Hi everyone! It's literally been ages since I last posted a story; I've quite missed writing. Anyways, I'm currently loving the Densi relationship on NCIS: LA at the moment. Whenever I see them together in an episode, Florence + the Machine's song "Kiss with A Fist" comes to mind. Kensi and Deeks are really ridiculously adorable.

I hope you all enjoy this little oneshot of Deeks' semi stream-of-consciousness in regards to his relationship with his partner. As always, please review! xx

Marty Deeks had just been on a very pleasant date. The woman was a quite attractive blond with a very big, ahem, heart. The Italian restaurant he had taken her to had been very pleasant. The food had been very pleasant. The conversation had been very pleasant, albeit a bit run-of-the-mill. Over all, it had been a very pleasant night.

Pleasant, nice, agreeable, mild, yada, yada, yada. It wasn't as if a ho-hum date hadn't stopped him from taking an attractive woman to his bed afterward, so why was he driving home, alone, after dropping Mary (no, Marion? Maddie?) off at her own house, with the only sexual activity to show for the two-plus hour dinner being a light, chaste kiss that was initiated by her?

Fuck, this was a bit of a conundrum. He needed to figure out his sudden lack of sexual prowess before he ended up an old maid with thirty cats to keep him company. Actually, that sounded more like his partner than himself.

Oh yes, Kensi Blye was definitely going to end up an old maid. Her abrasiveness and caustic attitude towards men ensured her imminent journey towards eternal singledom. Well, it wasn't towards all men. She was quite genteel, even loving, towards G and Sam. And Eric. Just not him.

Come to think of it, there hadn't been a single day of their ten months of partnership that hadn't involved a fight over something. His lack of seriousness, her lack of fun, his inability to understand when he needed to shut up, her inability to be even a little nice towards him.

He lifted his shirt over his head, not even aware that he had arrived at his house, parked, and entered into his bedroom. What he was aware of were the two bullet scars that mottled his torso and the massive yellow-bluish bruise that was currently taking up residence on his left bicep, the latter of the wounds courtesy of the old maid herself. He had made a comment about a week ago about the very flattering pair of jeans she had been wearing and had been promptly punched so hard he thought she had broken his the bones in his arm.

In all honesty, he liked getting a rise out of Kensi Blye. He quite enjoyed the way her mismatched colored eyes blazed with righteous anger every time he made an insensitive comment. He really enjoyed the way she always bit her lip in failed self-control before lashing out at him over something inconsequential. And what he really, really enjoyed were the weekly sparring matches that took place between them, always on a Friday evening at 8:00, without fail, even when they were in the middle of a case. G had suggested the physical training to relieve any tension that had built up between them over the course of the week.

Needless to say, there was quite a bit of tension.

He had to admit that those sparring matches were his favorite activity of the week. The way that Kensi's lithe body twisted and turned as she fought him was almost a big enough distraction to cost him the fights. And she always fought half-naked, with just an exercise bra and tiny shorts on, so that every time he pinned her down on the black mat, his hands inevitably found smooth, soft, and slightly sweaty skin that drove him wild.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He did not need to be thinking of her like this. Yes, she was beautiful, beyond beautiful really, with her gorgeous mismatched eyes, her apple-scented hair, her stunning smile with those curved lips that begged for him to kiss them. But that was besides the point, because she was his partner. And they didn't get along. At all.

He was really in a bit of a pickle. What he wanted to do was to get into his bed and sleep, not drive himself crazy with this circular thinking.

At least tomorrow was Friday.