Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS: LA or any of its characters or situations. NCIS in its various incarnations is the property of Belisarius Productions and LA is created by Shane Brennan and developed by numerous people whom I make no money from.
I have read too many 'M' rated stories on FanFiction and find them universally empty and perfunctory, and the First Time stories are generally barren at best and most commonly boring. Therefore, I decided to take a look at Eric and Nell's First Time. I focus on feeling and sensation, letting the reader see each in turn.
Let me know how I did?
Please make no mistake, this is an Adult story featuring Consensual Sex between two Adult Characters.
This story follows the 'Woodland Couples Connect' episode and may either predate my ongoing stories, happen long before 'Supervillain Affair' or stand apart from them. You decide.
Rated M&M with tasty centers. Adult situations and graphic descriptions of Consensual Sex. No Minors.
Everyone with experience knows women are capable of multiple orgasms. For Nell's first time with Eric, she wants
A Hundred
by JMK758
Chapter One
Skirt the Issue
"So, just to make sure I'm not missing anything, like this meeting," Kensi Blye, in Operations, does her best not to grit her teeth as she addresses Sam Hanna, "I am here and you are here –"
It's Marty who completes the assessment in typical Deeksian style "And we are all together goo goo goo joob."
"If I wanted to hear a walrus, I'd go to the Oceans Aquarium." It's a measure of Sam's aggravation that his comment isn't mellowed by even sardonic humor.
The three are gathered on the huge screen side of the Situation Table, which takes up the middle of the dimly lit room, leaving Eric quite glad he and Nell have taken the other side of the waist high - on him - control station. Originally this had been for the very logical reason that they could access the data on the computer and shunt it to the huge screen for the field agents, but now it's a protective barrier in their own enclave.
x
These non-events take place in NCIS' Mission Headquarters at six month intervals, and as the last one had ended so is this one beginning with Deeks' point that "I don't see why we need to go through this review of our cases. We were there for them." He further fails to understand why this Friday un-debriefing is scheduled for late in the afternoon and is getting later by the second.
"It's keeping things in perspective," Sam reminds him, further annoyed by being in the position of arguing in favor of something he opposes.
"Then I wish Callen had some perspective on a wristwatch."
Sam turns on him and Kensi, in the uncomfortable position of being between the two men, raises her hand to call off the retort. Not only does she not want the impatience and frustration to spill onto her, but if things get further out of hand she's in a much better position to deal with ending the battle than Hanna is.
Eric Beale smiles down to the petite redheaded woman at his left. It's always easy to smile at Nell Jones and the sleeveless, V necked, above the knees red dress helps in its own way toward keeping his spirits elevated.
Her red high heeled slippers bring her up an additional four inches, bring her closer to him while accenting her svelte legs.
It has been a week since their Undercover work in the Angeles forest at 'Woodland Couples Connect', two days which no one else in this room will ever hear the details of. The first moment they opened the door to Cabin 2 and saw the huge bed is seared into his mind. His first instantaneous thought, before any words could be said, was the picture of Nell...
It was their first time being really truthful with each other. It was their first kiss. Well, not their first, that was years ago at Christmas but this was their first Real Kiss. And though their second had been interrupted it was not a long interruption and had led to so many more.
True, they haven't taken anything to a 'next level', that takes time, agreed upon time, but looking down at the lovely woman he can wish not to have made that agreement.
x
Fortunately for the three field agents, 'G' Callen and Hetty Lange enter the dimly lit room together before they give in to mounting impatience. While the Operations Manager thanks them for attending this reassessment - not that any of them had a choice - Eric indulges in quiet speculation, not on the results of past cases but on the woman beside him. The dress hangs from her slim shoulders and he inspects those shoulders with increasing care as she manipulates the controls before her to bring up the case files of their January 3 investigation. The multitude of pages and photos fill the huge screen.
In that close inspection of his closest friend he's unable to find the minuscule up-pressings of slim straps, and when she leans forward to reach a control his eyes trace down the smooth line of her back. As intently as he looks he can find nothing to mar that smoothness and into his mind comes the image of her bare breasts unfettered by any restraint under the dress.
When she straightens and gives him a 'Why didn't you reach that? You were closer,' look, he keeps his eyes on the screen and pretends not to see her.
x
He can't believe he's doing this, giving in to the temptation. His heart is pounding but, emboldened by the five pairs of eyes upon the screen, he inches closer to her until the back of his hand rests gently, barely touching, upon her hip.
She doesn't move away and after half a minute of the agents' review, heart racing, pounding harder, he gives in to mounting temptation and very slowly turns his hand while moving it inches behind her. Now his fingertips rest behind her hip and she breathes a sharper half breath, her eyes flicker up to his before she locks them on the screen.
She knows what he's doing, what he's thinking, yet she didn't object, didn't pull away, didn't block his hand and, further emboldened, he steps beside her and brings his hand, just his fingertips, back further to the rise of her right cheek.
x
Now she can't miss his temptation and they're at a critical moment. He's never done anything as what entered his mind and if she does object he's due for a long walk off a very short plank, the noose already tight about his throat. But she breathes harder, keeps it nearly soundless and her eyes flicker from his to the screen and back. In her breaths he sees only the rise and fall of her breasts against the red dress. Her face reflects her uncertainty - stop him now or let him, or report him - but when she responds to a verbal cue from Hetty she calls up the next set of files and spreads them upon the screen, he moves his hand further along the rounded smoothness of her cheek, his touch exploring. She breathes deeply, quietly as his moving fingertips pet her through the dress, stroke her with feathery touch.
Now is the point of cataclysm. Does she give him implicit permission to continue or will she, with one objection, destroy not only his ambition but his career? Is it worth it?
Touching her so softly, he decides – and shuts down his common sense and self preservation – that it's worth it.
x
He reaches the space between and finds nothing to interfere with his quest as he delves into it and, as she remains still, her breaths deep but slow, controlled, his fingers slip up, then down low and find nothing to break the smoothness of her nubile flesh or keep him from touching that tantalizing crevasse.
She looks up to him, guilt and fought shame at his discovery shine like stars in her eyes even in the dim room, in the glow of spread papers and photos on the huge screen. He imagines her bare but curtained all about by the red material and, over her nervous looks and fine trembling, he strokes from one cheek to the other, heart racing, still lightly touching but thoroughly exploring.
She changes a view on the screen, brings other papers to the fore and he gently strokes between her cheeks, then explores and cups her right cheek.
He brings his hand up, pets her cheek more firmly and in the same captures the red material under his palm. Her hem rises. She looks up to him, doe eyes plead for she knows it's her last chance. She can stop him safely, either quietly or openly - to his extreme detriment - or she can let this happen.
Fine trembling suffuses her body as, inch by inch, he raises the hem of her dress by his hand stroking her bottom. He uses his fingers to ease the dress higher and higher. His heart slams so hard they must hear it as the hem slips up and up the backs of her bare legs, but he can't look back to see the unveiling, not and keep watch on the five before them. He can't believe he's doing this, it's an invasion - and he cannot possibly stop himself.
She's breathing heavier, almost audibly, and brings her fist to her mouth, bites the first knuckle of her index finger at the same moment as the red hem rests upon his wrist and she's open and vulnerable to him.
He rests his bare hand upon her naked cheeks, enjoys the warmth of her even as she twitches under his touch, possibly to the rhythm of his racing heart. He pets gently and every new inch makes her jump. She's breathing heavier and as her breasts move under her dress her nipples stroke the material, announce with their hard nubs her thrill and vulnerability, draw lines of lust upon her dress. His hand on her warm cheeks she stands with fine trembling, her teeth indenting her knuckle as she holds still, as she waits for whatever he's going to do next.
She must stop biting for fear of giving herself away even as he strokes, cups first one heated cheek, then the other.
"Miss Jones," Hetty calls.
x
"Sorry!" She bends forward, activates the control and freezes, for in that motion his fingertips had slipped down between her legs and touched her.
She wears nothing, nothing he can find but herself. For an instant his brain shorts and reboots at the touch of her softness.
He feels the heat of her wet flesh, her silky labia blocked by nothing, so totally open to him! She straightens up but as he brings his fingers forward she clamps a hand over her mouth and looks up to him, naked pleading in her eyes.
Using only the tips of his fingers he very slowly moves over her lips, teases, barely touches and feels her heat, her moisture, the delicate flesh of her labia twitching to his slow, stroking touch. She unclamps her mouth but grips the edge of the station with both tight hands as she strains for silence – and steps away with her left foot, opens herself to his assault.
x
Her high heels hold her in reach and he so gently runs his fingertips forward and back over just the tips of her labia, revels in the increasing wetness of her velvety lips. He bends his knees to get closer without it appearing overt, and knows this is the moment of greatest risk, for if one of those five agents looks back he's doomed. On one forward exploration he spends several seconds quickly teasing her clitoris, forcing a tremulous breath from her.
Her high heels aren't enough, she must shift her hips back and upward, come up on her toes to make herself more accessible as he slips a half inch deeper, his fingertip now surrounded by her moist heat. He so slowly, so gradually seeks her opening, so slowly presses an inch in while his other fingertips tease and tickle her labia, that he hopes that they might not notice.
Yeah. He is so doomed.
x
She's trembling, must lean forward, brace upon the table, bring herself up to admit him but he doesn't go further than that inch, the first knuckle barely within her.
It's time for the next case file and it takes her three tries to target the button but she does before anyone would turn, and at that moment he cups her in his hand and pushes his middle finger upward, surprised yet thrilled by her tightness.
She slaps her hand over her mouth but no one hears it, yet her breaths come faster and faster through her hand.
She's so tight his finger must force inward and so hot she almost cooks him, but he uses his index and ring fingers to tease her clitoris as he has to work to push deep into her tightness and must pull to get out.
She looks back, bent as she is over the table and he looks into her eyes. They're wide, frantic as he presses in hard and pulls back against her grip. She again grabs the table with both hands but her arms tremble and he works his finger in and out faster while the other two tease her clitoris with greater fervor.
She can't stay upright, must bend to open herself further and her hand presses her mouth as, trembling, she must support herself over the table.
She's so tight, so wet, trembles so wonderfully and he must force inward, pull out harder. He increases his pace, difficult as it is against her quivering tightness, and her boiling cream gushes over his hand, her vagina clenches his finger tight as he tries to force in deeper, pull out to shove deeper. Her body falls over the table and a sharp cry crashes through her hand.
x
"Miss Jones, are you all right?" turns the other agents and Eric pulls out fast, masks it in a turn to her as her hem falls behind her.
Her face is red and bathed in perspiration, she's gasping and trembling so hard she can barely stand over the table. He grasps her shoulders, grateful for the dim light as he pulls her upright. "No!" she pants. "I feel so sick - can I get out of here?"
"Of course. You should have said something. Mr. Beale, would you assist her?"
"Sure. Come on." He helps the staggering woman out the door, the last words they hear being Hetty directing Callen to take over the controls.
He hopes the man doesn't see, or slip on, the shadowed wet floor.
x
When the door closes Nell turns in his arms and kisses him very thoroughly as she reaches down to him and gives a firm squeeze.
"They'll be an hour more," he whispers when he can regain control of his lips. "We can get to the car and–"
"Screw the car," she whispers, giving him a firmer, sliding grip. "I can't wait."
"Then where?" he whispers while reaching under her dress, wanting to be sure she doesn't change her mind. She's up on her toes to kiss him and his fingers brush her soft lips which actually jump at his touch and he knows she's not changing anything.
"Let me show you my secret place. Come on!"