Escaping Eden, Leverage, NC-17

[phantisma]

Title: Escaping Eden
Author/Artist: amara_m / phantisma
Giftee:demonic_fish
Pairing: Eliot centric (no real pairing, though there's non-con OMC/Eliot of a sort)
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: So not mine, because I couldn't afford them...
A/N: I hope you like this, my dear....I ended up sort of picking bits out of your likes and your various prompts and this is what fell out.
Warnings: Includes non-con penetration with a phallic device...and some pretty heavy violence. Extreme Eliot whumping.

Summary: After the team scatters, Eliot lands a solo job that turns out to be more than he bargained for.






He laughs, blood dripping from his mouth and he thinks maybe he's not quite thinking clearly, but it doesn't matter, not right now. "You better kiss your ass goodbye, Son." Eliot laughs again, listing a little to one side, leaning against the bruised body under his hand. "Bit off more than you could chew, boy."

He shoves the bundle of dynamite in a little further, stroking it in and out of his prisoner, abusing him with it before he leans in, the lighter sparking several times before the flame catches. The man struggles now, tries to get away, but it's shoved in good and hard and Eliot stumbles away, dragging the rough rope that still dangles from one wrist.

He's at the door of the warehouse when it blows. He's bleeding and he hurts and he needs to get away, because Quinn's employer was watching, at least until the blast took out the camera, but he isn't sure where to go and he misses having a team to call on when it goes bad.

And this is about as bad as it goes.

Eliot tilts to the side, holding his stomach, feeling the ribs under his fingers move, and that's not good. He stumbles away from the door, his vision blurry, his head throbbing. He doesn't have time to take stock of the damage, needs to concentrate on moving, keeping his feet under him and finding a place to hide.


"Well, hello there Mr. Spencer. Good of you to come."

Thunder rumbles and shakes the building, ominous. The job was supposed to be simple. Get in, get the merchandise, get out. He's done it a thousand times. Maybe more.

Eliot burrows down under the dirty tarp that was all he could find in the way of a blanket, shivering with cold and shock. He's never really had a job go so spectacularly bad so very fast.

Of course, it was a setup, which explains the way it all fell apart. The job wasn't really a job, it was an old mark hiring that fucking upstart hitter to take him out. The kid had been waiting and two steps into the warehouse, Eliot had felt the sting, looked down and discovered a dart sticking out of his thigh. Then everything went dark.

No self respecting bruiser uses tranquilizer darts.

Eliot shakes his head, trying to clear it from the lingering effects of the drugs Quinn had fed into him, and the fuzziness of the concussion. He shouldn't linger, but he really can't move and a little sleep can't hurt.



"Should have killed me." Quinn taunted as Eliot woke, struggling before he's fully aware of what's going on. "I would have killed you. In fact, I'm going to kill you. Eventually."

He was bound, knees to chest, hands behind his back, the rope biting into his skin. Skin. Because he was naked. Sitting on cold concrete.

"Quit y'er grandstanding then." Eliot growled, testing the ropes for weakness, but the kid was good, each pull, each movement tightened the ropes further. He could already feel bruises, his shoulder was out of joint. Quinn hadn't been gentle getting him here.

"Patience, Mr. Spencer. I aim to enjoy this. I got this notion that you like pain." He punctuated the last word with a solid kick to Eliot's knee, and pain bloomed in the joint as Eliot fell to his side.



He's fairly convinced that he seriously needs help of the medical variety as he inches his way through the quiet nighttime streets of some town he can't remember the name of, barely keeping from falling into a heap when the wall he's using to keep himself vertical disappears into a yawning alleyway that looks too dark and too deep to ever come out of again.

He staggers, favoring the swollen knee, then the opposite hip that's bruised deep from a boot heel. His borrowed jacket gaps open and the wind is cold on his skin. The pants are his, but cut up to the thigh so he could get them on over the knee and he never did find his shoes.

There's light ahead, spilling out of some window, some diner at three in the morning with truckers slurping down coffee and drunks trying to get sober before crawling home to their wives.

He almost makes the door before he freezes up again, gasping for air around shattered ribs, his hand that isn't swollen and purple hitting the glass of the window as he goes down.

The sidewalk is cold against his hot skin but he can't feel it for long. There are voices, but they fade and he thinks maybe the concussion is worse than he thought.



"Now I asked myself, what would it take to really break the unbreakable Eliot Spencer? Do you want to know what I came up with?"

"Having to listen to you rattle on about this until my ears bleed?"

A hand fisted in his hair and pulled his head back. "You think you're funny?"

"At least I ain't a coward." He spit, catching Quinn full in the face. Quinn responded by slamming Eliot's face into the concrete under him. Eliot almost had the ropes around his legs loose enough to pull out of, and if he could get his feet under him, he could move, find something to get through the ropes binding his hands.

Quinn's weight pushed against him, holding him down. Eliot bucked, tried to dislodge him, but the damn kid was persistent. "Keep on writhing around, folks might think you like it." Quinn said, reminding Eliot of the cameras, of the fucker on the other end watching his torture over the internet. It didn't make him still though, just redirect his attention as Quinn's hand hit him, a slap over his naked ass.

Eliot did freeze when that hand became a finger and that finger shoved into him. He froze, but didn't yell, didn't thrash or scream at the kid. Quinn chuckled. "Now that's an interesting response. You're going to love what comes next."




"Sir, can you hear me?"

His lungs burn, his face is numb and there's a buzzing sound he can't quite make out. Bright lights burn against his closed eyelids.

"Mr. Carlisle?"

Carlisle? That wasn't right. He opens his mouth to say his name is Spencer, but he can't make the words come out. "Is he allergic to anything?"

"How would I know Lady? I just found him."

"Okay, I need you to back off."

There are hands holding him, moving him. Eliot tries to push them away but his hand falls against his chest, spiking pain deep inside him. "Type and cross match. Get those pants off him, find out where the blood is coming from."

Blood. His blood. He sort of remembers that.

"Shit, there…right there. Get on that."

Eliot manages to get his eyes open, but the whole world's a blur of light and color and it hurts almost as much as his body does so he closes them. "Blood pressure dropping."

The buzzing is worse and he can't escape the feeling like his chest is going to implode as he falls into the dark.



Air moved through him in a ragged rush that hurt in ways Eliot was pretty sure was bad for him. He was alone finally, though probably not for long. If he was going to get out of this, now was the time.

His eyes flicked to the camera, then away. He couldn't think about that. About the sick fuck on the other end watching him suffer. Just like he couldn't think about the pain, or the damage he knew his body was going to scream about soon.

The swelling in his knee made the ropes binding his legs a little tighter, a little harder to get out of, but he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth and worked at it until the skin was rubbed raw and bleeding, the blood adding enough lubrication to finally slip one leg free.

Fire exploded inside the leg, from ankle to hip. It was the worst in the knee. He breathed through it, rolling to try to get some feeling beyond the burning, to make his legs work. He needed to get his hands loose, get the damn thing out of him…His eyes scanned the area, looking for something he could use.

His hands were numb, his ass was wet and full and painful. He couldn't really stand with it inside him, couldn't really crawl with his hands behind him, so he sort of squiggled over the dirty floor of the cold warehouse until he could reach a screw driver laying in a puddle of dirty motor oil.

It took a few tries to make his fingers work, to pick it up and get it turned in his hands enough to work at the rope, and it took absolutely forever to get any give in the ropes at all. But eventually he felt it and his arms trembled as he pulled, the rope finally falling loose, his hands dropping to the floor.

His shoulders screamed in agony, the one probably dislocated, if not more. His fingers tingled as blood rushed into them. He panted through the worst of it and forced his hand to his ass.

It was going to hurt. Maybe more than when Quinn had shoved it into him. He held his breath and got his fingers around the base. He couldn't stop himself from screaming as he pulled, had to stop and let it sink back into him twice before he found the strength to rip it out of him and drop it from numb fingers to the floor.

It was huge, blue, streaked in dried blood.




Carlisle. Eden, Texas. It snaps into place at the same time that he registers hospital and pain. It was the name on the id in his wallet. One of the fake identities Hardison had set up for him.

He opens his eyes slowly and regrets it as the light and white assaults him. He tries to cover his eyes, but the hand he lifts is heavy with tubes and bandages. The other is encased in plaster.

He has a moment of panic that he tamps down as best he can as he takes stock of the situation. Like his hand, his knee is heavily bandaged, and there are more bandages on his chest, his ribs wrapped, though there's more bandaging there than just broken ribs account for.

He tries again to open his eyes and it isn't quite as overwhelming. There's a soft smile beside him, soft blue eyes and gentle hands soothing over him. "Hello there. Easy. You're okay."

Nurse. Her face swims a little as he processes all the knowledge. "I'm Alison." She's checking his bandages, eyes flicking to the monitors near the bed and back. "You're in Concho County Hospital."

Eliot tries to force the panic out of his eyes, his eyes darting to the door and back to Alison. "You were brought in two nights ago by two guys who said they found you outside a diner." Her hands leave him and lift his chart, moving to the end of the bed. "According to the ID in your wallet, you are Eliot Carlisle, from Abilene."

"Yeah." Eliot shifts as his voice grates out the word, his throat raw.

"We nearly lost you. Fortunately for you, the two guys who found you knew their way around a first aid kit, and we have some very good doctors here."

She moves back up to look him in the eye, compassion dripping out of her every pore. "The police are going to want to talk to you before too long."

He can feel himself pale and he turns away. "Fine. Don't remember much though."

"With the concussion you sustained, that's not really surprising. It will probably come back, but…"

He remembers just fine, but it isn't like he's actually going to tell the police that. There wouldn't be enough left of Quinn to identify anyway.



He doubled over in pain, the hand that wasn't a mess of broken bones and swollen skin reaching for his gaping ass, but not touching. Quinn had taken him forcefully with the fake cock, no more prep than a finger, no lubricant of any kind.

It wasn't like it was for pleasure. It was merely a means to cause pain, to damage Eliot as much as possible. Eliot had screamed until his voice failed him, unable to do anything to stop it as the fucking bastard raped him with a goddamn plastic cock.

His hand was shaking as he picked it up. He hoped the kid was ready to do some screaming of his own. He'd be back soon. Eliot needed to be ready.

He limped to the pile of clothes he assumed were his, dropping the fake cock on a crate. The shirt was totaled, probably cut off him. The jeans weren't a lot better, and he couldn't get them on over his swollen knee.

He wasted a few more minutes finding something that would cut the denim, settling for jabbing it with the same screwdriver he'd used on the ropes and ripping it more than cutting it.

Eliot wasn't sure where his boots were, vaguely recalling that Quinn had thrown them somewhere. There's a coat draped over one of the crates, a sort of trench coat that doesn't really look like it will fit, but he's freezing and it's better than nothing.

Under the coat, staring up at him is Quinn's tranq gun. Eliot started to laugh.



"We realize this is uncomfortable, sir, but can you tell us what you do remember?" The officer was female, they probably think that it's less traumatic that way or something.

"Just flashes. He…someone drugged me."

"Where were you?"

Eliot struggles a little with how truthful to be. "I was supposed to pick up this job…a painting to be delivered. Some warehouse."

The officer looks up at her partner. "Go on."

"I don't remember much. I got hit with…a dart or something. Next thing I know I'm all tied up and beat up."

"How'd you escape?"

"I…woke up alone, found something to cut the ropes. Next thing I know I'm here."

"Okay, now I know this isn't easy, but you're doing very well. Just a few more questions."

He knows what is coming, holds up the hand not covered in plaster. "I don't really know. It was a fake…thing… though. Not him. He…it was there when I…got free." He feels his face flushing and looks away.

"Okay, okay. Do you need a break? We could step outside, come back later?"

"I'd like that." Eliot says, keeping his face turned away, he doesn't intend to stick around for the next session of this. He should be mobile enough soon. Except for how he knows that really isn't true.


Quinn went down hard, the dart sticking out of his chest, his face looking shocked. Eliot didn't have the strength to drag him anywhere, just fell on him were he fell, tying him up enough that when he woke up, he wasn't going anywhere.

The waiting seemed to go on forever, Eliot laid out on the floor beside his prisoner for a while, then rummaging around in the crates and boxes around the warehouse to keep from going crazy.

Quinn was just showing signs of waking up when Eliot found the small box of dynamite. He chuckled, the noise dark and tainted by the rasping wet sounds in his chest. He dropped the fake dick that hadn't left his hand since picking it up hours before, because that might hurt Quinn, but this? Eliot held up a stick of dynamite, then several more until there were four, nearly as thick as the fake cock had been.

"Got something special for you boy." Eliot grinned as he used electrical tape from the box to tape the bundle together tightly.

Quinn's eyes were huge over the gag made out of the remnants of Eliot's shirt. Eliot kicked at his ribs a few times before he lifted the knife he'd taken out of Quinn's boots. "Hope you like a little pain."



"I'm just glad you're going to be all right." The man who had apparently saved his life smiles, his eyes lighting up when a leggy blond nurse came into the room.

Eliot fumbles with his wallet from the drawer, pulling out a card. No name, no artwork. Just a phone number. "Seriously, I owe you and your brother. Call me if you ever need anything." He narrows his eyes at the tall man, watching his green eyes skip over the numbers, his fingers turn the card looking for more. When his eyes come back to Eliot's they both nod, understanding.

"Right. Well, I should let you rest. Looks like it's time for your sponge bath."

"Yeah right, in his dreams."

Eliot's breath caught in his throat as the nurse turned to look at him once the man was out of the room. "Parker?"

"Wow. You look like shit."

Eliot has to clear his throat and shake his head. "What are you doing here?"

"Springing you. Sophie, where's our ride?" She smiles and starts going through the small closet. "Where are your clothes?"

Eliot still isn't sure what's going on when Sophie appears with a wheel chair. "I…uh…they took the clothes for evidence." Eliot says.

"All the more reason for us to move quickly." Sophie says, parking the wheelchair next to the bed and reaching for his blankets.

"Hey, wait. Just." He bats at her hands, but she's persistent and before he's able to do anymore, she's guiding his feet down onto the floor and helping him move off the bed onto the chair.

He's panting with the exertion, pain blooming in a half dozen places in his body as Parker gasps behind him. Obviously she's getting an eyeful through the opening in the hospital gown, and not liking what she's seeing.

Sophie looks at Parker over his head, then settles a blanket over his bare legs. "Just take it easy Eliot, let us help." Parker rattles the IV stand behind them as they move.

"Hardison, we're on our way out." Sophie starts them for the door.

"Sophie." Eliot doesn't know what to say though, so he doesn't as they move out into the hall and quickly to a side exit where he's beyond being surprised by the car waiting for them with Nate behind the wheel.

"Hardison, I have them. Go to the next phase."

"Phase?" Eliot thinks maybe he's still pretty drugged because none of this is making any sense.

Nate smiles at him as the girls get him settled in the back seat. "Don't worry about it, Eliot."

He lets his head fall back against the seat, his eyes closing. He doesn't know how they found him…or why they were together…or where they were going, but he couldn't make anything connect in his head…so he let the motion of the car lull him into a doze.



Eliot was clearly not thinking clearly. He shouldn't be there like that. He should have run already, should have left Quinn for another day. But here he was, cutting the man's jeans open.

Quinn struggled, screaming into his gag. "What's the matter boy? You can dish it out, but you can't take it?"

He laughed, blood dripping from his mouth and he thought maybe he wasn't quite thinking clearly, but it doesn't matter, not right then. "You better kiss your ass goodbye, Son." Eliot laughed again, listing a little to one side, leaning against the bruised body under his hand. "Bit off more than you could chew, boy."

He shoved the bundle of dynamite in a little further, stroking it in and out of his prisoner, abusing him with it before he leaned in, the lighter sparking several times before the flame caught. Quinn struggled, tried to get away. But Eliot held him down and shoved it in good and hard.

Eliot stumbled away, dragging the rough rope that still dangled from one wrist as he made for the safety of the door.

He made the door of the warehouse before the dynamite blew. He was bleeding and he was hurting and he needed to get away, because Quinn's employer was watching, at least until the blast took out the camera, but he wasn't sure where to go. He doesn't have a team anymore to call on when it goes bad.

And this had gone about as bad as it could go.


They don't stop until Eliot sees the signs for San Angelo. Hardison is waiting for them with a place to stay, all rigged up with a hospital bed and everything he could need, even nurses.

Eliot doesn't say much as they get him settled in, tries not to wince or show signs of the pain when he sits, when he moves. He knows they see, he knows they're sorry. He knows.

It doesn't change anything.

One by one they all withdraw, all but Hardison, who won't look at him directly. "You found me." Eliot said, and it isn't a question.

Hardison nods, his arms crossed, his hands shoved into his armpits like he's cold. "Your name, the Carlisle name, came up."

"That isn't all." Eliot can tell Hardison's trying to hide the truth and he sighs. "Do they all know?"

Hardison shakes his head. "Parker…she was with me when I found the…"

Eliot closes his eyes and looks away. "You found the video feed."

"Just play back. Not live. We'd have come sooner. Didn't know to look until the hospital hit your insurance info."

"Just Parker?"

Hardison nods.

"Good." Eliot feels his throat constrict and shakes his head to shake off the feeling.

Hardison clears his throat. "We ah…we saw what you did…to the guy that…to…"

"Quinn." Eliot spits the name, wishing he had it to do over again. He'd make it take longer.

"That was…something."

Eliot glances up. "It ain't over. Someone hired Quinn to come after me."

"Oh, it's over." Hardison says, glancing at his watch. "Right about now, I'd imagine."

"What did you guys do?"

Hardison's smile is wicked as he backs toward the door. "Lets just say your friend is getting very well acquainted with a few big guys with names like Tiny and Spike and Killer. You rest. I got work."

Eden, Texas. It had sounded like a fine place to get lost in when the job came in. And in the end, it very nearly was the place he got lost in forever.