He's bruised, sweaty, just a little pissed off, and he's staring at her like she's his next meal.
Kensi doesn't have much time to reflect as Wyler's hand curls around her wrist, dragging her down one of the abandoned hallways in the warehouse where he and Hanna just squared off. She can hear the screams and jibes as the next match begins, and as they turn another corner, she knows no one is going to come looking for them.
Maybe that's for the best.
Right away, Kensi hadn't liked Jason Wyler. There was something about him that wasn't right. She might have been lying to his face but that was her job – he was lying to her face and he had no (good) reason to do so. Despite the fact that the other members of her team had written off her concerns about Wyler as an idle crush (which Kensi could kill them for), she was still suspicious - suspicious enough to agree when he tells her after Sam kicks his ass that he wants to "talk about Zuna." She knows that Wyler doesn't really exist, that it's an alias. Maybe she can find out just who he really is.
As it turns out, fluffy hair and baby blues don't quite do it for her, no. But a man who's just had the shit kicked out of him? Well, you could say that interests Kensi Blye. She can feel the anger coming off Wyler in waves and yeah, this probably isn't a great idea. She's a great fighter and can get out of a tight squeeze, but playing with fire when you can possibly avoid it is never really smart.
"What about Zuna?" Kensi asks, and then Wyler's shutting the door and stepping her closer to the wall. She's taken aback on principle at first, but hello, she's Tracey here, not Kensi. There's a cut above his eye that she finds far more alluring than his hair or whatever and she allows herself to be backed up, his body so close she can feel the heat of him. Tracey's just a girl, anyway. She's no Kensi. She doesn't fight or shoot or stab or kill the way Kensi can.
That's when she learns she isn't going to get anything useful out of Jason Wyler – regarding the case, at least.
He's got his body pressed to hers and Kensi can smell the tang of his sweat as his hands settle strongly on her hips.
"We're not here to talk about Zuna, Tracey," he growls into Kensi's ear, and she can tell he doesn't believe that's her real name. Nice. A guy with a bit of intuition. She should probably be worried about that but Kensi doesn't give a damn because Wyler's teeth are biting down on her throat now and she has her hands on his biceps as she bares her neck to him.
She wants to ask who he really is, but that would blow all their covers. Sometimes it's hard for Kensi to dip into her roles the way Callen does. She envies him terribly, because when Wyler slips his hand under the waistband of her panties and presses two fingers up into her roughly, he's fingering her, not Tracey. She buckles into him and he wraps a strong arm around her hips, holding her steady as he fucks her with his fingers. It's been a long time. Sad, but true, and even though Kensi knows that this is hopping way over the line between working a suspect for information and being extremely unprofessional, she can't help it. She could write this off as Tracey giving into Wyler, as her playing a character for the sake of a case, but she knows in her head that that's just not what's happening here.
When she comes on his fingers, Kensi doesn't even feel regretful – not now, at least. Her head slumps against his sweaty shoulder and her body shakes a bit, her teeth embedded in her lip to keep herself quiet. He shifts for a second, pulling his hand away, but he comes back with a condom and Kensi marvels – he's wearing shorts without pockets! Men. Seriously.
Pants get shoved out of the way and Wyler enters her against the wall with the condom on. They don't kiss on the mouth. Between bites to her throat she feels his mouth get sweet, but his lips never venture to hers and Kensi is totally fine with that. That's not what this is about. Wyler's thrusts are hard and deep and just what she needs; Kensi curls her long legs around his waist and arches her back as he thrusts in and out of her, slow and slick. The sex is lust and anger and distrust and some sick sort of mutual attraction that she can't find it in herself to be ashamed of. She just moans appreciatively into his ear, her nails biting into his shoulders as she clings on. Wyler takes her how he wants her and she loves the momentary loss of control, the impending build of her coming undone.
When she comes again, it's way more intense than the first time. She clenches around him and he drops his face to her neck, the scruff of his beard scratching against her collarbones.
"Come on, Wyler," Kensi murmurs in his ear, ultra-sensitive to his final bucks before he comes hard. They catch their breath and then he lets her down, sliding out of her. Kensi pulls her clothes back into place immediately, running her hands through her hair. When he's dressed as well, she's all business.
"Next time you bother me, tell me something useful. Like where the drugs are," she says, still playing off her shitty story from when they'd met at Zuna's house. She turns and rushes back out, basically expecting never to see his face again. Now that's probably for the best.
Unfortunately, things don't always pan out for the best.
When Kensi comes into ops the next day, wired and happy on donuts and coffee, she gets something akin to a kick in the fucking stomach.
Jason Wyler. Standing in the bullpen. Their eyes lock and Kensi goes ashen, before wiping her face clear of any emotion. She takes a sip of her coffee and looks to Hetty.
"Miss Blye, I'd like to introduce you to Detective Marty Deeks, LAPD. He'll be our new liaison officer. I know you two have already met, but I thought I'd introduce you properly. Mr. Deeks, this is Special Agent Kensi Blye, NCIS."
Callen and Hanna are snickering, just because of her 'crush,' but Kensi's not laughing. She stares at Wyler… Deeks like a deer in the headlights for a second before nodding curtly at him.
Dear.
God.