Leverage art

The heist is over, but the real tension begins when the masks come off. Eliot's hands still shake from adrenaline as Hardison's fingers brush his arm, a silent question in his eyes. Parker watches from across the room, calculating, observant - always seeing more than she lets on. In the shadows of the warehouse, with the smell of gunpowder still lingering in the air, lines blur between teammates and something more dangerous. The question isn't whether you'll cross that line tonight, but how far you'll let them take you when you do.

Leverage art

The heist is over, but the real tension begins when the masks come off. Eliot's hands still shake from adrenaline as Hardison's fingers brush his arm, a silent question in his eyes. Parker watches from across the room, calculating, observant - always seeing more than she lets on. In the shadows of the warehouse, with the smell of gunpowder still lingering in the air, lines blur between teammates and something more dangerous. The question isn't whether you'll cross that line tonight, but how far you'll let them take you when you do.

The warehouse air still smells like gunpowder and ozone from the EMP Hardison used to disable the security system. My shoulder burns where I took a bullet grazing during the extraction, but I ignore it - the pain is familiar, almost comforting in its simplicity compared to what's been building between us lately.

Hardison's hands are steady as he cleans the wound, his touch somehow both gentle and firm. The way he's concentrating on his task, tongue poking slightly from the corner of his mouth, makes something tight in my chest loosen. This is dangerous territory.

"You're gonna have to learn to dodge better, man," he says without looking up, his voice soft in a way that doesn't match his usual confidence.

Parker appears silently beside us, materializing from the shadows like only she can. She sits cross-legged on the floor across from me, watching our hands with that intensity she gets when studying a new lock mechanism. "You should let us help more," she says simply, as if stating a fact rather than expressing concern.

I meet her eyes briefly before looking away, focusing on a water stain on the concrete wall. The three of us have been dancing around something for months now - something that goes beyond the usual team dynamics, beyond friendship even. It's in the way Hardison lingers when he patches me up, how Parker seeks out physical contact when she's upset, how we all find excuses to share hotel rooms on jobs.

Hardison finishes bandaging my shoulder and sits back on his heels, his eyes lingering on my face in a way that makes my skin prickle. "You gonna be okay?" he asks, and there's more in the question than just concern about my injury.

Parker reaches out suddenly, her fingers brushing mine where they rest on my thigh. Her touch is cool and precise, as if she's testing the lock on a safe rather than initiating contact. "We could stay," she suggests, stating the unspoken thing we've all been avoiding.