The Life in Love

They came too close today.

Well, that's a lot of days, and sometimes Callen thinks about hanging up his credentials if only because the adrenaline burst, the danger, is going to kill him one day. He's not that suicidal. Then it goes away, lost behind the thrill of the takedown, the brilliance of the win, and the camaraderie afterwards.

But this time…

This time he's really, seriously, honest-to-God, considering it.

It's a little baffling, actually. He has no idea what was different today than any other day that they come face to face with death and walk away. It started in a club, as these God-forsaken takedowns usually do, with Kensi in a short skirt, pressed up against his front. The next thing he remembers is following her and their target into a back alley. There's a blur of Kensi being tugged away, almost tripping on her heels, and the next clear memory he has is of the barrel of their target's gun pressed to her temple while his nose trails up her cheek.

Oh.

Huh.

He's no stranger to possession when it comes to Kensi. He's not really a jealous man by nature – curious, yes, and that's why he'd wanted to know the parentage of that little blond boy over a year ago – and Kensi's a beautiful woman. It's not like she doesn't get hit on constantly and since they're not exactly broadcasting their change in relationship status he's not going to burst their bubble by making a scene. But it does explain at least a piece of his reaction to this takedown.

She is different.

They are different.

"Hey, G?"

He blinks out of his thoughts, looking over to find her eyes dark, a little troubled. They're home – she drove, she seemed more stable than him and really, actually hadn't given him a choice – and it takes him a minute to push open the door. Then she climbs out the other side and they head up the walk together.

He crowds her at the door, barely giving her enough room to slip the key in the lock. She's still wearing the dress – it's something from the back of her closet rather than the front of OSP's – and he drops his hand to her exposed thigh. Her breath catches and she looks back at him, slightly taller in the heels. There's a question there, but one hidden by arousal and her own dropping adrenaline levels. She sees it in his face, she knows she does, because with a quick flick of her wrist the door is open and she's letting him push her through.

She turns with surprising grace and balance when they're both through the door, eyes heated. She knows what's coming, knows what this is and he can see something lurking in her eyes, dark, warm, real and terrifying. He kisses her to forget it, too much emotion threading through his own veins to try and puzzle out hers. It's not that he's trying to be rude or neglectful, just that he's more of a doer.

And they've never really done well with the speaking thing anyway.

So he goes with action, palming the back of her head as she kicks off her pumps. The angle is better that way and he delves his tongue into her mouth without really asking permission. Not that she thought of refusing him. Instead, she moans into his kiss up until he breaks it, panting harshly as they rest their foreheads together.

"Go get naked," she whispers to him. "I'll lock up."

He doesn't want to leave her – as if that isn't indicative in itself – but this is their home. He pauses in the doorway to the hall, just for a moment to listen, but it's just them and he continues on his way. He knows she'll check every window and every door. It's become her habit too, to sooth his borderline paranoia. By the time she gets to the bedroom though, he's barely managed to lose anything. He's preoccupied with how close they came, with wanting her, needing her, that his own clothing doesn't seem as important.

"G."

Her voice brings him back, slams him head on into the present, to the woman who is here, who is alive, who didn't take a bullet to the brain today. She pads across the carpet to stand in front of him, her hands moving to his shirt. She leans in and kisses him while she does it, her hands steady as he works the buttons. Her kiss is slow, not exactly what he wants but simultaneously exactly what he needs.

"I'm fine," she says against his mouth as her hands trail back up his chest to slide the shirt from his shoulders. "We're fine."

His hands wrap around her back then, find the zipper to shed her of her own clothing. Her hands are deliberate, brushing against his skin as she deals with his belt and pants. He steps out of them, sliding a hand down her arm to take her hand. She doesn't protest, pressing against him when he pulls, letting him ravage her mouth because it's what he needs. She's in no hurry though and he's surprised to find that he's slowing down with her.

This, he knows, is life-affirming sex, and it's never been like this before. He's not really a veteran of it, by any means, but it's always been fast, brutal. None of this delicate tenderness she's bringing into the mix. Then again, they're different than the 'wham-bam' type. There's nothing anonymous about what they're doing. They're not strangers, they're together, have been for over a year now.

His hands drag up her sides, his callouses against her soft skin and she sighs as his thumbs slide along the underwire of her bra.

"That feels really good, G."

He kisses her slowly, wrapping his arms around her to slide his hands up her spine, play with the clasp of her bra. Her hands aren't idle. They're skimming his back, his shoulders, his ass through his boxers, and he knows what she means. It's just touch, but it serves to send his nerve endings firing.

He breaks their kiss as he loosens her bra, following the straps to slide them down her arms. The garment falls between them as he rubs his lips along her jawline and she lets out a breathy sigh. Then her hands are back, running up his chest until she cups his face. She moves towards him as she initiates their next kiss, walking him backwards. Just as he feels the bed against his knees he turns them, sending her to the bed with a quiet 'oomph'. There's amusement in her eyes and that same dark emotion that heats his stomach pleasantly.

That emotion drives him forward, and he catches himself on his hands seconds before meeting her mouth. He kisses her fiercely, pouring everything he's feeling, everything he can see on her face, everything he realizes she hasn't hidden from him for months now into that kiss. He can feel that emotion bubbling up in him, a ferocity, a heat, a sense of contentment and permanence and home and it hits him like a sledgehammer.

He's in love with her.

It's not a place he ever really thought he'd be. It really hasn't even crossed his mind, but he's not stupid enough not to look back and notice the signs. He doesn't think either of them has been blatant about it, but neither of them is really the type to bare themselves so completely like that. It's not her style – she's been burned too many times – and it certainly isn't his.

But this…

This is them.

He kisses her like he lost her, like this is the last time he's going to have her. She responds, doesn't hold back, wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips. He falls into her and she has to break the kiss to find air again. He brushes his mouth down her neck, over her collarbones, across her jaw until she cups his cheeks and brings his mouth to hers again.

"G," she breathes after a minute. "Touch me. Remind me."

Love me.

He can see it now. It's in her face, in her hands, haunting the back of her eyes, peeking out from behind the arousal echoed in his own blood. He flips them then, because the angle's better to do what she asked.

"Let me see you," he says against her temple and she raises up, pressing tantalizingly against his groin. He groans because she's hot and he knows she's wet. He distracts himself by palming a breast, watching her head fall back, sexy curls cascading behind her while her blunt nails dig into the skin of his sides. He ignores the little bite of pain, focusing on the way she subconsciously shifts, rolling her hips when he takes a nipple between his fingers. She's not being quiet tonight, letting out a little mewl as he works her nipple into a hard peak. He heads to the other one next, sliding the first hand down to draw soft patterns on the lace at her hip. She shivers, squirms because her hips are erogenous zones and the soft scratch of the lace is just as stimulating as his hand on her nipple.

He presses a hand against her back next and she shifts forward on her own so he can take her breast in his mouth. He works her nipple with his tongue, sliding one of his hands down her thigh, up to play against the edge of her panties, teasing and tantalizing. They're both feeling alive at this point, trading emotion and heated arousal in moans and strokes. He palms her ass and guides her up, placing kisses over her belly button as she raises to her knees.

"Oh, God, Callen."

He wants to laugh because she's reverted back to his last name, but he's too fixated on removing her panties, exposing her to his tongue and fingers. She is wet and he slides the pad of his fingers along her slit, swirling moisture around and around as she grips the headboard. He slips one of his fingers inside her without warning and her back arches in encouragement.

"Yes," she moans. "Right there."

He responds. He can't avoid it. He wants to see her break above him, wants to feel her around him and though he gets the benefits of slow, it all evaporates the minute he presses his tongue to her clit. She releases a soft keening noise as he laps at her, and his fingers speed up with a mind of their own. She's over the edge in minutes – he knows her body that well – and she sighs as she slides down his chest.

It takes her a minute to find her bearings again, but she surprises him by wasting no time taking him inside her. He's expecting her to move immediately, to drive them both to the edge, but she settles there, shifting until he bottoms out against her. Then they both moan and his hands go to her hips, ready to lift her.

"No," she says, reaching down to take his hands. He lets her pin them by his head. "My turn."

Well okay then.

He's not an idiot and the idea of Kensi taking control is hot. He nods once and she releases his hands, kissing him again. When she rolls her hips slowly, his hands react, reaching up to press against her lower back and thread into her hair. He does nothing to try and influence her movement, just keeps her pressed against him, hips to mouths. He wants to feel every inch of her.

He needs her.

She pulls back to catch her breath, moving her hands to brace herself on either side of his head. He's lost in her in moments, in the gentle movements of her hips, the darkness of her eyes… everything about her, about them, about the miracle that they're here, together, and they're not burying her in the ground.

"It happens," she whispers, her breath ghosting against his face. "We did everything right, we followed the protocol and we made it out alive."

She changes the angle as she breathes out the last word and they both groan. She lifts her hips this time, pulling off him slowly and sliding back down. Torturous heat envelops him, makes him throw his head back. His Adam's apple bobs as he tries to swallow and Kensi zeros in on it. Lips, tongue, teeth… she's destroying him with the moist heat of her.

"We're here," she says and his eyes fly open – when had they closed? – because she's not much of a talker during sex, but she seems to feel the need to talk to him, tell him, reassure him.

"Kensi," he replies, voice low and gravelly. There's everything in the simple breath of her name, all the fear, the need, the love…

"I know," she answers easily, her hips speeding up. She needs it, he can tell and he responds by anchoring her hips, thrusting up with her every down stroke. She's getting close again, he can feel it. She's been slamming her clit against his pelvis, twisting her hips enough to get some friction and he can tell that it won't take long.

"We're here," he says, echoing her. "We're alive."

"Yeah," she replies breathlessly. "Very alive."

He can't disagree with that. Then she surprises him, flipping them over again, giving control back.

"Callen," she says, eyes fluttering, body arching because he's not moving. "Make me come."

Like he needs to be asked twice.

His thrusts have speed and strength and he balances on one arm so he can slide a thumb down to her clit. She mewls and whines as she gets closer, her body arching, trying to fine more, more, more, more…

Her entire body tenses as he slams his body into hers and she chokes on a cry. He follows her, groaning against her shoulder.

"Kensi, I love you."

They take a few minutes to catch their breath, but it's the most agonizing minutes of his life. He can't believe the words came out, can't believe that he's actually said them. He's never said them in his life, not seriously, not like this. Not with this underlying sense of need and permanence that makes him inexplicably and unacceptably weak.

He rolls off of her and they lay there, side by side, panting. Eventually, she turns and pushes herself up on her elbow.

"Did you mean it?"

She's giving him an out. They can both feel it. But they've been feeling something else for a while now. Callen can see it, and he knows Kensi can. So the question is, did he really want to say it? Did he want to break their bubble, risk that much?

He looked at her, really looked, discarded the shuttering of her eyes because he knows her better. He knows her tells, knows where she hides and he finds his truth after a moment.

"I meant it."

Her entire demeanour shifts then and he watches in shocked surprise as she opens. There's no hiding the joy on her face, the happiness that spreads through her eyes. But there's surprise there too and he realizes she never expected him to say it.

"You knew," he accuses.

"I did," she promises in answer, because she's more aware, more in tune with those kinds of things than he is. "But…"

Yeah, she never expected him to say it. He's a little breathless at the realization and he doesn't like it. Makes him feel like a damned romance hero because his heart's in his throat to make way for the pain threading through his chest. But he's too damned broken to be anyone's hero. There are way too many things wrong with him to happily ever after to be a consideration.

Right?

Yet she's here, Kensi's here, and she's not leaving, not running. She's had plenty of opportunity, too. But she's with him, by his side, sleeping in his bed, shouldering his burdens, fighting his battles.

Because she loves him too.

Her fingers feather over his cheek. "I do, you know," she says as if she's in his head. "I do love you, too."

"Yeah," he answers roughly.

She laughs, just a little. "We're quite a pair. A year into a relationship, after we've moved in together, after I've had a gun held to my temple, and only now are we saying 'I love you'."

He sighs as he kisses her laughter, unable to do anything else under the weight of the joy in her eyes. He has no problem with it really. It's too them to pass up. It's sliding through him too, the vulnerability washed away in the face of reassurance. He's confident now, in this and in them.

"Kens," he finally says, breaking away from her. "Our relationship has never been conventional."

Hell, it started when he walked in fantasizing about him!

She chuckles as she slides closer, burrowing into his warmth. He can feel the edges of sleep pulling him too, a mix of adrenaline low and hormones.

"Maybe so," she says on a yawn. "But it's always been us."

He snorts. "That's corny."

"Shut up," she replies, whacking his chest without strength or heat. She sighs as she settles her head on his shoulder, wrapping an arm about his chest. "I love you, G."

He feels it again, expanding in his chest. It doesn't feel so scary now, doesn't feel like he's stepping out on a delicate precipice. Instead, it feels surprisingly like solid ground. Like home. Like exactly where he wants to be, with her, alive, breathing against him. So, ignoring the cliché, he leans down and says against her hair, "I love you, too."

A few things.

One, for the record, writing 'I love you's for Kensi and Callen is brutal! How do you write people confessing emotions when they're not really the type to do so?

Two, I feel like this is my first time back on a bike and I have to remember how it all works. It's been months since I've written anything and it's actually not at all like riding a bike! I feel like so much of this jumps emotionally and I'm not sure I've even captured the Kensi and Callen I've written for the purposes of this story, let alone the ones we see in canon. At the same time, I feel like this is also a miracle because it's actually typed up!

Three, mistakes are mine. Alllll mine. Leave them be. That would be awesome.

Four, review? I actually have another one that's turning out to be more of a two-parter (which I've never done in this context before, so it shall be interesting) that I'm actually getting out, but it's really only going to be totally worth it if you guys are still following.

Four.1: If I tell you there's an engagement/wedding involved in the two-parter, does that make you want to leave your opinion just a little bit more?

Okay, but in all honesty, to those of you that read and decide not to review, it does mean a lot that you're still willing to read this after my serious hiatus. For those of you who do review, thanks so much in advance. I'm sure it'll feel a lot like returning home.