Parker doesn't like words.
Words are liars.
(His body arching above her nubile one, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but his hands still left bruises like ink on her narrow hips)
More than that words are confusing. They mean different things in different places at different times. It just doesn't really make sense.
Nate liked words, and words liked him back. He could whip them out of his mouth like pretty ribbons in a magic trick, knew just the words for every occasion. Hardison liked words too, but in a different way she thinks. Likes the way they sound and roll and fall out of his mouth, they clutter up the space around him, piling up and up, but it's a pleasant sort of clutter. Like if he spoke in cotton balls. But Sophie understands words. Can put her shoulders back, cant her hip and be a speaking a whole new language. Knows that words aren't just sounds, but a play and a theatre in themselves – with parts and roles and pretty costumes they like to be dressed in. Sophie understands what it is to be a word, and so she can make words do things others can't.
Eliot doesn't like words either. Parker likes that. He grunts and growls and lets his body talk for him. Eliot doesn't clutter up her silence with his words. It's nice.