Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS:LA or its characters…
Author's Note: My bad. Should be working on my ongoing fics, I know. But really, how could one resist cute little maid Nell?!
Episode Tag: 4x22 Raven & The Swans (really good episode… loved the whole team on an op in the hotel. This is what I think of when I consider an 'Office of Special Projects' undercover branch of NCIS. Many of the episodes, especially season two and three get a little too much basic crime investigation a la the original series.)
WARNING: Language and some mature subject matter…
"Housekeeping."
Callen looks up from the Tolstoy in original Russian he's reading to discover a sight that has the book tumbling from his grasp to hit the floor with a thump. Apparently, his fingers have instantly forgotten how to function. The same could be said for his mouth, which is hanging open.
As for Nell, her cheeks have turned a becoming pink, doubtless over his reaction. Because really, by this point, what has she to be embarrassed about with him? They've been... whatever they are... sex partners? He supposes that's most apt. Well, they've been sleeping together for several months now. And he's most intimately familiar with every part of her body. And while shy at first, she's come to have no qualms about appearing naked before him.
But now, in the scant French maid costume, she's blushing, and not quite meeting his eyes.
"Well, fuck," Callen says when his mouth can finally form words, although apparently his brain hasn't quite recovered yet. Nell laughs nervously, the round tops of her breasts bobbing above the extremely fitted, extremely low-cut top.
"You look..." He doesn't have words. All the blood has rushed to a certain spot in his body. Ridiculous, why a tight black dress with a puffy, frilly and very short skirt, little white apron, fishnet hosiery and six inch platform shoes on a woman he finds alluring in basically any garment (or in none for that matter), would somehow make her appealing in a whole new way. But damned if he isn't so fucking aroused it hurts. His mind is flooded with hundreds of suggestions as to what to do with her and they all seem to be the most pressing. Foremost, he decides, though, that he wants to run his tongue along the tops of those bobbing breasts. So, he settles on telling Nell, "You look good enough to eat."
He's never said that to a woman before, thinking it a ridiculous comment. Like a woman is some sort of confection and not a human being. But oh, hell, could he eat her up. Especially, when she giggles nervously once more and it does wondrous things to that soft, curvy, petite body shoved into that even more petite garment. He reaches out and she steps into his arms, allowing him to pull her down onto his lap.
There's nothing new here. Not really. They're in Nell's apartment, seated in a rather cozy overstuffed chair, one that's held the both of them in this exact position before. They've even tested its construction with some exuberant copulation in a couple instances. But somehow, this feels entirely different. Or maybe it's just the very soft satin of the dress beneath his hands. And those breasts now so close that he can actually say for certain that they're heaving within the strict confines of the uniform that is in no way, shape or form meant for cleaning a damn thing. He leans in, meaning to make good on the impulse that won out, but then he hesitates before his lips can brush against the creamy skin of her breast. He pulls back slightly and locks eyes with her.
"You smell like chocolate chip cookies," he says, narrowing his eyes. "You baked, didn't you?"
"Yes," she says, shifting slightly, her firm bottom squirming against his erection in a manner to have him gritting his teeth until she settles. "So, I felt like baking. Is there something wrong with that?"
"What are you up to?" he asks. With his thumb, he strokes the bare skin of her inner thigh above the fishnet stockings. He knows her weak spots and she moans low in her throat as he leans in and brushes his lips against the tender place below her right ear. "Spill it."
"I...I ...uh..." Nell whimpers. He nuzzles her neck until he can feel that she's softened just enough, and then pulls back to study her face. She blinks, snapping momentarily out of her stupor.
"It's been a rough couple of days," she says. And he knows she means his disagreement with Hetty. More than disagreement, but disillusionment. He's still trying to come to terms with what seems such callous and cold actions, and yet ones performed by a woman he knows to possess a great deal of compassion in her soul and apparently the best of intentions.
"That explains the cookies," he says, knowing that baking is Nell's cure-all. "But what about this?"
He runs a hand up her body, over the dress, cups and squeezes a full breast (for Nell is no flat-chested twig of a girl, despite being petite), and brings it back down to caress her fishnet-covered thigh. She gasps when he fondles her though the fabric. And then she recovers her composure, shifting so that she straddles his lap and oh, god their bodies are in such perfect alignment for... He can feel the heat between her thighs just begging him to...
"Despite what you'd like to believe, super secret agent G Callen..." she says, wiggling just enough to make him groan in an agony of frustration that has him swearing that if she doesn't stop teasing him, he'll toss her onto her back upon the floor and fuck the truth right out of her. "...you're not perfect at hiding your thoughts."
"Oh, and what am I thinking right now?" he asks, visualizing what she'd look like on her hands and knees with the voluminous tulle of the short skirt pushed up over her back, her round, naked bottom quivering under his hands as he..."
"What you're thinking is too lewd for a lady to repeat," she says, her eyebrow quirked and an amused grin twitching her lips. "But that's not the point."
"And what is the point?" he asks.
"The point is that you were having a very similar thought when you first saw me in that frumpy, ugly maid's uniform."
Hey! When she had tried on the dress at ops, he had definitely not been thinking... Okay, so he totally had (despite everything else on his mind). And that uniform had been rather unflattering to her petite body. And yet, it had attracted him at the same time, for it did cling a bit to her round bottom, and somehow the fit of the top accentuated her lovely, full chest, the apron tied snugly about her slender waist. And then there's that whole odd fantasy thing about maids men seem to have. He doesn't really understand it. Only that he's currently as hard as he's ever been, and Nell Jones is just asking for it.
"And I thought this might cheer you up a little," she concludes, rolling her hips.
"God, you're evil," Callen groans. He kisses her soundly, adding, "But an absolute genius."
"I know," Nell says.
And then his own personal French maid, in the impeccable tradition of the service industry, proceeds to tend to his every desire.
A/N: Okay. Now that I've got that out of my system… back to the unfinished fics.