself into the most suicidal job he could find. After the dust cleared on that gig, he had wandered back to the States, more than a little surprised he was still breathing, and still nursing a lot of pain and confusion.
For the first few days home, he had lain on his back in a cheap motel and stared at the ceiling, replaying scenes that flickered like black and white films in his mind: a cell in North Korea; the last fight with Aimee; the wanton destruction he’d left behind him in Europe. The images flooded his mind until he couldn’t take it anymore, and he’d dragged himself down to the street to wander and find a way to kill the pain.
He couldn’t remember when he’d decided to approach that first bleach-blonde hooker. He couldn’t remember her name now, but he remembered the feel of her milky smooth skin under his fingers as he undressed her and pounded into her until memories and nightmares were pushed into the back of brain.
The calm that had washed over him afterward had lasted for about an hour, but the silence of early morning and the desolation of four white walls and beige carpet had brought grim reality rushing back to the forefront of his mind. After that first woman, there had been a stream of others, and none of them quite helped Eliot to kill the pain he felt.
Scowling at himself in the mirror, Eliot pulled out a wad of folded-up bills from his pocket and walked back to the bed. Tossing the money at Desiree, he said, “You’re right. I’m not into it. You can leave.”
She picked up the money and quickly counted it. “Suit yourself,” she said. Standing to her feet, she smoothed out her skirt and tucked the money away.
“You need me to give you a ride somewhere?”
Desiree placed a hand on the doorknob and glanced back at him. “I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can, sweetheart,” he said.
After she had gone, Eliot pulled off his jeans and climbed into bed. He was already starting to regret turning Desiree away. It was gonna be one long-ass lonely night. He was certain of it. One day, maybe the din his mind would fall quiet, and his heart would heal. Maybe he would fall asleep at night and have sweet dreams of picket fences and sunshine.
Until then, he would lie in bed and stare up at motel room ceilings hoping that these women would eventually plug enough of the holes in his psyche that he could function again.
Master Fic List
***
