The Leap to Always

When Callen paws through his closet, he realizes one thing: Kensi's migrating.

It's not conscious; he knows that. He's got a handful of his own things at her apartment. He hasn't really thought anything of the fact that she's got blouses here, dresses, jeans, a couple of other pairs of pants. Lounge clothes, even though she tends to steal his.

He ponders that for a moment. He doesn't really have time because they're going to be late to work – no surprise, she's freaking distracting all sleep rumpled in the morning – but he's going to do it anyway. The fact that Kensi's things are in his house, the fact that half of her closet is here and it's unconsciously inching towards more puts him on edge. Only the unconscious part comforts him.

See, he knows Kensi wouldn't just move herself in, but looking at the amount of things she's got lying around his house, he knows practicality says it's stupid. After all, it's not like either of them goes home alone anymore. Separately, yes, but there's always someone else at the end destination. Practically, there's no reason for her to be paying rent on an apartment when he owns a bloody house.

The problem is, if he can even really call it a problem since his heart isn't leaping into his throat at the prospect, is even the idea of moving in says permanence. A future. A future he's chosen never to try and find. Until, apparently, it slapped him up the side of the head. He hadn't meant to follow her to that dark little room of the hacienda the first time. It had just happened, and now he's here, she's here, they're here and it's both exhilarating and insane, even though they celebrated Christmas together. Quietly, but together, and he's not blind enough to ignore the symbolism of celebrating like that. Celebrating a holiday neither of them is particularly fond of.

Was fond of.

Whatever.

Water under the bridge now.

They do tend to like his place better. Maybe because Kensi sees a house and she has the past to relate a house to 'home' to 'future' to 'family'. To 'belonging', really. He doesn't have that kind of emotional connection to fall back on. He doesn't care, he knows his house and her apartment in light or dark, so he's pretty sure nothing will ever happen to either of them, but they do end up at his place more than hers. The first time something got left here he didn't notice until he did laundry.

And he'd put it away in the drawers of the dresser Sam finally pressured him into buying.

He follows the sound of the shower and the off-key singing into his bathroom. She's absorbed in the warmth, but he knows she won't be much longer. And he knows if he gets in there with her they're going to be really late.

She doesn't jump when she steps out, just raises an eyebrow in question.

"Three-quarters of your closet is here."

Her eyes meet his as she wraps a towel around herself. "You're kidding."

He wants something off-hand, nonchalant, but can't find it. All he can do is offer her a shrug.

"No way."

She doesn't check though. She trusts that he knows that, that he's done the research. There's a tinge of panic in her eyes, just the corner. Yeah, she hadn't known it was happening either. But she's not pushing past him to check. Huh.

Except with her eyes glazed and her body wrapped in only a towel – still wet too, with droplets clinging to her shoulders – he can't help himself.

He's asked himself a million times why he wants her. What is it about her that keeps him coming back for more, that keeps him leaning into her, that makes him catch her hips, lick at the water droplets on her skin. He's never found an answer, but he's not really sure he has to either. He does the same to her, if the catch in her breath is any indication. He presses gentle kisses up her neck, skimming across her jaw to her mouth.

"It's impractical to keep paying rent on your apartment if half of your closet is here."

God, did those words really come out of his mouth?

Considering the way she tenses – surprise, not fear, interestingly enough – they definitely did. He said that out loud.

And she's not running for the hills.

Neither is he.

How deep are they?

Well, he knows there's more of her stuff here than at her apartment. He knows that more of his stuff is in his own home too. He's got a kitchen table now, because Kensi gave him crap over having too many picnics on the floor of his living room, and regularly has perishable food in the fridge. Even the Take Out Queen cooks sometimes. He's been debating a couch and a TV, another practicality he knows will be dealt with if…

Wow. He's actually kind of asking her to move in.

His mouth follows her collarbone almost absently, at least until she arches.

"G, we'll be late."

Yeah, he doesn't care. He's kind of about to ask her to move in.

Holy shit.

His fingers trace along the line of the towel, sliding under the feminine fingers that are holding it up. He's showered and dressed, but for this… Nope. Not an inkling of care about the likelihood they'll be walking in late. Together.

"You have a couch and a TV and a coffee table," he says, dislodging the towel so it falls to the floor. Her chest is rising and falling, her breath fast. The bathroom's still steamy, even though the door's open and has been since he got out of the shower, and her skin is damp under his fingers. "Sam's been giving me crap about not having any useable furniture."

Her breath hitches. "No use in buying one when we're splitting time between our places."

"Except we're not splitting our time," he argues, unsure of where his resolve is coming from. The arguments too. It's not like he's planned this. Then again, how many ops does he run flying by the seat of his pants? "We're usually here."

Her hands come up to cup his head, one sliding down the back of his neck until she can tuck the tips of her fingers beneath the collar of his shirt. He's got a sensitive spot, just under the vertebrae… There. He shivers and brings his mouth back to hers. Her next words are mumbled against his lips. "We had Christmas at my place."

"With the team because you have the couch and the TV," he points out. "It was cramped."

"G," she says on a sigh, though not one of negative emotion, lifting his head with her hands curled around his ears because he's gone back to her jaw, her neck, her shoulders, her collarbone. "Are you asking me to move in?"

He pauses, thinks, blinks. Then, "Yes."

A thrill passes through him, both exhilaration and fear. Seriously? He just did that? She looks just as shocked, surprised, floored and he swallows convulsively. He knows they're thinking the same thing. How did they get here? How did they go from believing this was impossible to moving in together?

Her mouth opens and closes a few times. He can't blame her. He's honestly as floored that he answered her in the affirmative as she is. But then there's excitement in her eyes, a jump, a leap of faith in her face and in the way her arms wrap around his neck.

"Yes."

It's a breathy agreement, accompanied by a brilliant smile and he's absolutely stunned. How he manages to catch her when she literally jumps and wraps her legs around him, he has no idea. He does stumble the few steps to the counter, turning in the process and managing to deposit her on the flat surface. There's nothing there, no clutter like her bathroom because he can't tolerate it, even if he has to clean up after her every step of the way. She's plastered against him, naked skin to cotton and denim, but by the time he figures out what's going on, she's already got her fingers under his shirt. Her nails scratch a little as she desperately tries to rid him of the barrier until he finally bats her hands away and yanks it over his head himself.

They're going to be so late.

Sam and Deeks are going to rib them for weeks over this.

But hell she's moving in.

Even he can't be all that upset about celebrating.

Which, in itself, is odd, he thinks abstractly, somewhere in the back corner of his brain. The tiny part that's not absorbed by the woman already dealing with his belt and jeans. She shoves them down with his boxers quickly until he manages to catch her wrists. He holds them to the counter with unrelenting strength, even as she tries to slide them out from beneath his palms.

"We're going to be late," she reminds him, even as a smile lights her features from the inside out. She wants to move in, even if it's something that's only vaguely crossed her mind. God, their relationship is full of surprises.

But still, he doesn't want to rush. Quick, okay, but rush? When he's got her sitting naked on the counter?

He slides his hands to her thighs, deliberate in the push and release of his fingers, the ghosting touch of his thumbs on the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She arches and his eyebrows rise. It's kind of funny that he's always shocked at how quickly he gets to her. He's always known he's held sway, but never like this. Nothing like this.

Nothing's ever like this.

She is hot, slick, but he presses his thumb to her regardless. Some of it is leftover from their earlier coupling, residual arousal she confessed to him once because her mind's a steel trap. She can still feel him, she says, until she finds something else to distract herself and considering her thing about steamy showers, he knows they don't help. He can't complain. She's hot as hell and he's pretty much always on edge around her too. He is very glad it's mutual.

His hands slide around her waist and she mewls at the removal of his fingers from her center. But he's slipping his hands beneath her ass, lifting just slightly and she's with him one hundred percent, eyes sparking with knowledge. She lifts, linking her ankles to hold herself to him and peppering kisses where her mouth can reach as he makes the journey to the bed. He surprises her when he turns them so she's on top when they fall to the mattress, but takes advantage. She doesn't hesitate.

She kisses him, hot and dirty as she slides a hand down his chest. She positions him against her and slides down, a breath releasing as she does. It's a sigh he hears often, but it's one that never ceases to hit him in the gut. It sounds like pleasure and home all at once, like there's no place she'd rather be.

She doesn't start with a slow pace, but a relatively quick one. They don't have a lot of time, after all, and he knows how close she is by the shiver that drills down her spine when his thumb brushes over the sensitive spot at her hip. He lets her control the pace because her moans, sighs, whimpers, are driving him higher and higher with each slick slide. His peak catches him off guard but he rolls with it, feeling her topple not long after.

She collapses and he stares almost in shock at the ceiling.

She's moving in.

They're moving in together.

They're going to live together.

"You know," she says, her head against his shoulder now as their breathing calms. "This means we're going to have to talk to Hetty."

But Hetty knows - of course - and she has to disapprove on principle - of course – but Callen knows Hetty well enough to see the approval there. The happiness.

It doesn't get them off the hook for being late.

That was fun! Weird, but fun! This is getting more and more "where did that come from". It's like playing a game with myself. What concept am I going to come up with next to weave this together.

I do hope this is as 'in character' as the rest of it though. It feels weird in some respects because I tried to go about this like he was asking, and not asking simultaneously and then Kensi had to get a word in... So this is what happened. Which is probably why I thought it was weird.

To the next one!

PS: Also realized something about half way through this... they're moving in together and haven't said anything about 'I love you'. Now that is going to be an awesome game!