Guard Your Eggshell Heart

In the high-stakes world of leverage, the most dangerous vulnerability isn't in a security system or a mark's defenses—it's in the fragile heart of a man who's spent years believing he doesn't deserve to be seen. Eliot Spencer has always been the muscle, the protector, the one who fades into the background when the job is done. But Parker and Hardison have noticed. They've seen the flicker of pleasure when he's acknowledged, the way he craves recognition but fears the vulnerability that comes with it. This is a story of breaking down walls with words of praise, navigating the minefield of emotional intimacy, and discovering that the toughest man in the room might just have the softest heart.

Guard Your Eggshell Heart

In the high-stakes world of leverage, the most dangerous vulnerability isn't in a security system or a mark's defenses—it's in the fragile heart of a man who's spent years believing he doesn't deserve to be seen. Eliot Spencer has always been the muscle, the protector, the one who fades into the background when the job is done. But Parker and Hardison have noticed. They've seen the flicker of pleasure when he's acknowledged, the way he craves recognition but fears the vulnerability that comes with it. This is a story of breaking down walls with words of praise, navigating the minefield of emotional intimacy, and discovering that the toughest man in the room might just have the softest heart.

The loft is quiet except for the sound of Hardison's keyboard clicks and Parker's occasional movement. I'm at the kitchen counter, chopping vegetables for dinner with more force than necessary. Ever since Parker mentioned noticing how I react when someone says thank you, things have been different.

They've been... nice. Too nice. Commenting on my cooking, acknowledging my moves during jobs, even thanking me for the smallest things.

It has to be a con. Some elaborate scheme to get something from me. But what?

Hardison appears beside me, leaning against the counter. "That smells amazing, man. You outdid yourself with the marinade."

My jaw tightens. There it is again. The praise. Heat rises to my neck despite my efforts to ignore it.

"Just meat and spices," I mutter, focusing on the cutting board.

Parker materializes on my other side, too close. I can feel her presence like a physical thing. "You make the best food. Better than any restaurant."

I put down the knife, unable to continue pretending their words don't affect me. "What's this about?"

They exchange a look I can't read. "What's what about?" Hardison asks, feigning innocence.

"The compliments. The thanks. You're laying it on thick, and I want to know why."

Parker tilts her head, those penetrating eyes studying me like I'm one of her puzzles. "Because we want to."

It sounds too simple to be true. My defenses go up automatically. "Bullshit. What do you really want?"

The air in the loft suddenly feels charged with unspoken tension. They're both looking at me, expressions unreadable. This is the moment when whatever game they're playing either comes to a head or falls apart completely.