Hardison should have figured she’d come up with something that made his mouth drop open in disbelief; it’s not like he hadn’t watched plenty of crazy ass porn in his life, because he had, since that is at least 50% of the reason for the internet existing. Still, when Parker gave him one of those slightly manic grins of hers and suggested that he might enjoy a little something different, he went rigid.
“Here,” she said, pressing him down so he was reclining in the bathtub, his long legs poking out past the curtain and, for some reason, his hands crossed protectively over his own crotch. She stood over him, the shower spray making a halo around her, the water sheeting down across her bare breasts and her hands drifting to the V of her legs; he shut his eyes tightly. “Come on, open your eyes. It’s not that bad. The shower’s even running, don’t be a baby.”
Hardison gave a sharp nod, screwing his face up, somehow worried that she might actually aim for his face. He cracked open one eye just as Parker’s stream of piss landed on his pec. He followed its path up to where her fingers were holding her lips apart, and damn if his cock didn’t think this was a fantastic idea after all.
"Con artists are good with their tongues," Hardison says, as a sort of reassurance, but Parker’s squirming on the pillows, surprisingly skittish, as he starts to lick up her thigh. He figures she’s afraid of intimacy, she’s always seemed to have weird phobias about things like that, and he tries to be as slow and loving as he can. But it turns out what she was scared of was the force of her shriek when he finally seals his mouth over her and sucks in low pulses; she raises the roof with her shouts, clinging to the bedposts like she’s going to go off like a bomb. Every stroke of his tongue brings a new noise, a new wrenching jerk of her body. When she comes, shaking, slicking his lips with her juices, she hides her face in the pillows out of embarrassment; he slides up, cradles her in his arms, and stays with her until the storms in her mind calm.
"Shit," Hardison keens as Parker pushes herself forward from the wall, wrapping her leg around his calf so he sinks into her.
"Shit sandwich?" she offers helpfully, and just then Eliot rams into him again and Hardison loses the phrase of rebuke that was on the tip of his tongue.
Eliot has him covered, though, with a frown and a “That’s not cool” at Parker. “If we’re gonna call it anything, let’s call it a reverse Oreo.”
Hardison wants to make a comment about creamy filling, but then Eliot’s so deep in him and Parker so wet around him that he can’t find the breath.
Hardison keeps shushing her, but Parker keeps giggling as she wraps arms and legs around him. Her ass is barely still on the desk - she’s teetering on the edge, and the keyboards are rattling. As he jerks her in, sinking in deep and jittering all the mice that have been sitting dead next to their respective computers, every last one of the dark-screened monitors light up.
Hardison forgets to shush and instead grins at her. “What can I say, I turn everyone on.”