Anticipation

It's a little game they play on the quiet days, a game that – of course – Callen always initiates, loving as he does to toy with Sam, driving him crazy before working hours have even ended. It starts with a calculated gesture – a filthy comment in hushed tones while colleagues are just out of earshot, an innuendo, the highly inappropriate brush of a hand against jeans while passing in a doorway, maybe just a long and oh-so-suggestive look accompanied by a bite of the lower lip. Something that makes Sam flush or splutter into his coffee cup or shift awkwardly in his seat as his train of thought is suddenly hijacked. The earlier in the day, the better. It gives Sam all the more time to simmer in his skin and plot a long and merciless revenge. Back and forth, they tease each other until the day is over and they're finally alone and one can pounce on the other at last. Sometimes the end of the day is too damn far away, or the temptation is too great and one cracks and drags the other into some private, shadowy corner of the compound, grinding his lips and his hips against him as he mutters curses and vows of sweet retribution just as soon as work releases them.

It's no surprise to either of them that the loser is always Sam. Although lately he's been getting better at the game, holding out longer and longer, sometimes even lasting for an hour or more once they're back at his place or Callen's. Feigning boredom or distraction despite the rock-hard ridge in his pants, and Callen, far too competitive for his own good, can do nothing but play along and try to out-wait him.

Tonight, though, it's looking as though Sam may just beat him for the first time.

They're at Sam's place, both hot and tired and as horny as hell but pretending not to be. Callen fired the starting pistol around noon by sending a particularly sordid text message to Sam's phone. They had been in the bullpen with Deeks and Kensi while Nell talked them all through some upgrades to the secure software. Callen had watched his partner from across their desks, taking great satisfaction as he saw Sam's jaw clench and his body momentarily stiffen as he scanned the message. Afterwards he hadn't so much as glanced back at Callen, taking great pains to focus instead on Nell even though he probably wasn't processing a word she said. He had waited a full two hours before retaliating, long enough for Callen to think that maybe his partner really was refusing to play along this time, as he so often threatened.

Now, hours later, Callen sits in Sam's living room drumming his fingers on the arm of the couch, his dick as stiff as a board as he listens to the sounds of water running in the bathroom. Sam has shown uncanny resolve and has prepared dinner, been out for a run – a run – and now he's showering off, with the bathroom door open just a little, no doubt to tempt Callen inside. Callen stubbornly stays put, but he can't prevent his mind from wandering into that steamy bathroom. He pictures the water streaming down Sam's body, over his stomach, Sam's hands soapy as he runs them along the length of his big, beautiful cock...

Godammit, this is going beyond the delights of anticipation into torture. Callen glances at the window, his bare foot tapping on the floor, and sees that it's getting dark outside. Sam has never lasted this long before. Maybe he really is tired of playing the game. Maybe he's sick of Callen's twisted need to tug on his strings all the time.

Callen's fingers drum faster. Sam has been in the shower a long time.

He can't sit still any longer, so Callen heads down the hall to the bathroom door, treading softly as he approaches. From the gloomy hallway he peers inside through billowing steam. The shower curtain is pulled back and he can make out Sam's figure in profile, head down, leaning into the spray with one hand braced against the wall. As for his other hand... It's down in front of him, working back and forth along the erection that Callen has been fantasising about all damn day.

Son of a bitch. Callen steps closer, and he can make out the expression on Sam's face, lips parted and eyes hooded, off in his own world somewhere as he pleasures himself. As though there isn't another soul in the world. Fire flares in Callen's belly. He can't help but find the view insanely hot, but he's mad, too. So this is Sam's plan? Get himself off so he doesn't have to fight the temptation any more? They never set out rules for this game, but Callen's damn sure this counts as cheating.

Now Sam's head tilts back, face in the spray, his mouth opens wider and his eyes close tighter as his hand starts to move faster. Before he knows it, Callen is through the door crossing the room, and he reaches for Sam's arm, the one pumping his dick, before he can finish his little private party.

"What the fuck is this-"

His voice is cut off as Sam turns, his eyes open and bright and alert, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth as he grabs Callen's shirt and drags him into the shower fully clothed, turning him and shoving him into the tiled wall. The spray soaks Callen's chest as Sam traps his wrists against the wall to either side of his head. Sam smiles, licks his lips, and replies with two little words.

"I win."